My house was empty when I woke up on Sunday morning. Rush’s peewee football team had a game, and my parents went to see it, like his coaching was some big accomplishment. I stayed home and hung out with the hippies.
“Free associate it, man,” said the guy who called himself CJ, which was short for Castaway Jesus, which I wasn’t going to question.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. Timothy Leary was curled up in my lap while I worked dry shampoo through her fur. Sundog lay next to us on an Indian blanket with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest.
“Free association is the pathway to embracing your own naturality,” CJ said.
I looked at Sundog. “Translation?”
“It’s a way to look inside yourself for answers,” Sundog said.
“But how can the answer be inside me? I mean, there was either something in the house with us or there wasn’t. If I knew the answer, it wouldn’t be driving me crazy.”
CJ held up a hand as if to stop my train of thought. “Your consciousness isn’t limited to your body. Yesterday, you saw and felt things your brain couldn’t register, because it’s just too much for an unexercised mind. But it’s all here.” He leaned over and lightly tapped my temple. “Get it?”
“So I can free associate and, uh, unlock the answers or something?”
“Let me show you.” CJ closed his eyes, straightened his back, and put his hands on his knees, almost like he was meditating. “Basement. Tablecloth. Vicodin. Argyle. Mother. Pain. Supernova.”
CJ fell silent. I glanced at Sundog and was relieved to see that he looked amused and wasn’t taking the whole thing super seriously.
After what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, CJ opened his eyes. “Whoa. That was intense.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Your turn now.”
I shrugged and closed my eyes. “Basement. Dark. Damp. Cold. Silent. Stagn—”
“No,” CJ interrupted. “That’s not how you do it. You just described a basement. That’s not the point, man.”
“Oh. Sorry. I guess I’m not, you know, enlightened yet.”
CJ sighed, clearly frustrated by my ignorance. “Whatever. I need to recharge.”
After CJ wandered away, Sundog sat up and stretched. “The question is, Hawthorn, did you want someone to be in the basement?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because it would’ve been interesting.”
“The world is always interesting.”
“Not really.”
“You need to open your eyes and experience the glory of being alive and part of this universe.”
Sundog wasn’t really making a ton of sense, but compared to CJ, he sounded like the most rational person who’d ever lived. And I didn’t really care what was or wasn’t in the basement. It had mostly been something to talk about.
I changed the subject. “What’s it like to not have a real home?” I asked Sundog.
He looked surprised. “I have a home. I don’t have a house, but these people are my home.”
“Well, what’s that like then?”
“It’s the same as your home is to you. Happiness, love, comfort.”
Sundog obviously wasn’t familiar with my and Rush’s relationship.
“Doesn’t all the traveling get old?” I asked.
“I didn’t always travel. I had a house once. That was before the war. I had a wife too and a well-paying job.”
I must have looked surprised, because Sundog laughed.
“Some people are born knowing their paths from the start,” he said. “The rest of us take a while to get there.”
“I wish you’d tell my dad that. All he wants to talk about is what I’m going to do with my life.”
“He means well. He wants you to be happy.”
“Well, maybe happiness isn’t randomly picking a life path from a course catalog.”
“What is happiness then?”
I thought for a moment. “Happiness is living in the moment and not thinking of the future at all. It’s learning new things and having adventures and solving mysteries.”
“Then you’re in luck,” Sundog said. “Life is the biggest mystery of all.”
Timothy Leary stood up and stretched. I imagined how simple life must be for her. If Lizzie was a werewolf, no wonder she wasn’t coming back. It must be nice to not have to think about school and work and what you’re doing with the rest of your life.
Though I guess even animals have fears and worries. Maybe there was no avoiding that.
“So what happened to you?” I asked Sundog. “To your wife and job?”
“My previous life was withering my chakra. I was in a cage, and the corporate world was draining me. You believe in werewolves, Hawthorn. There are vampires too.”
“So you ran away?”
“And never looked back.” He said it without any shame but without pride either. It was just a simple fact to him. The way it had to be.
“What about your wife? Did you ever talk to her again?”
“She thinks I’m dead. Which in a way is true. I was reborn and given a new name. She wouldn’t know me anymore.”
It was sort of terrible but also sort of brave and amazing. I would never have the guts to walk away from everything and everyone I knew. I thought of Lizzie, of course. Like Sundog, she shed her old skin and became someone new, started over from scratch. I wished I had their courage.