Chapter 1

The way it began had very little to do with anything else that would happen. It was a starting point that happened to be fortuitous. Just like any other adventure, then. Gerald Leopold, who had been known at various times as Gerry or Leo, but never Gerald or Leopold and certainly never as Gerald Leopold, was living on his own for the first time, having acquired a piece of paper saying he was qualified to do so, and he managed this with his sister and her cat, a white wonder barely a year old known as Boo, who managed to explore things that Gerald was not previously aware existed inside their apartment. She, meaning the kitten, and it was entirely possible all if not most cats were like this, had a habit of exploring, as if she was searching out favorable spots, to sleep in or play with amusing things around there, to subsidize the places and things Leopold and his sister had previously designated for those activities. Boo was clever enough to have mastered opening the folding closet doors this apartment specialized in, and she quite enjoyed resting atop the pile of luggage Leopold had used to transport all his necessary things to his new room. She also enjoyed rummaging through the kitchen sink, with its piled up dishes, and very little could dissuade her from engaging in this unpleasant repast.

Leopold, meanwhile, was feeling his way into his new world, and one day he did this while staring below him, in a building with stairs that allowed you to look several stories below you, so that you might either experience vertigo or enjoy a different view of things you had already seen. He had the curious sensation that he should enjoy falling over and seeing how he would land, as had always been a sort of morbid fascination for him, and as chance would have it, this time he succeeded. He discovered that it was not so comfortable a prospect as he had imagined, not that he had ever thought there would be no risks.

As he recuperated in the hospital, family buzzing around him like the birds people are supposed to see in cartoons after a knock to the head, Leopold marveled that he actually could see those birds, and when he remarked about this he was quickly told this was perfectly natural, to imagine seeing something that wasn’t really there. He had had a traumatic experience, after all, and he was going to have to get used to his new life, where this experience was now a part of his accumulated memories, like going off to college or learning how to suck at the juices of an orange so you would enjoy more than just the unpleasant pulp oranges really are.

Maybe it was a week or so, and Leopold was discharged from the hospital so that he could recuperate some more in a familiar venue, and his parents insisted on a thought he had already been entertaining, which was to recuperate at home, not the apartment he shared with his sister and Boo, but the house where his parents and the dog named Freckles still resided. With more familiar surrounding, his mind might be put at ease, and he would no longer be bothered by floating birds or insects that buzzed, and whose buzzing seemed to be conversations now. He spent most of the time resting, as if he couldn’t handle anymore new experiences for a while, on his futon, which had replaced the bed he had always known after the chaos in moving him from the house to the apartment had resulted in almost as many changes for his old room as his impending new one. It was a fine place to rest, but it left Leopold would something to think about as he rested, and he had been under the impression that he should not have been thinking.

Sometimes Freckles, a more than ten year old cocker spaniel, would come to join him, not on the futon, because it was not pulled out and because Freckles would not have been allowed up even if it were, or still had the spring in his legs to do so, but on the floor right below him. It was a customary position for both, and Leopold spent some time reflecting on the old idea his father had always insisted upon as to how dogs were empathetic towards pain, this when the children had always considered Freckles to be merely pathetic. But that was an old joke Leopold did not much care for just then. He enjoyed the company, and didn’t care what it signified. He continued to rest, and let his mind wander.

This, coupled with the weird effect the fall seemed to have incurred in his mind, or at least his perceptions, might have explained what happened next. Leopold often stared into the eyes of Freckles, and having moved on to Boo, did the same with the cat, too. With little excuse to do otherwise, he was doing this now, and Freckles, as he was always wont to do, stared back. Sometimes you could tell exactly what he was thinking, such as if you had any hint of food on you, or if you might possibly going in the direction of food, or if he needed to go for a walk. But then sometimes, there wasn’t any of that intent in his eyes, and he still stared at you. Leopold wondered about these moments the most, and he was wondering about that as he returned that stare now. What was Freckles thinking? For that matter, what was he thinking when he was looking at anything, when he jerked his head to look at something off in the distance, down the road, at another corner of the room? What was so interesting? Having always been beholden to a wandering mind, Leopold thought he could imagine, but he never knew, and not knowing was what got things going.

