Hiking Mount Lusa  I'm on a walking trail like the Backcountry Trail. I see a map, and debate how far we can walk. I think we may be in a position where we won't make it to the end of the trail in time if we don't do several very long days. I see the trail and the huts on the map: around Windy Ridge the trail curves in a big loop. I'm on the trail near a fork that leads to Mount Lusa, which I would kind of like to climb. I walk on the trail with others. We go by a National Park woman that is fixing the trail. We come to the area on the map where there are two huts: an old hut and a new one. I walk across the railroad tracks at Carter School, from the south to the north side by the playground. I'm spray, misted, with water from behind. I walk near the front of the school. I'm hot and sweaty. I see a woman in a minivan that I know. My ex-girlfriend's family suburban is parked there as well, and is dirty. I think of washing it but don't because the woman in the van is there and I feel self-conscious. I walk into the school. There are two stairways going upwards. I want to find a bathroom. My old teacher Helen Hunter is there. She greets me. I smell bad: I'm sweaty. I'm directed upstairs to my day care center. I already know to go there. When I get to the top of the stairs there is a line of kids waiting to see a woman. The kids seem to be sick, or say they are and complain of illness. I know they're not really ill. They have some kind of "Birds and Bees" illness. I'm wearing my gray wool socks, a yellow long-sleeved shirt, and my light purple bandana. I put my head under the water faucet and run cold water to cool off my hot skin. I see in the mirror that my bandana partially covers a patch or bandage on my forehead. There is one boy in particular in the line complaining of Birds and Bees illness. He has a patch on his head, covering a sore or bruised area. I am my age. I have a son who calls me his old man. I hear my son talk outside the bathroom. I am being implicated in the boy's wound, and in the Birds and Bees illness of the kids. I'm innocent. I couldn't have punched the boy: if I did his whole face would be a mess! Also, why would I do such a thing? I will need to vindicate myself to those outside the bathroom when I come out of the bathroom.