My Past Is Mine
By Gerda Rhoads
Take one tiny memory out of a
man's life—and the entire
universe may turn topsy turvy.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe October 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Gerda Rhoads was born in Vienna and came to the United States with her parents by way of London and Rio. She was educated at Hunter College, became a ballet dancer, took up painting and has done some very charming canvases. Then she married a painter and they went to Paris and she turned to writing. Sounds glamorous, doesn't it? With the publication of this her first story Gerda Rhoads proves her pen is glamor-tipped too.
The voice asked at Eddie Tomlinson's elbow, "Is this seat free?"
Eddie nodded, and hardly looking around, picked up his hat which he had carelessly put on the seat at his side. A little impatiently he placed it on the rack overhead. Then he went back to his contemplation of the wooded hills through which the train was threading its way.
It was the first time he had been in the country since it happened and perhaps he had allowed himself, against his better judgment, some unconscious hope. Possibly because it was autumn, the very best part of autumn for being in the country. Certainly he must have allowed himself to hope, otherwise he would not again be feeling the sharp despair, which in recent months had subsided into a bleak and monotonous resignation.