I was a young woman in an empty warehouse or counting house with another woman. A man, one of our employers, came in and asked me in a whisper to make sure of some numbers he believed to be off. He seemed sad. I thought, "He doesn't trust the other man." He looked at me oddly and I sensed that he did trust me and was counting on me to do this right for him.
After he left, I looked at the other woman as I had no idea what I was supposed to do and didn't want to be caught letting the young man down. She helped me to escape.
My way lay in front of houses fronted by water—lots of water. I couldn't run but had to pick my way carefully between the patches of water because I didn't know how deep they were. A river ran beyond the front yards, and water was everywhere.
A boy spotted me and invited me into his house. I needed to keep moving and didn't like that he'd seen me, but I needed the break.
I came to a train that had open-air cars. As it sped though sunny fields and even forests, I felt horrible and guilty because I had not been able to help the young man. I began to cry because I knew he loved me, and maybe I loved him, too.