A kind man, like Dwight B., comes over to talk with me at a party. He is gentle. As we talk I realize I like him. Then he slowly reveals that he knew me years ago when I was going to school and married to Howard. I now remember he was at OSU in a class. He liked me then. I look in his eyes and realize he loved me then and still does love me. We sit on a couch and cuddle, slowly getting closer and closer. Now it is the next morning and I awake in his families house. I am exhausted from partying all night and my arthritis hurts. I have bandages on my left hand, which is deformed like my right hand. I am bare foot. And walking with crutches. It hurts to get up and move. His family is nice to me, observing to see what kind of woman he brought home. I hear one of the children talking about Dwight's dream all these years of combining our foster homes we've created and working together. I tell the child I didn't ever do that. I don't have any foster homes.