33

The burglars took his stuff, all of it. They were thorough. Jason sat cross-legged in the middle of his now bare apartment, stunned.

True it was only stuff and Jason had money in the bank and even a job. He could buy new stuff, but it wouldn’t feel like his stuff. In fact, Jason wasn’t even feeling like himself now that his stuff was gone.

It’s not like he was attached to material things. If he had apartment insurance (he didn’t) and the police asked for a list of what had been stolen, Jason would have been stumped. He didn’t really notice any one thing, just the total feel of having familiar stuff. Now his apartment felt alien, even hostile.

That night, he stayed at a hotel. As he stared at the ceiling (which looked different from his familiar ceiling at the apartment) he watched as a long string of thoughts sped by.

Why did they take everything? Why didn’t they take just the valuable stuff? I’m not sure there was any valuable stuff. But there was some stuff that could be sold, even if most of it was—as far as I could tell—not salable.

Maybe the burglars were my enemies. Except I don’t have any enemies, at least none that I know of.

And why do I feel so odd? The stuff is gone, but it shouldn’t be that disturbing. Yet it is.

Then Jason had the “aha” moment.

We’re intertwined, even loners like me. Things, people, places become a part of us and we’re a part of them. Even the spaces between the microscopic particles—which dwarf the particles themselves—are integral to our being and our identities.

So, that’s why when you move and have a new location, new people, new stuff around you, everything is strange and exciting or scary. Even vacations have that effect.

Jason felt reassured but also a little lost. Who was he? Who was anyone?

He returned home. He called stores to order furniture, clothes and stuff. He needed to fill up his apartment again and get on with his life. Reassured, Jason curled up on the floor and took a nap.

An unknown amount of time passed and Jason was awoken with a bang. The burglars had returned and brought back the stuff. They weren’t real burglars. They were from his old fraternity.