Back in Bloomsburg, feeling the ground shift beneath my point slippers. Everything feels familiar but strange at the same time - somehow its not very comforting that I recognize rivers and buildings, establishments and even people. Would it just feel even harder if I was anywhere else? Right now I'm looking out a window at a girl who was in my general chemistry class two years ago. And I'm also looking at the back of the head of long wavy black hair of a beautiful dancer who used to intimidate me (and still would if I gave her a chance). Some nice things have happened, like I told the young woman I was sitting next to today that I'll be gone tomorrow for a funeral, and she just leaned over and gave me a big hug. Also I made an instant friend - someone I just knew I could talk to even though we didn't know anything about each other. Then I found out hours later that she's a doula. Then there's the boy in the Caribou High School t-shirt - we had a nice long talk about Maine and then started a new table at the picnic. The director of anatomy came and sat with us and the table soon filled up and we talked about cadavers and their families and the memorial service we will hold for them. On my right was a boy from Southern California whose humility and sense of humor put me at ease.

But I feel a little lonely and I've been thinking about death - the sort of selfish callousness and detachment with which we keep living our lives when someone dies, especially if it is not someone from our innermost circle, not someone who can bring down all the walls. Shirl was tired - why should there be sorrow? I was crying for myself, not for him. But I've learned that my dream was not true. I'm not ready.