I could barely speak. I had borrowed the book from the library, yet someone else had stolen it from my desk; it was not at home, nor was it in any other desk. In vain, I questioned the boy who sat at my desk throughout English class, a renowned trouble-maker, who admitted that he had, without permission, opened my desk and "looked at the book." This was of no consequence to the principal, however, and since it was never recovered, he made me pay the entire cost of the book. I had suffered an injustice, blamed and punished for that which I had not done. I reflected grievously over the situation, and remembered the only time in my life that I had contemplated stealing. I was in an old drug store, gazing at the jewelry spread upon the counter top and spilling from bins of miscellaneous content, when I spotted a tiny cross which had fallen from it's chain. It belonged to nothing, and would one day be discarded among an array of damaged goods. No price tag fluttered on the tiny shape; and it was the only one of its kind. I picked it up and placed it in the palm of my hand; the small cross would not be missed. I stared long and hard at the bright gold trinket, feeling as if I was in a vacuum. I heard nothing but the chaotic ramblings within my mind, the rationalizing manipulation versus the over-powering guilt which lashed viciously at my temptation to steal. I felt suddenly as if my thoughts were naked and replaced the cross in the bin of jewelry. As I walked from the store, I saw the irony in my stormy, inner confrontation; I was going to steal a cross, the sign of goodness, purity, and love. My internal suffering was terrific, although I resisted the compulsion; the thought would never be purged from my memory, for with it, I learned a great lesson. I slipped back to reality. Great lessons did not shield an individual from shouldering blame that belonged to someone else. Goodness was not always rewarded in life, for despite a personal history of moral decisions and ethical choices, an individual must exist among people who, through their hurtful life styles, obliterate the rights of everyone they touch. I paid for the book, having nothing to show for my expenditure but a hoard of futile self-pity and the knowledge that I was innocent of any wrong-doing. School came to a close as the summer ripened into its classic heat at noonday. Desks were emptied and scrubbed. Homework ceased. Anticipation flooded the classrooms. The students bid their teachers good-bye, vowing to visit in the future. Some returned, but I never did. The present traversed the old hallways, while the past would never live again except within my mind. I had no place there among the youthful faces and shrill voices; the building belonged to the present...it belonged to them. The Mountains When I dream I think of them, Majestic peak and Aspen hem; And in climbing them, The flowing slopes, It brings to me A world filled with hopes.