Kennedy High School - Maze Yearbook (Bellmore, NY)

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I had a dream once. I knew it was a dream because everything was perfect, yet nothing was right. I guess what happened was that, on that night, my superego happened to be overcome by my id. My id has a funny habit of creating whatever I'd love to see during my regular, sterile life. If it weren't for my id's semi- restricted night shift, I'd probably be running around taking orders in a greasy-spoon somewhere. My initial tipoff that it was a dream was that we all lived in the city. QThe city forms - often physically, but inevitably psy- chically - a circlel. I heard the typical city noises - blaring, ter- rible, disco-beat, giant radios, cooing, dirty pigeons, and screams for help from the pitiful junkies. Anyhow, when I got to school and walked through the door, I heard the radio system on. It wasn't that terrible music one usually hears. It was real music. I heard the strains of raw emotion. It was Jim Morrison and the Doors. Even the mood of the kids was perfect. It matched Morri- son's voice. Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name? Amazing enough the answer was, Yes. Next, I saw our principal. He wasn't a man with a salt and pepper beard. He was young, and he almost, but not quite, looked like the type of demi-hero people our age enjoy listening to. It was first period and no one was carrying red Cor is it green'?J cards. However, all was tranquil and peaceful. Every- one was relaxed and comfortable, all aggression was missing. When I entered my second period class I knew all was perfect. It was an elective class. I was taking philosophy. Finally, a class where grades were given out on the basis of intelligent, philosophic discussion, not on the basis of angles and curves iTake that one any way you wantl. Better yet, when the bell rang, amazingly enough, I didn't lose the better part of my hear- ing for twenty minutes. It was a soft, musical, almost angelic chime. No more would students have to endure crippling pain if their locker was unfortunately enough situated under one of these huge, metal, heavy-duty bells. It became a reward to have a so-called bell locker. I floated on through the day until lunchtime. Only there was no east and west for is it north and southl cafeterias. It was now known as student-teacher relaxation halls. There were real, pad- ded seats, without little pieces of ancient, psychedelic gum stuck on 99'Z5 of the chair. The food, in addition, was no longer left- overs fyou know, the food the Bangladesh government rejected several years ago.J One could actually identify what everything was without ubiquitous, aging cafeteria ladies screaming, Can't you tell? You big dummy, you! What a difference! When this day in school ended, I was almost sorry. When I woke up I thanked my id. It easily changes nature's course and places me anywhere. I could imagine unreachable projections, unattainable dreams, the plateau of my own mind, all the while, resting peacefully while waiting to face the next day of school. That's the hardest part, you know. 9

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