I was at the Gay Street House with a tall, slender man (not more than 40 years old) who was my father. He seemed as if he might be a lawyer and he had his offices in some rooms of the first floor of the house.
We had been having a serious disagreement about something and he finally suggested that he disinherit me. He said it was a simple procedure and could be done orally. I did not really want to do it and I was rather shook up by the idea. However, I realized it was more a formality than anything else and that he could accomplish the same end by simply writing me out of his will. Finally, with reluctance I agreed.
We walked into the living room beside the kitchen where
my mother joined us. I proceeded to simply say that I disinherited my father and he said the same thing. He was very matter-of-fact about the whole procedure and showed no emotion that I could detect. He walked back into his offices and I left.Actually, after it was all over I felt relieved. I did not know why I had been in Portsmouth in the first place and now I felt that I must leave. I contemplated where I would go and I thought that Latin America would be appropriate. I began thinking of Brazil and the gigantic potential it offered. I figured I could find employment in a law office in Rio de Janeiro.
Since I spoke Spanish, it would be easier to go to some other country in South America. But I thought Portuguese would not be difficult to learn. I had listened to it before and I knew it was similar to Spanish. Also my knowledge of French should aid me in quickly learning the language. I figured in about four months I would know the language well enough to work well with it.
My principal concern was taking my car (my silver '84 Volkswagen Rabbit) with me. I wondered whether I should ship it by boat or drive it through South America. Perhaps I should not even take it. It definitely presented a problem.
I returned to my father's to pick up a last few things. My mother was there and helped me. She had laid out about ten sweaters on the kitchen table for me. My heavy, cream-colored, wool sweater was among them. Another older, cream-colored sweater which I had not seen in quite a while was also included. I gathered the sweaters up.
I also noticed lying on the table my small, rectangular clock. I wanted it because I liked to use it to time myself when doing exercises.
My mother carried out a small, flimsy book case which was apparently mine. I told her I simply did not have room for that in my car.
I was unsure I had my keys. I touched my right pants pocket, felt the silver balls that were on the key chain I was carrying, and knew I had it. I noticed my father had walked into the living room with a client and I tried to hasten my departure. My mother was being as helpful as she could. She obviously did not want to see me leave, but she seemed to understand.
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