“Don’t hurt your happiness,” Daniel echoes. “Here, it’s on our key chains. Have one.”
He hands me a bright yellow key chain with DON’T HURT YOUR HAPPINESS in flowing, white script.
“Thanks,” I say. I’m feeling better.
An alarm sounds. On the walls, domed lights flare red. Gonzo drops to the ground and covers his head with his hands. “I told you, Cameron! Didn’t I tell you?”
Suddenly, the room is flooded by guys in commando gear. “Move, move, move!” they shout. They pass us by and surround a yellow sofa, where a young guy sits in his pajamas.
“Team leader! We’ve got a situation!” one of the commandos shouts.
“Excuse me, Cameron,” Daniel says. He goes over to the kid on the couch. “Thomas, what’s wrong, friend?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I just started feeling …” He searches for the word. “Sad.”
Daniel gives Thomas’s shoulders a squeeze and the kid winces. “We don’t feel sad, here, Thomas. Why do you want to hurt your happiness?”
“I totally don’t! I don’t know what happened. It’s like I just couldn’t help it. I was thinking about the time my dog, Snuffy, got hit by a car when I was six and how I still miss him, and it … the sad just snuck up on me.”
“Smoothie,” Daniel says to a commando, who opens the right side of his coat, displaying a dazzling array of cups.
“What flavor?” Daniel asks.
“Uh … mango?” Thomas answers. The commando hands off the cup and Daniel puts the straw to Thomas’s lips.
“Here drink this.”
Thomas takes a few sips like he’s not really thirsty; he’s just being polite. “It tastes like vanilla.”
Daniel’s really concentrating. “Just tell us what you want, friend. Tell us.”
Thomas buries his head in his hands. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
“Here. We’ll help you.” The commando opens the left side of his coat. It’s like a magazine rack of catalogs. Daniel calls them off. “CESSNAB Jeans? CESSNAB Music? CESSNAB Golf? CESSNAB Games?”
“Games?” Gonzo comes out of his safety crouch.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know!” The poor guy’s in a panic. Like he’s lost his happiness and can’t remember where he put it.
Daniel puts a hand on his shoulder. “Thomas. You know what you need? You need to go bowling.”
This is greeted by a chorus of “Amen’s.”
“I don’t think …” Thomas starts, but he’s cut off by the choir.
You’re special.
I’m special.
They’re special.
The whole world’s special, so don’t you forget it.
The Universe wants us
All to be happy,
Full of smiles and all that stuff,
All that stuff
That’s happy and smiley.
So get happy, happy, happy right now!
Get happy, happy, happy right now!
Get happy, happy, happy right now!
“Come with us,” Ruth says, taking Gonzo and me by the hand as Daniel and Thomas lead the way to a set of wide double doors with the winged bowling ball insignia in the middle. Everyone gets quiet.
“What is this place?” I whisper to Ruth.
“This is our church. The Church of Everlasting Satisfaction. And Snack ’N’ Bowl.”
“Amen,” everyone intones, and the doors are opened wide.
“Get the f**k out,” Gonzo says under his breath.
This has to be the biggest friggin’ bowling alley I have ever seen in my life. Just row after gleaming row of well-maintained lanes bordered by litter-free gutters. There’s not a scuff on the floor. An enormous TV screen encased in theater-worthy lightbulbs is suspended from the ceiling.
“Every single one of us knows what it’s like out there,” Daniel says. “The stress. The worrying—am I good enough, strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough? How come Johnny got an A-plus on his paper but I only got a C? Is he better than me?”
“Why does only the winning athlete get a first-place medal?” another kid says, putting “winning” in air quotes.
“Why do bad things happen? There must be a reason for it—something you can avoid doing so you’ll never, ever be sad,” a girl in saddle shoes says.
A kid with a bowling ball tattoo on his arm speaks up. “Why shouldn’t we all just be happy all the time?”