I'm on a staircase. I see a man coming in the house. I am sneaking backward up the stairs hoping he doesn't see me. He does. I think, "It's the light reflected off my eyes." As he comes toward me, I feel pent up anger and I explode. I start yelling. I tell him off, but well. I am getting ready to be in a play and the crew and Ethan, the director, has grudgingly helped me and I'm sick and tired of it. They offer to carry me down the stairs and row me across the river to get to the stage. I refuse their help, angrily. I'm yelling, calling them names and hitting at them. Ginny is in the background. She's afraid and watching me. I snarl, "Just stay away from me. I'll do it myself." I know I'm going to use all my energy just getting to the play and getting ready and I probably won't have anything left to perform with. Then I think, "It'll hurt but by God, I'll do it." I push them aside and walk angrily down the stairs. I see where the boat should be waiting to row me. They aren't there. I walk through the tunnel under the river. I finally reach the stairs on the other side. I go up the stairs. I'm pulling hair pins out of my hair. I get to the top of the stairs. Ethan comes out. He's placating me, apologizing. I glare at him and yell some more. I'm opening a mirror to put on my stage makeup. One eyebrow is put on the wrong place. The other one keeps smudging. Ethan says to me, "My daughter had a dream about a jury. What can it mean?" I say, "You idiot! She is the jury and the judge!" He says, "But what does it mean?" "It means," I speak slowly and witheringly, "that she is feeling guilt. She is sitting in judgement of herself." He sits back and looks sad and guilty. He's aware that he's partially at fault.