September 1984IT KICKS IN. THE dream, the terror. I see a mouth. I see the mouth the same way I see the tunnel; the same way I feel the chopper going down; the same way I see, feel, hear, smell Manny, me, my arms, his face, his chest. I see teeth, a slight overlap of the incisors. I see the gums, pink, gray; the lips, gray; the tongue. I see saliva, spittle, white foam at the corners of the mouth and silvery reflections off the wet chin. I do not see the person. I do not see me. But I sense the person, the hopelessness, the lostness, the shame at being worthless, at being a burden. I sense the befuddlement, the WHY? the HOW? the exasperation yet the lack of motivation, incentive, foresight. I am the mouth. I am a vegetable.
I do not know where to go from here. Ty, Bobby and I are nearing
