But the door
to his room was shut. I stepped into the kitchen. Except for
an occasional squawk from a macaw, the house was dead quiet.
I picked up the phone. I remembered the name of the plumber
on Palomar Mountain. I called information. My heart raced.
The plumber remembered who I was.
"Do you need an apprentice?" I asked in a strained whisper.
"Well, come to think of it," he said, "I could use some help.
But weren't you going to finish college?"
"I think I need to take a break for awhile," I admitted.
"I understand. I'll tell you what. Why don't you come on out
and we'll talk it over."
I wrote down directions, thanked him, and returned to my room.
I wanted to say good-bye to my friends in the Centre, but I knew
that in the interest of "saving" me, they would tell Atmananda.
And I knew too well that he had a knack for persuading borderline
disciples not to leave. So, wishing the disciples well on
their journey, I kept my plan secret. I wished Atmananda well on
his journey, too. Each time I thought of him, though, I broke out
in a cold sweat.
My plan was to hitchhike that night to Palomar Mountain.
I stuffed some gear in my backpack, which I kept hidden in the closet.
I was ready. The sun was starting to set.
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