RAINE They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. Confucius I RAN AWAY FROM HOME THE LAST DAY OF MY JUNIOR YEAR. Jude had taken a three-month teaching position in some teach-a-shrink program, and, tired of enduring Mom’s wrath, and with no desire to return to another summer’s incarceration at the minimum-wage Shack, it seemed a good time to bail. I told Basil and Mel that I’d be in touch, and hopped the light rail directly from school, ending at the twisty, tangled mess that was the downtown St. Paul train depot. It wasn’t as easy as I figured. Coal cars ruled the day, and I didn’t find the thought of riding high on a mound of soot particularly appealing. But eventually, Burlington Northern hauled out of the way, and a Canadian line snaked onto the tracks. Filled with empty boxcars, it was the perfect transport. I threw my pack inside. Heavy thing, it held six books, including the writings of Confucius, the Dalai Lama, the Holy Bible, a translation of the Quran, and some Indian New Age writs—I was passing through a spiritual phase—two candles, incense, and matches.
