Swansong (28 page)

“A universe came out of my head,” I say.

Kory takes his glasses off.  He rubs them on his shirt.  It freaks me out when he does that.  His eyes are too small, his lashes too long.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Kory asks, replacing his specs.  “I deplore philosophy.”

“Not philosophy.  I had a headache and a universe burst out of my head.”  I think back to the first time I heard Annwn play the violin.  I saw the universe.  I saw double.  My head was searing with pain.  “It might have happened before.”

“That’s…well,” Kory says, at some kind of loss.  “That is certainly one strange hallucination.”

“I think it was real.”  But just because it’s a hallucination doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

“Wendy,” Kory says.  “Come on.”

“Why can’t it be?” I press.  “You told me one trillion protons colliding makes for an entire universe.  You told me we have more protons inside our bodies than—”

My head hurts.

“Your head looks very
intact right now, if you ask me,” says a cautious Kory.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know anymore…”

“Wendy. 
Everything
has a logical explanation.”

“You told me science doesn’t know everything.”

“It doesn’t.  But it can.  It just needs more time.”

Time.  We don’t
have
time.  The world around us is falling apart.

“You believed me,” I go on, my mouth dry.  “When I told you about Mars and Jupiter.”

“Of course I believed you.  You’re not smart enough to know about orbital velocity on your own.  I mean that kindly,” he says quickly.

“I know you do.”

“Do you really think your headaches are creating universes?  Or something to that effect?”

I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I want to get away…

Kory hesitates, very tentative.  “Assuming you could somehow produce a bioelectric output large enough, I suppose it’s not outside the realm of possibility…”

“Do you know how to fix me?”  Kory knows everything.

“Neuroscience is not my forte,” Kory tells me.  How can anything be his forte?  He’s sixteen.  “But I’m going to tell you something relevant.”

He’s a lanky mad scientist on a rumbling washing machine.  His arms and legs are long and thin.  He’s the tallest friend I have, I think.  Considering I only have two friends, I’m not sure that’s such a feat.

“Do you know what a Schwarzschild radius is?” Kory asks me.

I shake my head.  I stop.  Hurts too much.

“Let’s just say it’s a number,” Kory says.  “Every object in existence has a unique numerical value.  Think of it like the barcode on the back of the cereal box you’re considering buying.”

“I have a…numerical value?  And you?”

“Everyone does.”

I’m a number.  That’s crazy.

I’m crazy.

“That numerical value is always lower than your actual mass,” Kory tells me.  “But then listen.  Something strange happens.  Sometimes a Schwarzschild radius grows much bigger than its mass.  The mass, then, can no longer sustain it.  So the mass collapses.”

“What happens after that?  Do you die?”

“You become a black hole.”

I stare at him, the ugly fluorescent ceiling lights glinting off his owlish eyeglasses.

“I thought only stars became black holes,” I finally say.  But then some don’t.  I wonder why that is.

“No,” Kory says.  “Anything can become a black hole.  Even you and me.  Even this washing machine I’m sitting on top of.  All it takes is a compression of mass.  A cosmological fluke.”

I try and imagine the washer turning into a black hole while Kory’s still sitting on top of it.  It’s a weird visual, to say the least.

“Have you figured out why I’m telling you all this?” Kory asks.

“N-No.”

“Because our entire universe sits inside a black hole.”

The crown of my head lights with pain.  The pain spreads to the base of my skull, to the backs of my ears.

“If you think that sounds implausible, consider what a black hole really is.  It’s a location in spacetime you can’t escape from unless you’re traveling faster than the speed of light.  Special relativity tells us it’s impossible to travel faster than the speed of light.  So it’s impossible to escape a black hole.  Once you’re in it, you don’t leave.  That ‘point of no return’ is called an event horizon.”

“But…”

“This universe is finite, but unbounded.  I’ve said that before.  If you travel far enough across the universe, you’ll arrive back where you started.  You can’t just get up and leave it, no matter how fast you’re traveling.  What is that if not the textbook definition of an event horizon?  One often hears space described as a vacuum.  Well, what do you think a black hole is?  A vacuum, of course!  Another thing.  The torsion inside of a black hole pushes objects apart from one another, kind of like a magnet in reverse.  Why do you think the universe is still expanding billions of years after its birth?  The black hole theory is the only explanation for the Accelerating Universe model that successfully bridges the gap between quantum mechanics and general relativity.  Something scientists have been trying to do for centuries.”

Accelerating Universe.  This universe is dying.

Is it a coincidence?  I think I’m dying with it.

“If we’re all capable of becoming black holes,” Kory says, owlish eyes on the ceiling, “and we know our universe sits inside of one—and you tell me there are universes coming out of your head…  It’s not illogical.  I have to approach it as a physicist.  I’m not sure I’m sold on this, but I’m sure I can’t dismiss your claims.  Anyway, I don’t think I’d be a very good friend if I told you you were muy loco.”

I crack a smile.  “
Te lo agradezco
.”

“Stop speaking gibberish, Wendy, this is America.”

I laugh.  It’s real.  It takes me by surprise.  Kory flashes me an unassuming smile.  He really is a good friend.  He’s not conventional, I’ll give you that.  But he doesn’t have to be.

The washing machine rattles and hums beneath him.  Thank God it’s not a black hole.

“Can I buy you a Christmas present, Kory?  Is that okay?”  I don’t know if that’s proper.  I don’t want to offend him.

“Are you
kidding
?” Kory clamors.  “I never turn down free stuff!  Especially food,” he hints.

“How do you stay so skinny?” I wonder.  “You eat like a horse.”

“Haven’t you noticed?  It all goes straight to my giant, inflated head.”

