I pictured myself being caught by this eager mob and beaten and torn by them. I deserved it. I almost wanted it.
I stood up, brushed the leaves and dirt from my clothing and walked slowly down the path in the direction from which I had come.
I expected every second to be grabbed from behind and pulled down into the dirt and darkness,
but soon I saw the bright lights of Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, and I came out of the park.
Thinking about it now, in the security of my room, I am shaken with the rawness that touched me.
Remembering how my mother looked before she gave birth to my sister is frightening.
But even more frightening is the feeling that I wanted them to catch me and beat me.
Why did I want to be punished? Shadows out of the past clutch at my legs and drag me down.
I open my mouth to scream, but I am voiceless. My hands are trembling, I feel cold, and there is a distant humming in my ears.
PROGRESS REPORT 13 - June 10 - We're on a Strato-jet about to take off for Chicago.
I owe this progress report to Burt who had the bright idea that I could dictate this on a transistor tape recorder
and have a public stenographer in Chicago type it up.
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