I don’t know. When was the last time I walked through Central Park? Or, when was the last time I walked through The Museum of Natural History? Or better yet, when was the last time I went to The Hayden Planetarium? It seems like it’s been forever. I think I have a plan. This involves an escape and a childish need to skip class and beat the responsibilities of everyday life.
Then again, I was never much for school and then again, I was never much for planning trips on the days when I would skip. Perhaps my intentions and motivations were different. Or, maybe it’s safer to say that my bank account is different now and so are my means of transportation.
I think now would be different though. In fact, I think if I were to plan a day to skip town or play hooky and “Cut class,” so to speak, I can think of a few ideas that come to mind.

Sure, I was bullied. The worst of it was more than the bullying itself. The worst part of bullying are the remnants of what was said or done. The aftermath was the killer for me. I had to live with the shame, the guilt and the regret that I was unable to protect myself. The worst are the conversations we have in our head after the event takes place. This is what makes matters worse because next, we relive the insults and keep them fresh like a picked scab that never heals.
And dig it, I know that no one wants to talk about this. I see this all the time. Nobody wants to hear about this, which is why bullying goes on. But “Ah, they’re just kids being kids,” right?
Wrong. This is only their training grounds because I have met more bullies in Corporate America than on the playground or in the locker room at school.

I remember a scene in a movie. The movie is from when I was a kid and the story itself is not important enough to mention. Plus, a little piece of me is shaking my head because of a silly movie, which I remember all too well.
In any case, people had to pass through the gates to meet the Southern Oracle. My memory of this is a little hazy but one of the gates was a mirror that reflected your true self. Most people faced this gate and ran away screaming from what they saw. Maybe this part of the movie was more real than I thought.
Mirrors do have a way of reflecting things that we’d rather not see.

I see myself in this dream. As a matter of fact, there are many dreams like this, which come in similar variations. It is cold but I am not affected. I can tell the dream takes place in wintertime. The sky is gray and the trees are empty of their leaves. I am in my hometown again. I am walking around the pond at Eisenhower Park. I am dressed in a gray sweat suit with white sneakers, which is odd to me because I have never worn nor owned a sweat suit that looks like this. The ducks and the geese are gone. The water is dark and the cement around the pond is somehow dim; as if the entire view of everything around me is slightly gray-washed or nearly black and white.