Corrupted saint, I thought to myself. Despite what it sounds like, that was an accurate description of what he was like. But Sonic himself wouldn't let me think any further.

"Here we are," Sonic said ecstatically, jumping out of his seat and running to the door of a ramshackle cabin probably built within the space of 5 days.

"Who's here?" I asked, although I could guess before he said.

"Rotor Walrus," Sonic answered and I finished simultaneously.

"—Walrus. Figures. But doesn't he have a home more…north?"

"Are you kidding? He got kicked out of the house a while ago." To my surprised look, Sonic said, "Parents said I was a bad influence on him and he was too far gone."

Well, I had known that Rotor's parents were of a very strict kind of religion, but I never expected them to kick him out. I doubted it was just Sonic's influences that caused them to kick him out, and before Sonic knocked on the door, dozens of worst-case scenarios ran through my mind.

Rotor was probably the most laid-back person from a family like that I'd ever seen. He would call me up in the middle of the night and ask what I was doing, not because he wanted to go on some grand adventure, like Sonic, but because he was bored, tired, and wanted to know.

Once, I had met his parents. This was around my junior year of college, and I still didn't know exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Something involving mechanics, but I didn't want to work in some robotics sweatshop my whole life. Rotor invited me over for spring break, so I sent my mother a letter telling her where I would be, got in his car, and slept the whole way. Apparently I'm a heavy sleeper, and I snore—little tidbits I learned about myself. It's hard to learn things about yourself in a stuffy car.

But anyway, Rotor's parents. I got out of Rotor's nigh-steaming car, closed the door behind me, and sneezed. I remember all this because the first thing Rotor's mother said was, "God bless your soul," which was the longest version of 'Gesundheit' I'd ever heard. Funny stuff.

I turned. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Miles." I had to bite my tongue so I didn't say 'Tails.' I'd gotten used to the name over college.

"Smaller than Rotor, how about that?" Rotor's father said, extending his hand for a shake. I took him up on his offer while Rotor said irritably, "Dad, mostly everyone in college is smaller than me."

"But not smarter," his dad said, and, thinking this was the joke of the century, laughed profusely. I managed a polite grimace-smile. "Your friend appreciates my jokes!" Rotor's father continued. Wonderful, I'd set his old man on a tangent.

Rotor's mother ushered me in, but Rotor lagged behind. It's always an awkward situation when you're at a friend's place, and their parents reprimand them in the other room. Rotor's parents were not as stealthy, and no sooner was I through the door than Rotor was being scolded for sassing his elders. Although I felt sympathy for my college friend, I really wanted them to hurry up in their scolding just so that I could find a place to put my bags down without offending Rotor's family.

Instead, Rotor's father continued reprimanding him in a low voice, although I caught wonderful gems of fatherhood such as, 'You've been straying more ever since you hit your teens.' Rotor's mother, meanwhile, came in just as my arms were ready to give up the fight.

She said, "You can put those wherever," referring to my bags. I set them at my feet, and asked where I was going to sleep, and mentioned that I'd prefer these near my bed.

"Of course!" Rotor's mother said. "How silly of me! God bless your soul again." I tried not to agree with her, doing my best to be polite. "You'll be in the guest room next to Rotor.

Rotor's family was much taller than I was, or my mother. Naturally, the doorways were bigger, but the rooms were incredibly big. At least, compared to my dorm room, or my house's rooms. My new room was no exception, although the bed took up a lot of space on its own. I found a cozy corner on the far side of the room, and squeezed my bag in. I say squeezed because I've always been a prepared packer. I don't follow people like Sonic who just put in the things they think they'll need. I suppose my mother had a lot to do with that. I think I'd have grown up more like Sonic without her.

My first day at Rotor's house continued to be punctuated with Rotor getting scolded. Embarrassing? Yes. Unfortunate? Considering the circumstances now, yeah.

Sonic and I stood in the present while Rotor answered his ramshackle door.

"Rote!" Sonic greeted him. "How's life?"

"I'm getting by," Rotor said. "I work where I can, I get the things I need, you know."

I was pretty shocked to see my college friend leading, well, not the life I expected him to. That sounds judgemental, but each time I'd seen him before now, he'd been shaven clean, wearing what probably counted as the most finely pressed clothes I'd ever seen. Now, he wore thick, sometimes fur-covered clothing, had grown a beard, and wore glasses, rendering him almost a completely different person were it not for the voice.

When Rotor said 'Getting by', I took him at his word—not only did he look like he was leading the 'I get by' kind of life, he sounded beat. And I don't mean the beat movement, I mean tired. Dead tired. Life was obviously getting to him, but he said, "Come in," anyway.

"Oh, no!" Sonic laughed. "We're not coming in, you're coming with us!"

Suddenly Rotor's interest piqued. He lit up. "Really? Are you headed out West again?"

Rotor seemed genuinely interested, which was when I realized that I'd never told him what had happened between me and Sonic two years ago. Inwardly, I cursed. Rotor's parents would have killed me.