"What the hell am I doing here?" I suddenly thought, lifting myself out of bed. I stepped into the hall. "What if Atmananda sees me?" I thought nervously. 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. "It's okay, man," I thought, hugging myself. I was frightened. Suddenly the bell rang. I remained in my room. Atmananda answered the door. It was Sal. I heard Atmananda shout, "Salitos, take out the hot sauce!" "Yowwwww!" I heard them yell moments later. I opened the door to my room and saw them hopping around the kitchen. For a moment I felt nostalgic. Drinking hot sauce and hopping around with Atmananda had been one of my favorite experiences in the Centre. Returning to my room, I quietly closed the door and tried to ignore them. I imagined that I was living on Palomar Mountain by a clearing in the forest. I imagined the brilliant California sun as it pierced the thick morning fog below. I imagined the solitary red-tailed hawk as it soared through the clear, blue, mountain sky on a course of its... The door flew open and in strode Atmananda. He took giant steps. He was followed by Sal. "Heyyy, Sal!" Atmananda blasted. "Da baby, he'sa thinkin'-a leavin'!" "Baby," queried Sal, "you thinkin'-a leavin'?" "Gespacho," cried Atmananda, not waiting for my reply, "where have-a you been?" "With-a Guacamole!" shouted Sal. I was stunned. "How...how did they find out?" I thought. They danced about the room singing about Guacamole, a young maiden who blushed bright green. I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. I was doing a little of both when, a minute or so later, Atmananda asked Sal to wait outside. "You've got to admit, kid," Atmananda said to me. "We have a good time here." I glanced in the direction of my backpack.