There was a house in the country out in the sticks. Me and William both won a weekend at this special program house for gifted and talented students. Couches, beds, alarm clocks, dreams, newspapers. Things were everywhere, but OH so sparsely. We would discuss. Thoughts would merge. Conversation that thrilled and challenged your mind. I was drawing my dreams, on the newspaper of the day I dreamed it, and they were making good sense. William was watching it all. Nick slept on a couch and set the alarm to go off every hour, but it would ring every 30 minutes. I'd write my dreams within the ramp, crossing the bridge, convinced. William opened doors. Fine artists began becoming more conceptual. Conceptual artists were starting to paint. William had gone around his hairline with a very, very thick magic marker, black, to get some painters thinking. But then they (the painters) shaved his head. It was all stubbly like a baby chicken's head. He went to talk to the lady in charge (about the program, not about his hair). A young woman, black, had asked him to help her understand her dreams. I left to go to the bathroom. My aunts had come to see what this gifted/talented program I was in, near their land, was. They were obnoxious and loud. In the bathroom I had (hid) my face behind a painting. Then I locked myself in the bathroom. They finally, FINALLY left and I looked out the screen and my mother spotted me and they all started back in. I said, "Please, My mother, just DON'T." Inside, away from the family terrors, William was working with the girl. She was pacing. William told her dreams are only able to communicate through images and surface tension. She said she was gonna go think about that for a week. Dancers were balancing. (Touching the railing with only their toes, every other dancer in the line had both feet touching. In between those were dancers with only one foot touching. The were balancing in mid-air. Looking like elegant divers about to enter the water in a graceful back dive. The ones with one toe touching had the other foot bent at the knee, toes pointed, angled back toward the head. Girl dancers. The lady said we could keep the house free till after Christmas. 8 weeks. And she could get $150. per winter for each person. I still didn't know which category I belonged in, the thinkers or the painters. Mostly I'd been talking about my dreams and drawing pictures of them with a black magic marker on sheets of the day's newspaper, dreamed then, The NY Times. Little kitty was with me there--finding secret trap doors behind walls that only kitties could fit. I could keep her there too. Zeb was there. When the first guy left we were chasing him and sticking his head in the mud puddle, playing. Zeb stuck his whole head in the mud puddle too.