“Kory.  That was actually funny.”

“I have my moments.”

* * * * *

“A
cat
, Wendy?  You know pets aren’t allowed in our building.”

“It’s not like the landlord ever checks in on us…”

Kory follows me through The Spit, looking dopey in his zipper earrings and his camouflage jacket.  Occasionally he rambles.  I don’t mind.  I check the city map on my cell phone.  Somewhere south of the hospital there’s supposed to be an animal shelter.  Judas likes cats.

We pass the bulky plastic corporate buildings, the domed and shining library.  The library makes me think of Azel.

“I’m taking Layla to the movies later,” Kory informs me.  “Should we see the bloody movie or the foreign movie?”

“Bloody.  I thought she broke up with you?”

“Hot and cold with that girl, honestly.”

“Just be nice to her.”

“I’m always nice!”

“You’re a recovering sociopath.”

“Sociopaths are very nice people.  Just because we’re faking it doesn’t make the sentiment any less valid.”

We pass the gauzy,
top-heavy hospital and I swallow, nauseous.  I hate that place.  I wish there were a faster way around it.

Kory touches my shoulder, surprising me.

“You know,” Kory says.  We wait on the street corner for the light to change.  Cars drive past indiscriminately, as though in a funeral procession.  “I’ve been thinking…”

I’m not surprised.  He’s always thinking.

“Supposing we could
actually
pull entire universes out of your head.”  Kory still sounds skeptical.  It’s not like I can blame him, because this is really, really insane.  “I’ve been thinking…”  You said that already, Kory.  “What about this universe?  The one we’re already living in?”

I falter.  “What about it?”

“The reason our universe is dying is because it’s running out of mass.  Mass is nothing but energy in solid form—that’s what Einstein was getting at when he derived E = MC
2
.”

“Yeah…”

The light changes.  We cross the street.

“Supposing your headaches produced enough mass for an entire universe—why not ours?”

I thought he would eventually get to this.  I haven’t forgotten his model of the universe.  All the care and attention he put into that macrocosmic snowflake.

He can say what he likes about our meaningless existence, about the inevitability of our demise, but he loves this universe.

It’s December, and it’s warm.  I could take off my jacket if I wanted to.  I could walk around in short sleeves.

“Wendy?”

We step into the animal shelter.  The walls are cheery, pink, laden in anatomical posters.  The noxious scent of chemicals and wet fur hangs on the air.  The lady behind the counter is busy with the couple in front of us.  We sit down on a rubbery red bench.

This universe is beautiful.  This universe is hideous.  Mom and Dad and Jocelyn aren’t in it.  Judas is broken.

Azel.  Kory.  Seven billion people I’ll never even meet…

“I’m not sure it’s something I can control.”  My response, when it comes, is delayed.

“That’s true.”  Kory frowns.  “It’s not as though you can sit down and say, ‘Alright, I want to have a headache now.’  And I hardly think hallucinations are voluntary.  But…”

Hallucinations.  He’s right.  Why am I even entertaining these ideas?  I’m insane.  This isn’t real.  None of what I’ve experienced is real.

But the Swan Nebula.  I can’t have faked that.  I can’t have.

“The thing is,” Kory murmurs.  The couple at the counter don’t look like they’re leaving anytime soon.  “Assuming there are other universes.  Simultaneous universes, universes supplanting our own—whatever.  Of course I’m dying to know what they look like.  But it’s impossible for us to leave the universe we’re already in.  I told you, this universe sits on the cusp of an event horizon…”

Why is it impossible to leave?  When this universe dies, we’ll still be here.  Consciousness is energy and energy doesn’t die.  Consciousness needs something to be conscious of.  So of course there will be something to be conscious of when this reality ends.

But that implies that we have to wait for the present reality to die before we can see the next one.

But I’m not sure whether that’s true at all.

I don’t really know anything.  I’m only sixteen.

“If I had to choose,” Kory goes on, “I’d choose this universe.  A thousand times over.”

I smile so quickly, it hurts.  “Would you still feel that way if you’d lost everyone you loved?  If they weren’t waiting for you when you went home at the end of the day?”

“Are you saying you’ve lost
everyone
you ever loved?  What about your brother?”

I love my brother.  Of course I do.

But if I can take him with me…

“This universe birthed me,” Kory says.  “It clothed me from infancy.  It reared me when I was sick and nursed me when I fell down.  I grew up and it gave me a mystery to fall in love with.  I love this universe.  I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for this universe.  I would do anything it asked of me.  If I could give it the lifeblood it needs, I would rip open my veins in a heartbeat.  Maybe that’s selfish, but so what?  I don’t pretend to care about anyone but myself.”

“You’re a liar, Kory.”  From the very start, he’s looked out for me.  In some bizarre way, I think he might be the kindest person I know.

“Hrm, well,” Kory says.  “Always wondered whether I should be a thespian.  But then I would deprive the world of my more patent artistic talents…”

“Is that what your mom tells you?”

“She tells me I’m Galileo and Bernini wrapped in one.  She’s wrong, of course, I’m better than them both…”

“And modest to boot.”

“That noisy couple just left.  Let’s go get your cat.”

We walk up to the service counter.  Immediately the receptionist throws a curveball at me.

“Sorry,” says the nice lady.  “We can’t hand out pet licenses to minors.”

Kory flares up at once.  “Age discrimination!  I demand to speak to your manager!”

The lady winces.

“Sorry, ma’am,” I stammer.  “Um.  How much would a cat be, anyway?”

“Oh, now, let’s see,” the lady says.  “The license is $100.  Oh, and then you’ll want to neuter him, that’s another $100.  And then there’s kitty food, and you’ll probably want to get all his vaccines in order—”