I decided to return to the United States from England. I had been living in Oxford at 99 Divinity Road, which was primarily a student housing building. This was a wooden building, and there were a number of young men and women students from the US that were living there while on student programs abroad. Mrs. Forkum ran the place, and rented the little flat to me. The rent was due every fortnight. She was Polish I think, and I could not help but notice that she washed the sidewalks leading out to the front street every morning with a long handled brush and a bucket of water. She washed the windows all the time as well.However, I am now writing about my journey from Oxford to London's Heathrow airport, and the passage over the North Pole on a 747 in first class.I do not remember at this moment what precipitated me to leave England, but I do not think it was some big dramatic calamity within the confines of my recent past chapters. I hitchhiked from Oxford to some spot near London. I had journeyed back and forth from Oxford to London by rail car a number of times and it took about an hour I think. I remember that one of the vehicles that picked me up on the way was a Land Rover with a man and woman inside. I do not recall the conversation, but I have the memory impression that they were pleasant Englishsters.
Somehow, I made it to Heathrow Airport, maybe I took a bus or train there. Once at the airport I went to the Pan Am terminal, and sat down in a waiting area there. I looked up at the schedule board and saw the big listings for flight departures and arrivals with so many international destinations. This was a pivotal moment for me, and I did now know which of the many paths to follow from that point in the airport terminal. I had a return ticket in my Hartman fancy suitcase, but I must point out that I did not have a confirmed reservation for that day. I did not know where I was going to go. I will back up a bit here, and ask myself how I hitchhiked with that full size Hartman suitcase? I had purchased that big Hartman fancy suitcase with my father's credit card, which I had stolen off of his bedroom dresser. I did not know if I would be arrested when I presented my passport, or tried to use the return Pan Am ticket. The recent chapters of my journey provoked me to engage in criminal activities, mostly identity and credit card fraud and this was way outside of the expectations for my character by all. I only used my father's credit card no one elses, my father and I had the same name so I was able to pull it off. I had intentionally wreaked havoc to express the repressed anger, resentment and frustration against my parents. I had been Kafka'd by them for so long the pent up pain found it's way out into the daylight of this reality. The havoc was not a good thing, it was a nightmare scenario that I would never want to wake up to ever, but there I was in a nightmare of my own creation.