Still quite early in the afternoon, we concluded that it would be nice to find a park which was in the area, and had no difficulty in its pursuit, for the road signs were plentiful and doubtlessly placed out of respect for the patient-tourist. It was a gorgeous day. The leaves were emerald green and at their foremost beauty; strong and pliant from spring's ample rain, and not yet touched by the autumnal sun...the drying kiln, the blistering gaze which ages all. The leaves swayed in the wind, playing with the rays of sunlight which danced in countless patterns on the ground. Despite the beauty surrounding our every step, none of us could forget the reason we came to the park; we came, of course, to forget. The business of forgetting, however, meets with few actual successes; the more one attempts to forget, the less likely he is to accomplish his goal; but in trying the object of one's trial forever torments the mind. It is better to let the job of "forgetting" take care of itself. That evening, following our meal, we decided a movie would create an exciting climax to the day, especially since our hotel room boasted no TV. The movie-house featured "Jaws" and I eagerly bounced down the aisle and selected a seat fairly close to the screen. My parents found two more agreeable seats toward the rear. As the theater began to fill, I glanced about nervously, hoping wildly that no one with a spherical or bee-hive-shaped hair style would seat themselves directly before me. With good fortune on my side, I breathed a sigh of relief as the lights were dimmed and the curtain slid aside. I had landed an excellent seat; the story drew me in, as my senses were unimpaired, and I slowly left Rochester, and hospitals behind to immerse myself in the image captured through my eyes. The movie was horrifying; the people in the audience screamed and jumped in unison. As the actors pursued the vicious shark, and more unsuspecting individuals fell prey to the maniacal monster, one began to feel helplessly self-protective, as if caught unaware, one might be torn limb from limb. Then, in a brutally raging climax, the shark was overthrown, and a tumultuous sigh escaped from the lips of on-lookers; everyone was safe at last. When I rose from my seat to file out of the building, reality slapped my face. I was not in Moline, I was in Rochester. Tomorrow night I would admit myself into the hospital, and Monday would be inescapable; by Tuesday I would sleep beneath the surgeon's blade and awake to the answers of unfulfilled questions. Yet I was pleased that, for two long hours, I had, without prompting, laid my worries aside; forgetting was a business best left unto itself.