While I was sitting in the living room of the Logan Street House, I heard someone at the door and went to answer it. Looking through the screen door, I saw a fellow (about 30 years old) whom I recognized as someone I knew. He was thin and trim, and dressed in tie and jacket. He somewhat resembled a lawyer I once knew in Fort Worth.

Oddly, standing next to the man, was a large black bear, reared up on its hind legs as tall as the man. I intuitively knew the bear had been following the man all around town, almost as if it were his pet, and that the bear was harmless. I even thought about opening the screen door and petting the bear on its stomach. But the man advised me not to do that, cautioning that he didn't know how the bear would react. And the man didn't seem to want to encourage the bear to stay, but seemed to want to separate himself from the bear if possible. So, upon my invitation, the man walked into the house and left the bear on the front porch.

The two of us sat down in the living room and began talking. We first spoke of collecting coins. I mentioned that I had collected coins when I had been young, but I didn't bother with it any more. Hardly any coins worth collecting were in circulation. The only coins of any value were the occasional flawed improperly minted coins. But those were rare and hard to find. It occurred to me that I might be able to take a coin make some kind of flaw in it myself. But that would be extremely difficult, and the same flaw would have to be reproduced in a large number of coins before the coins would be of any value. It was pointless to think of doing such a thing.

I found the fellow rather boring. I wasn't even sure why he had come to visit me. We weren't close friends, and I didn't even know him that well. About the only thing we had in common was a math class which we were taking together. So I began talking about that. I was somewhat concerned because I had missed a couple classes. And I was thinking of missing the class on the following day, was Friday. However, I figured I wasn't in such bad shape. I was actually taking two math classes, and since the subject matter overlapped, I was able to use in one class what I had learned in the other class.

I even found some of what I was studying to be quite interesting. For example, I had been learning how to tell the volume of a globe, simply by knowing the measurements of a small portion of the surface of the globe. I could even visualize the images of globes, and see the small area of the surface for which I had the dimensions. With that small amount of knowledge I could determine the entire volume. Of course I didn't know how to make the calculations yet — I was still learning. But I felt confident that I would soon understand.

I was growing increasingly impatient with the fellow, wishing he would leave. I had gradually become aware of the presence of two other people: two young girls, one of whom was my sister. Since the girls were in a neighboring room, I was uncertain whether the fellow could see them. At least I hoped he couldn't, for both were completely naked, lying next to each other on a bed, completely exposed. Yes, I hoped he couldn't see them, because if he could, he would probably want to do the same thing I wanted: go into the next room and have sex with the girls. Finally I could stand it no longer. I stood up and brusquely indicated to the fellow that it was time for him to leave. He appeared dazed as I led him to the door. But it didn't matter to me; I just wanted rid of him. As hastily as I could, I ushered him out, and shut the door.

I hurried into the next room, pulled off my clothes and hopped into the bed. However, only one of the girls was left in the bed — my sister — and she was no longer naked; she had put on a one piece tiger-skin-colored bathing suit. She also now looked older (about 20 years old). As I lay down next to her, it was immediately clear that she wasn't interested in having sex. It seemed that she had been interested before, but now she had changed her mind. However, I wasn't to be stopped. I pleaded with her to simply let me pull the top of her bathing suit down. But to myself I was thinking that if she would let me go that far, I wouldn't stop there. I would slip my hand down between her legs, inside her bathing suit. Once I had aroused her passions, I was sure I would be able to convince her to have sex with me.

***

The two of us were sitting in a car. I was sitting in the back seat, while she sat in the front seat, in the driver's seat. However she looked much different, and she no longer appeared to be my sister. She was now probably in her mid 30s and had short dark-brown hair. She closely resembled Jill Taylor (the character played by the actress Patricia Richardson in the television series "Home Improvement").

Also sitting in the front seat was John Travolta (about 30 years old). The three of us had just walked out of a building and boarded the car. We were working on a project together – making a movie – and we were all talking about our progress of the movie. In this particular movie, Travolta (who was the star) had been struck by lightening. I was curious about this fact, because this was the third movie in a row in which Travolta was portrayed as being struck by lightening. I couldn't remember the names of the other movies, but thought one of them might have been the movie Powder. In each of the movies, after having been struck by lightening, Travolta had undergone a religious conversion. When I questioned Travolta about this coincidence, I was surprised when he informed me that he had actually been struck by lightening in real life. He openly began describing the event, and the real-life religious conversion which had followed.

As Travolta talked, I noticed that a song was playing in the background, an old rock and roll song called "C.C. Rider." Travolta mentioned that he had sung this song. The song had been on an album which the Rolling Stones had produced many years ago and on which Travolta had been the lead singer. I recalled the album he was talking about. I could even vividly imagine its simple cover in my mind. It was a white album, with the title written in black script across the front: Sympathy for the Devil.

Travolta continued with his story, which was so poignant, told with such conviction, it produced an unexpected effect in me: tears began to well up in my eyes. I bent my head down so that no one could see, because I was the kind of person who never cried. But my emotions were overwhelming. I could intensely relate to Travolta's description of himself as a lost reprobate with no meaning in life. The power of the lightening and the spiritual awakening which followed seemed so divine, so up-lifting.

I also felt remorse because of the woman. As Travolta related his story, I realized the woman was also a spiritual and religious person. Knowing this made me feel intensely guilty, because I knew I had recently forced myself sexually upon the woman. She had complied with my desires, but I knew she had done so against her will, and I felt a piercing pain because of my actions.

As both the woman and Travolta turned back to look at me, I lifted my eyes somewhat and noticed that they both had tears on their cheeks. The sight of both of them sitting there crying suddenly struck me as funny, and I chuckled loudly. But my amusement only lasted for a moment, and I reverted to my need to cry, thinking now that it probably didn't matter if they did see me cry.

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