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She asks me if I understand these words that she is saying, but I can't possibly comprehend them
the way she does, the way she wants me to, simply because I don't have children. Because I've
never had a wife or a husband. Because I'm not so old that I think time is running out for me to fix
the messes that reach out from the past and into the present and await the future. I can't possibly
understand because for the most part, my heart is filled with more hate than it is love. This
misanthropic life.

As I'm returning back to my home, I decide to instead spend the night at my parents' house because
in my apartment building there are fools and intruders. People like Lynne who ask you to garden
with them. People like Joe who put your name on a form. People like Jamal who seek refuge, and
when you show them kindness they lie to you. People like Mary who at the very sight of them
makes you feel sick.

Even my home is a place where I don't belong. I sit here and even the home I grew up in, my
parents' home, I don't feel I belong. I feel as if there is no place for me in a world with so many
people I can't call my own, but as I'm beginning to fall asleep, perhaps to dream of a paradise
where I do belong, a utopia where I can find people who are like me, all I can think about is Lynne
and the time she said that your home is your home.

Chapter 28:
BLACK AND WHITE

I wake up and for a second I don't know where I am, but the painting of Jesus Christ on the wall
reminds me that I spent the night at my parents' home. It also reminds me of the dream I just had,
but I can only remember bits, pieces and parts. In one part of the dream, Joe's mom, Kathleen, and
I are at the hospital visiting a sleeping Joe. She offers me a piece of gum and I take it, but I don't
really like gum so I put it in my coat pocket.

The next thing I remember is that I'm leaning over Joe's body trying to read what's on the dog tags
that are around his neck. Either I can't remember what I read or they were just blank.

Now I'm awake and back at my apartment building and standing in front of my door, trying to look
in through the peephole from the outside, but of course that doesn't work; all I can see is black.
This is a one way street, one way view, and you can't just expect everyone to see things the way
you do. Sometimes you just have to look at something at a different perspective, through the eyes
of someone else, but if all you can see is black, then you may have to trust that person to guide you
through the darkness.

As I'm trying to look into my own apartment I hear someone coming up the stairs. I take out my
keys and pretend to go through them. It's Boris. I'm pretty sure he's Russian but that's about all I
know about him. He looks at me, nods, and I nod back, and he goes up the next flight of stairs.

Once he's gone I start to look through the peephole again but still all I can see is black. I don't know
why but I just keep trying to see at least something, just a little color, just something other than
black, and that's when I hear a familiar voice. "What are you doing?"

It's Lynne, holding a basket of laundry. She's so small I didn't hear her coming up the stairs. I tell