The third lesson learned is that guilt is directly related to how much you respect someone. A corollary of the lesson is that we often do not know we respect someone until we hurt them in some way.

Or lose them.

When the first police cruiser arrives, it sees the throngs dancing and put on its lights.

“It’s the police,” someone says.

One cruiser with lights sighted and panic sets in. Even though the gate is wide open, and about twenty feet wide, kids just run in any direction that enters their head. Some run towards the mill. Many run into the darkness. A surprising number run to the fence within fifty feet of the gate, yet try to climb over the eight foot tall iron pikes. The cruiser backs up; it has no intention of trying to stop the fleeing youth. About fifty kids have not moved at all, and continue to stand around the fire and talk. Without so many bodies, the music echoes off of the mill. (The guy with the sousaphone kept tooting away.) A few others wander back to the fire from the darkness and stay until the fire department puts out the pyre.

As the pumper truck arrives, the police have figured out what has happened and ask me to come to the station in their car. Before, when the kids ran in panic, I had slipped into my storage area and hid the money I had made. Rejoining my peers, I look into the darkness and think I see a familiar face. Mr. Smith looks at me through the bars of the iron fence. He is in the darkness, and the light of the fire make it difficult for my eyes to adjust and focus.

Perhaps it is not him.

Didn’t Dan say he’s in England?

Disappointment. The look on his face…

No, not quite.