I'm with the girls, visiting. Howard comes and says he's moving to S City. The girls are concerned and ask me if they can still visit me. I said, "Well, I have to ask my parents first because it's their house." My mother assures me that they can come. I feel glad. We start to make arrangements. Then Howard changes. He wants to talk to me. We sit on a couch at opposite ends. Howard tells me he's going back to school. He's changed now. He's going to become a lawyer. I keep emotional distance and sneer a little at his social climbing ways. Then he starts creeping closer and closer to me and I get that sick, trapped feeling again. I look at him. He's young now; he's lost weight and his fingers are long and slim. His eyes have an Oriental slant to them and his skin is brown. I say, "Oh, you look all different," and describe it. He's concerned and has a whimpery quality to his voice and keeps physically sneaking up to me. I ask him to explain again his schooling he's going for. There is a couch pillow between us. He's trying to get around the pillow. He wants us to be together again. I then realize that he's a "Monnis." He's going to S City for a month for training and then to school. Now the couch is a bath tub and he's trying to lay down beside me and I move away. He has puppy-like eyes. I feel sad for him. I feel trapped. I run. I go to an office. Now I want to go to the seminar training to see what's happening, like a spy. I ask the secretary. She says to type the letter "E" and I will get in. I try to. I hit lots of letters and finally get a E typed. They aren't thrilled but I'm accepted (and a friend, woman), we go. As we walk down a hall, I see I'm in a zoo. There is an enormous gorilla. I'm afraid of him and I try to avoid him seeing me, because Howard is near him. He sees me and winks at me. I go near. Howard is listening to his every word like a slave. I go on. I get out. Then I'm driving into a state park at the beach. The girls and I are on a vacation and returning to a place we've enjoyed before. It will be fun. I write a poem. Some men read it and look at me with respect. One says, "It's not a poem in the traditional sense but she has talent, rhythm. It's good."