Scared
Marion was so scared when she caught that train into Toronto. She'd been to the big city before but it looked a lot bigger when she wasn't standing behind her father and two brothers. She managed to follow the directions her mother had written on a scrap of paper torn from the flyleaf of her father's bible (books are sinful, he'd said when she bought one home from Sunday School one day, and he'd torn it up and thrown it into the fire in front of her.) and there it was. A rooming house full of women. She'd never lived in a proper house before, at least not for longer than a month or two, so it looked pretty decent to her.
She was scared of the bustle and movement and the way the girls danced their way around each other and under hanging stockings and underthings, but she was also mesmerized. There was such freedom here, such as she'd never considered before. She set her shoulders back and found her room.
She was scared when her door wouldn't lock. Another girl, cigarette dangling from her mouth, contemptuously showed her how to handle the lock, but by the time she went to introduce herself, the other girl had sashayed her way back into her own room across the hall. She finds it comforting to think of her as a neighbor because she seems like she could take care of herself.
She was scared on the streetcar – she'd passed the test but she was going to be handling actual explosives and the girl from across the hall hadn't even looked at her and she wasn't sure why that was bothering her.
She was scared when she approached the girl outside the factory, but she did it anyway and was glad she did when she was instantly caught up in light conversation, the way she'd always imagined people talking to each other. She was mesmerized when she saw Gladys step out of that magnificent car.
She was terrified when she dropped the amatol, hardly realizing what she'd done wrong until the Betty explained it to her. She was going to have to find another job, and she didn't know how to do anything and she wasn't going home. Not ever. But then another lady stepped in and Betty's face softened and she showed her how to pour safer.
She wasn't too scared to sing a song large enough to fill the factory. It was the only way to drown out the sorrow.
She was scared to get in the shower, to expose her back to a room of women, to wear her shame like a brand. But Betty's chit-chat made her feel better. She didn't stare, she didn't judge, just talked like it was a normal day and everyone was fully dressed.
She was terrified when Vera went skywards. No singing in the world could fix that.
She was scared when she asked if Betty was going to the dance, but she was overwhelmed with wonder when they got there. She was scared no one would ask her to dance, and then she was scared when she asked Betty to dance and then she was dancing and for once, she wasn't scared.
She wasn't too scared to get her first feel of silk stockings. Something about Betty's confidence strengthened something inside her.
She was scared when Betty bought up her back because she'd hoped she hadn't noticed. But what she said next sent her fluttering heart back into a steady rhythm.
By the time she started her second shift, she was hardly scared at all. She'd only been in Toronto a few days, but she felt more home than she ever had in her life.
The Tragically Hip - Scared
You're in Russia and a more than a million works of art
Are whisked out to the woods
When the Nazis find the whole place dark
They'll think god's left the museum for good