I was in my final days of the eleventh grade of school, and had just finished writing a four page paper about a house. After turning in the paper to a male teacher (about 40 years old), I sat down at a table with the teacher and watched him grade the papers. I was unsure whose paper he was grading at first, and I thought he might be working on mine. Finally I watched him mark an A- on the paper and hand it back to someone who looked like Ferguson (a former high school classmate). 

I got a chance to look at the paper and saw that the title was "Fatniggers." That seemed a little crass to me, but at the same time it seemed like an original idea which might have some merit. That subject certainly should be more interesting than the subject of a house. It also occurred to me I had been thinking of using one of the houses I dreamed about frequently as the topic of a dream book. But that idea now seemed a bit weak.

I glanced through a folder which belonged to the fellow who looked like Ferguson – he had photocopied many newspaper articles, many of which contained pictures. The articles were well-arranged in the folder, and I thought about how I had included very few newspaper articles in my folder, and the ones I had included had been just randomly scattered through the folder. I hadn't arranged my folder in interesting order.

But it was rather difficult to see exactly what Ferguson was trying to say in his report. One of the newspaper articles had a picture of a car stuck in some telephone wires where the car apparently had wrecked. The general theme of the report seemed rather derogatory toward Negroes.

***

I was sitting in an eleventh grade classroom. A hundred students must have been here and many were black. I recognized one black fellow sitting a few seats down from me. Finally he stood up and left. A number of students had left the classroom and it appeared that anyone could leave any time they wanted. I thought I might get up and leave.

Actually I was even thinking about dropping out of school completely. I already had a law license, because I had been allowed to take the bar exam between the tenth and eleventh grades. So actually, it was unnecessary for me to finish high school. I could still practice law and nobody could force me to go back to school. At least I thought that was the way it was and I would fight to support that belief if necessary. But where would I go if I weren't in high school? Mexico. I would like to go to Mexico.

***

I was still sitting at a desk in class, but now it appeared that I was on a train. Right in front of me was an open door, and indeed it would be possible for me to fall out. I commented to someone that if I would "lurch" forward, I could just fall out of the train. Oddly, when I looked outside, I saw that I was up very high in the air. Tall trees were all around the train and I was right up in the very top of them. It would indeed be a very long fall.

***

I was walking around in the central plaza of a small Mexican town. I had quit school and felt an intense feeling of freedom. But now I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do. However I was sure I needed to do something creative, and that I should begin immediately and not waste any time. So I closed my eyes and began singing. Actually I was simply letting notes come out of my mouth, but I was surprised by just how beautiful they sounded and how good it made me feel. With my eyes closed, it seemed as if I were lying on my back. I hoped I wasn't bothering anybody by doing this. I continued and the notes had a soothing effect on my mind.