I had been contacted by God, who informed me I should visit the home of Wandelisa (a black-haired beauty in her early 20s whom I had met in Puerto Rico in late 1980). God made clear my visiting Wandelisa was proper, because something was amiss at Wandelisa's home. According to God, I shouldn't delay, but should forthwith talk to Wandelisa's parents about the situation.

I awoke and realized I had been dreaming. Since I knew God had actually contacted me in the dream, I promptly decided to heed God's message and visit Wandelisa's parents, even though I knew by taking this step, I would be defying the wishes of Wandelisa, whom I hadn't known long.

I had recently taken a position teaching English in a private school in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Wandelisa, an attractive and shapely Puerto Rican with long jet hair, was also teaching at the school, and I had become attracted to her. I had suggested to Wandelisa I might visit her at her home; but she had declined, explaining that she was still living with her parents and a retarded brother, and that her father forbade her seeing anyone.

Now that I had received the message from God in a dream, however, I resolved to visit Wandelisa's home anyway. With my tape recorder attached to a strap hung over my shoulder, I set out. It didn't take long to find Wandelisa's parents – as I walked down a San Juan street, I discovered them sitting in a parked car, Mr. Castaneda in the driver's seat and Mrs. Castaneda in the front passenger seat. Although I had never met the Castanedas, I slid into the back seat, where a small boy and girl were already sitting. The Castanedas didn't seem to mind my boarding their car without invitation, and once I was ensconced in my seat, Mr. Castaneda pulled the car out and drove down the road.

I assumed that the Castanedas were headed toward their home, and that we could talk there. They somewhat reminded me of the parents of Carolyn (a girlfriend from Ohio whom I had met while working at the Census Bureau in 1980). However, when I tried to talk with the Castanedas, I realized they weren't as friendly as Carolyn's parents had always been. Hoping to warm them up, I finally declared, "Wandelisa told me that she didn't want me to see you, but I decided to go ahead anyway."

My words didn't produce the hoped-for effect. Instead of warming up, both Mr. and Mrs. Castaneda immediately clammed up. Obviously they hadn't realized I knew Wandelisa, and now that I had mentioned her name, the Castanedas seemed more unfriendly than ever.

Since at least the little boy sitting in the back seat seemed affable, I turned and began talking with him. Thinking he must be Wandelisa's little brother, I recalled Wandelisa's having mentioned his being retarded; but he seemed perfectly normal to me.

Most of my attention, however, was focused on the obviously upset Mr. Castaneda. As he sped down a hill, I worried we were traveling too fast. Looking over his shoulder at the speedometer, I saw it only registered forty-five, which I thought was measured in kilometers. Forty-five wasn't excessive, but it was too fast for me. However I didn't say anything.

When we finally reached the bottom of the hill, the Castanedas still wouldn't speak to me, and they remained silent even as we drove into a small town, ever closer to their home. As unfriendly as they were acting, I was beginning to suspect the Castanedas had no intention of conveying me to their home. Increasingly concerned about how I would return to San Juan, I finally asked if any buses traveled back to San Juan from this little town. Mr. Castaneda replied that a bus left at 11:30 at night. Since it was still early in the evening, I concluded I would just have to wait. Then Mr. Castaneda added that a bus might also leave at nine o'clock.

By then it was clear the Castanedas simply planned to drop me off somewhere. They finally pulled into the parking lot of a store, obviously intending for me to get out. When the car stopped, I stepped out and quipped, "Well, it's been nice meeting you. It's certainly been different."

Once I was free of the car, the Castanedas simply pulled off and left me standing in the parking lot. Seeing little alternative, I turned, headed toward the store, reached the store and walked inside. I was at first disoriented, until I realized that instead of a store, the building actually housed a bar containing several rooms packed with young patrons. As I stood perplexed, a girl stepped up, threw her arms around me and declared, "Well, look what we've got here."

Although several pretty girls adorned the room, the one who had embraced me was decidedly unattractive – a couple teeth even appeared to be missing. Shrugging her off, I walked into the next room, where people were standing at a bar. Among them lolled two lovely ladies, one of whom was talking on a phone. I stepped up to one and asked if she could tell me where the bus station was. When she didn't answer, a courteous fellow sitting nearby volunteered that the bus station was in the next room. He pointed out a door and indicated I simply needed to pass through it.

I headed to the door, and once through it, I spotted a room to my left which appeared to be the bus station. I headed toward the room, planning to buy a ticket back to San Juan. I felt terrible, unsure how I would explain to Wandelisa everything which had happened. She had warned me not to visit her parents, and justifying my having broken her trust would be difficult. This would probably be the end of our friendship.