Dr. E. passed a form to my father, instructing that both he and I read carefully, and sign if we were in agreement to its statements; our obligations, their obligations, etc., etc., etc. I was staring at my knees, fighting tears desperately. My head was bowed low to escape the face which would not leave my own, which granted no peace or meditation. Dad balanced the paper on his knees and signed his name with confident strokes; he passed it to me. "You can read it first," he said. My eyes were a haze which saw through the page. I did not need to read it, for I knew what I had to do; knowing, however, made it no easier. I signed without thinking, without reading one word. The observer was grinning widely now, a sadistic glimmer of pleasure seemed to sparkle in his eyes; I did not have to look at him directly; his luminous frame of mind pierced my unseeing stare. Tears shone on my face. I wondered bitterly if my performance had satisfied him. To conclude the business of the hour, a date was determined for my return to the clinic; the commencement of treatment was two short weeks from the present, and time would not slow its tempo for me. I would have to enjoy those days while I was able. Dr. E. stood, signifying that the meeting, and his time, had reached its duration; I bid him a respectful good-bye and he ushered his abominable side-kick out of the door. Dad and I gathered our belongings and departed in their wake, walking toward the lobby. Climbing in the elevator, descending to our floor, climbing out of the elevator, walking to the car... it all seemed mechanical. While our bodies glided toward our car, self-propelled, we decided to leave the town that afternoon. Somehow, the future demanded that the need to go home be satisfied. We went. The September sun crept low, tempting winter as it reclined toward the western horizon. After we had left the city behind us, and found the route which would lead its weary travelers home, Dad broke the silence of our brooding minds. "Would you have been satisfied with just the operation? Would that have been enough?" I shook my head slowly back and forth, sitting quietly and gazing as the pavement was consumed by the miles. "No..." I said, faintly echoing my mute reply. We drove on, into the fading light. Uncertainty rode with us; it was the impetus which quailed for insurance, taunting our future-bent minds with doom and dread. Uncertainty wielded mighty weapons and sharp words. "What if..." was too persuasive to warrant refusal. We arrived in Moline long after sunset; it was a beautiful sight, crossing the Mississippi, for the river reflected the street lights in a profusion of multi-faceted bands which sparkled like a king's hoard of precious jewels. It seemed a warm welcome, though few people were stirring, and those that stirred knew us not. That we knew the land was enough.