"Mert missed the concert but he is sure going to face the music when we get home," Olive fumed as we waited for her husband and watched the audience and choir members leave the old blue and white country school.

Middlesex Valley Central School was within sight of the village of Rushville, N.Y. However, both of our families lived in the town of Middlesex, a long five miles away.

"Do you think he forgot us?" I asked as we looked out a window in the long, empty corridor. Each time someone opened the door we felt a blast of air that raised goosebumps on our arms and legs.

"I'm sure he'll be here to pick us up soon," Olive blurted with a nervous giggle and more confidence than she felt. My friend Sonia's dad, usually on time, was now late, the parking lot completely empty and the janitor turning out the lights at the school.

Sonia and I were high school sophomores in April 1950, and both of us sang in the school choir. That night we had performed in our formal Spring Concert and we had been a hit with the audience.

One song in particular by Fred Waring, "When You Walk Through a Storm," brought the house down.

Who would have guessed we were soon to be walking alone ourselves?

Dressed in formals and sandals, we had expected to ride home in a nice warm car.After more waiting, we finally agreed that we would have to start walking with the expectation that Mert would soon drive up and take us the rest of the way.

It was a clear, cold night. Although only small patches of snow remained on the ground, it felt more like winter than spring. We had barely reached the end of the school's long circular driveway when I complained that my feet were freezing in green, open-toed sandals. Olive gave me some tissues and I stuffed them in the ends of my shoes over my toes.

Hurrying along the two-lane road as quickly as we could in those blasted shoes and formals, we passed the first couple of houses on our right. All of a sudden, to our left, a herd of cows came running toward the fence. We were scared to death they wouldn't stop and we would be trampled (What an obituary -run over by cows.) so we rushed past the pasture as fast as we could.

We had not gone much farther when we saw headlights. Afraid of who it might be, we ran and all three of us tried to hide behind a tree. Mind you, we were skinny teens in those days. However, the driver saw us and stopped to see if we needed help. It was another of our neighbors, a young man everyone called Tadpole. Bless him for saving us from frostbite.

Mert didn't wake up from his nap until Olive got home and ournighttime trek was a tale that became legend in our families.

Thirty years later, Mert and Olive came to visit us in Longview and Mert was still apologizing for the night he overslept and left us to walk home. Sonia was matron of honor at our wedding and we remain friends who still love to tell the story of our adventure.

Pat DeSain — wife, mother, grandmother and retired piano teacher — lives in Longview. E-mail her at pitterpat2008@sbcglobal.net.