Kidnapping A Director Wench  I'm at a play or a play rehearsal. It seems to be a dress rehearsal. It is similar to the Talent Show at Armstrong High School: there are several skits. There is a skit with Al Bundy eating a big blue fish, that is about five or six feet long. I may be in one skit, but maybe not. I thought I had a role in it with my friend Stephanie Peterson. As the rehearsal goes on I think I may not be doing the skit: there may be another person doing it. I sit on the very edge of the stage with others. At some point I move off the stage, but some to hang on to the carpeted edge of the stage, so I can see and so I'm not blocking anyone's view. The director is a short, fat old woman teacher. She is a bit like my fifth grade teacher Beth Clafton. I'm then sitting by myself on the front of the stage, as the rehearsal is taking place. The director woman asks me condescendingly what I'm doing (on the stage). I tell her I'm sitting there kind of laying on my side so others can see: if I sat in a seat the person behind me wouldn't be able to see. She frowns on me with disdain. I move down to the seats and sit in the front row with my bush hat on. I am angry with the director. The skit that I thought I would be in seems to be a religious sort of enacting Joseph and Mary. There is a skit where one character loses an eyelash at the Prom. The director lashes out at the students, questioning and criticizing their actions; the reason they pluck their eyebrows. People don't respond very much to her criticism. I speak up and talk back to her. I mock her nonchalantly, smarting off to her. Then I stand up, and am enraged! I yell furiously at her, "Get the fuck out of here!" I yell that she has an appointment in my office at 4:00, meaning that she is going to have to deal with me. I yell, enraged, that, "I'm going to beat your ass!" I'm furious with her, and I say this in front of all the students. I force the woman, half dragging and half pushing her, out the back sacristy door of Carter Church, where it now seems that we are. I force her to start walking west on 1st Street. I see a truck parked on the northwest corner of the intersection. I think in the truck are my classmate Kevin and another short black man from Brimson. I get close to the truck, pushing the woman along, and I see it's my grade school classmate Jerry Kasper driving. I tell him to help me get away. I think people from inside the building will follow, and I'm in a hurry to get away. I want to throw the woman in the bed of the truck and hop in, but Jerry drives away before I can. He stops near the house on the next corner, in the driveway. He is then driving a small black car. He opens the trunk of the car and I toss the woman in. I don't hear much struggle from her: she doesn't put up much of a fight. I get in the back of the car and tell Jerry to drive out near Superhighway 100 to get away. Our classmate Eric Stoner is in the passenger seat. The roads are snowy and icy, and the car slides. I tell Jerry not to get rear-ended because there's a person in the trunk. We drive past Home Avenue going west. I tell Jerry to take a left on Hill Avenue so we don't have to go down the hill at the bottom of 1st Street, because it's slippery. I look back and see that there are no cars behind us from the church, so no one is following. I am relieved.