You’re fine. Get up. You’re fine. Get up.
Leopold looked around his room. Wrong way, he thought. He must have thought that, right? But he had no reason to. Right? Even if he did, who was he addressing it to, himself, as if he had those unconscious desires psychologists write theoretical papers on, or projecting it on Freckles, with the wounded eyes? He stared at the staring eyes a little more. Is there something there, he wondered, he probed, something no one else sees? He reached out with a hand and touched the top of the dog’s head, and mussed with the fur he had always pretended to be hair, and parted it. Freckles was now the Scholar again, and maybe that explained it. Project a personality, and eventually you believe it. Leopold had always done so with Freckles, and he had most of his siblings playing along, too. There was supposed to be a gerbil inside him, running on a wheel to give him energy, and since it was such a hassle to propel this form for ordinary things like walks and rummaging and chasing tennis balls considered to be slobbery best friends and employing the aerobic method of eating, the gerbil grew fatigued easily and hat explained why Freckles slept, or tried to, most of the day, accounting for the gerbil routing out comfortable positions and usual disturbances.

All that was Freckles, or what he was supposed to be. He wasn’t inclined to projecting thoughts. What use would that be, unless it was saying ‘feed me’ in assertive tones? No, Leopold must have insisted upon ‘you’re fine’ and ‘get up’ himself. It was that unconscious desire kicking in. He was tired of resting, of sitting around doing nothing, or at least being forced to do so for reasons other than personal lack of motivation. He wanted to get up, he wanted to believe he was fine. That had to be it. He shot an amused look at Freckles and retorted, “You bugger. You stink. You dork. Pretty funny, isn‘t it? You‘re like, ‘Ha! Good one! A right good laugh. Now walk me, or find something good to eat, or something edible in general.’ Yeah, a pretty good one. Maybe I will get up.”

Freckles responded by sitting up, and placing his front paws on the futon, and it looked for a moment as if he was actually responding, interacting with Leopold’s charade. “Let’s march down, shall we? Or run down the stairs. You still do that, right? It’s on the way up you’re slowed. Let’s go!” And so ran them both out of the room and down the stairs. No one else was around, and Leopold stopped when he reached the bottom, and didn’t know what else to do. Freckles, having managed to halt after the considerable momentum carried him down and nearly tripped Leopold up as always, stood waiting beside him. Not far away were his treat buckets, but he usually grew attentive to them only when someone actually approached the tins and clattered a lid.

Leopold was at a loss. Now that he was up, and no one else was around, and he had gotten Freckles excited, he needed something to follow it up with. He spied the dulled tennis ball not far away, and stooped to pick it up. Freckles eyed him expectantly. “Do you want to go careening after it?” he inquired, knowing there was only one, physical, reply possible. Freckles looked eager, so shooting out Leopold’s hand went the ball, and sailing after it was Freckles, and after catching up with it, back around came Freckles.

“Just like a boomerang,” Leopold said. As was usual, Freckles didn’t bring the ball back to Leopold specifically, but back in his general direction, before plopping down to suck on it, and whine. It was a whine of contentment. This was one of several ways Freckles became interested in playing with his friend. Another good one was to hide it and pique his interest that way, so he would have to employ what everyone joked as being his defective sniffer. The ball was his prey and his pal.

Cute though it was to Leopold, and to Leopold alone, the whining contentment was not his idea of long-term enjoyment, so he began to entertain other possibilities, and going out for a walk, which had had not done for some time, seemed the best option. He snatched up the ball, and so enticed Freckles to join him. They were just outside, and Leopold had just thrown the ball, when he realized his mistake.