Post-Barter Theatre (Cont.)
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After about ten days, our good times were abruptly ended by some bad news. Carol was informed that she would not be admitted to Juilliard after all. She cried when she told me, and when I saw how unhappy she was, I believe I cried some too. The school's admission office had actually never made a firm commitment to her, but she had been told in June that having passed her piano audition she probably would be admitted in September. What the officials at Juilliard did not tell her at that time was that she would be admitted only if those on the waiting list ahead of her had been taken care of by September 1.

It was a sad day for us both, for she had counted so strongly on enrolling at Juilliard. For several hours we were quite depressed -- so depressed that we tried to forget the bad news by having two or three strong drinks at a~ Village bar -- quite unusual behavior for us both -- but going to the bar did not help very much, except to remind us again how attached we were to each other.

Early the next morning, we learned that Juilliard had arranged for Carol to be admitted to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, if she could report to that school by the following Monday. We both knew that Curtis Institute was one of the finest music schools in the country, but neither of us was prepared to say immediately that she should enroll there. Many questions had to be answered before she could give Juilliard a yes or no response. Not the least of these questions was whether we two were willing to be separated again so soon. Life together had become so normal and comfortable, we were not at all sure we could accept and adapt to such a sudden change. But there were other -- perhaps more important -- questions which Carol herself had to answer. It was her life and she was the one to make the decision.

Leaving all details aside for the reader to conjecture, Carol decided to leave New York two days later and enroll for graduate work in music at Curtis in Philadelphia. Her decision was a great disappointment to me, but not at all surprising, knowing her so well as I did now. From the first, I was drawn to Carol, not only because of her exquisite beauty, but also and perhaps even more so by her intelligence, sound judgment, and just plain good sense. And as she was considering what to do in this case, I was confident she would weigh carefully all sides of the question before coming to a conclusion -- not only her feelings about our present relationship and how much she loved New York, but also what she had set out to accomplish and what she wanted to be and do five or ten years in the future. She was that kind of girl, and I knew it. That's why I loved her.

Therefore, when she told me she was leaving, I understood and agreed that for her it was the right thing to do, even though for me the prospect of her going away was devastating. For I knew I had to stay in New York in order to pursue my career, and since I had so little money I would not be able to go to Philadelphia very often to see her.

In the four months I had known Carol, she had grown from a pretty and quite unusual girl to a mature woman, not only beautiful beyond description, but also possessing extraordinary grace, charm, and good judgment. Her carefully considered decision to enroll at Curtis made all this quite clear.

We went out on the town the night before she left -- just the two of us -- and had a wonderful time together, a night I shall never forget.

The next morning I went with her to the bus station and saw her leave for Philadelphia. Before we parted, we repeated things we had said to each other many times before. We also promised "to write often." Little did I know, however, that this was the last time I would ever see or hear from Caroline Williams. What happened I do not know. She simply disappeared forever out of my life, but not out of my memory.

After almost fifty years, I still remember vividly how pretty she looked in that neat blue and white outfit when she boarded the bus at Cincinnati and said so pleasantly she hoped I was not saving that seat for someone. Nor can I forget the bright twinkle in her eye when I fell while trying to swing her suitcase up to the overhead rack. Also, the perceptive way in which she talked about the history of our country as we passed Independence Hall is still quite clear in my mind. And I still laugh heartily -- though sometimes with a lump in my throat --whenever I think of her contagious amusement when the "Murphy" bed almost took me up with it. But perhaps most of all do I remember our nights of dining and dancing at village hideaways where we talked starry-eyed about her life and mine. These things and many others about Carol I will never forget.

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