I was roller skating – on old-fashioned four-wheeled skates – in an area which somewhat resembled an open-air mall built along a sea shore; breaking waves could be seen in the background. A skating course had been set up inside the complex; on one section of the course it was necessary to skate up about 15 steps, circle about a meter around an upper level, then skate down another set of the same number of steps. I was clumsy at first, but then began to get the hang of it. I learned not to skate up the steps, but to hold onto the banister on the left side, cram my feet into some holes in the steps, and run up the steps. Coming down the other side, I learned that jumping from the top to half-way down the steps facilitated the descent. I was soon able to traverse the little circle in half my original time.

As I was skating along the upper level I ran my hand along a shelf-like protrusion and found some pennies. I left the pennies there, but then I found a gold-colored wristwatch which appeared to be broken and abandoned. I stuck the watch in my pocket.

Descending again to the bottom level, I found Birdie. We had come there together. Except for her deep black hair, she didn't look like herself. She was wearing eyeglasses and seemed to have some freckles. She was about 50 years old, but she still looked healthy. I told her I would skate around the loop again and she could time how fast I went. I raced off as fast as I could, but when I returned to the spot where I had left Birdie, she was no longer there. I looked all around. Many other people were milling about or skating. Four fellows dressed in burgundy were skating in a row – one behind the other, holding on to each other. Apparently they were racers and were getting ready to make the loop. I stepped out of their way.

Since I couldn't find Birdie, I thought about simply leaving. I looked out at the breaking waves; they were gigantic. I had never seen them so huge. I thought I might like to go out there.

Finally I encountered my mother who told me she had recently visited Birdie's house, located along Route 52 east of Sciotoville. My mother told me Birdie had divorced her husband Rick over two years ago. All Birdie did now was work in the day and drink wine in the evenings. My mother also mentioned the possibility that I might become a grandfather to Brandi. It appeared that my mother was saying that Birdie would now let me see Brandi. I said something about Birdie's husband Rick's paying child support for Brandi; but then I added that Brandi was probably 18 by now and Rick wouldn't have to pay child support any longer.

Suddenly Birdie stepped out of a small restaurant there in the open-air mall. I stepped up to her and began complaining about her having left me. She seemed distracted; she didn't say anything; she simply listened. I held onto her arm; I felt close to her, even though I was committed to another woman somewhere else and I didn't want to reestablish a relationship with Birdie. But I did want to be friends with her, and I did want to see Brandi. However, the idea of being Brandi's grandfather didn't seem acceptable. Why not simply tell Brandi the truth – that I might be her father? Better yet, why not simply finally order the blood tests to prove once and for all who the father was?

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