At school, M stabs? Or shoots? Madison in the chest. It is like a modernist Shakespeare play – no weapon, no blood. But the intention, all the emotion, the charge of an essential relationship flipped over … to reveal a sudden moment’s impulse that cannot be reversed. It’s all very much school – nothing dreamy. Zach is there, too, in a similarly charged way. Their big boy bodies ricocheting: creating, of a mundane present, a complex future. I can’t recall the plot of the second part, but the dream – and my waking in bed – is infused with irritation and anger with people and systems that don’t see trauma: the interconnectedness of all of us who have attended this event is invisible to them. We are all together and this is just one piece of the dance. We are all hurt, all doing harm. The authorities? Doctors? In the dream want to separate us out from each other – they don’t understand. They think one is victim, the other perp. But this – after years of dancing – was the grand climax: the most intimate they’ve ever been.