The Entropy Sessions

by Novo Dé

  “Why? So we can keep putting off the inevitable. Let’s just get this over with. Are you wanting a divorce or something? Just tell me.”

  “I don’t think so—”

  “Then what the fuck is up with you?”

  “I told you,” she says hard and straight.

  “I don’t think ya did, not the whole truth.”

  “I, I just…”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to love you again ok. Because routine isn’t enough anymore.”

  I know she hasn’t loved me for a long time, but actually hearing the words is something else, conjuring an emotion in me I didn’t think I’d ever experience – a bleak, abysmal dread.

  “I never thought I’d hear you…” I say at a whisper, through the feeling of being knocked over, the wind taken out of me.

  “I never thought I’d have to say it.”

  I see rock bottom in my mind now.

  “Just, just tell me what to do?”

  “I don’t know what to do Tybalt.”

  “I think I know where I can at least start – I can start by telling you…I still love you. I love you Juliet. And I’ll do anything, anything to, to—”

  “Then maybe you’re the one that knows what to do, because I, I, definitely…” She trails off.

  “What?! You what?”

  No reply. She simply looks down and away with another shake of her head.

  “Jesus Christ! I need help too. Help me help you.”

  “Now that’s one thing, Tybalt, I am tired of; I’m so fucking tired of helping you.”

  “What is that even supposed to mean? I never even see your ass anymore. Barely even hear from you sometimes…”

  She counters with silence. Again. For just a moment. Staring.

  “Fuck you,” she finally says before slamming the door in my face.

  “No, fuck you!” I scream through the door.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  I’m fuming, with a rage boiling inside.

  So I head to the couch to cool off. My usual answer to this kind of a moment. I then close my eyes and begin to breathe deep. And eventually, I come down.

  I then open my eyes and stare at the walls.

  I carry out the rest of the evening and night as usual, completing all of our nightly rituals, but simply alone again. This time, however, there’s no surprise entrance by Juliet. No surprise food preparation. No silent dinner together. Nothing.

  The rest of the night, simply silence. And our bedroom is no different.

  But moments after I turn off the lights, and try to drift to sleep, I hear the front door gently open and close. Then the gentle creaking of the hardwoods, moving ever so closer, ending in the bathroom. Water from the faucet comes next, and then a pattering of sounds as someone tries to disrobe and change. The bathroom door then opens and there stands a silhouette of a woman.

  Juliet.

  She makes her way to the bed and crawls in. She shifts her body to and fro to find a comfortable position, and then retires without a sound.

  No break in the silence.

  I think, ‘maybe I should apologize.’

  I backtrack on those thoughts again, however, thinking, ‘it’ll probably go nowhere.’ ‘Prolly just run her off again.’ So I say the only thing I can say.

  “Well, goodnight.”

  But no surprise comes my way thereafter.

  No kiss. No love-making. Nothing.

  I just turn to my side and try to fall asleep. The night, over.

  January 5th, 2052

  “…nly option is escape.”

  “You think?”

  “Oh I know. But what we need to do first, is, finally stop listening to all the overseers, the people in line to benefit, and finally start, well really listening…to…well you guys,” I say pointing to Cohen.

  Cohen replies with a smile at first.

  “You’re preaching to the choir there Tybalt.”

  “Yeah, but we shoulda really been listening a long time ago. Fuck, we shoulda been listening from the get-go. And I think, finally now, most people see that.”

  “We did give, as you’ve said, every warning we could. But us scientists aren’t the ones controlling legislation.”

  “I know, but god, to go back in time, before all this shit, this fuckin’ mess we’ve found ourselves in. There’d be no need to leave, our only home.”

  “But we still have time. There are new developing technologies, systems. You’ve even said it yourself, our treatment technology—”

  “Sure we all have drinkable water now. But what about all the other shit from climate change doc? We can’t keep goin’ on like this forever; it’s just one shitstorm after another. I mean, I hear about something new every day now. And when is enough enough? When are we all, finally gonna get sick of hearing about another city getting wiped out by a Tsunami, or an acid rain cloud, or some other place with toxic air, or some other fuckin’ nightmare? I mean, c’mon.”

  “Or ‘The Great Water War?’”

  “Or ‘The Great Water War.’ Ya’d think it’d all change after the war. The worst part: we all know those treatment systems aren’t gonna last forever, especially when we don’t have any water…to…treat. We’re still seeing less and less every year. And we both know we can’t make it through another World War. We just can’t. I don’t think we could come back from, from a fourth one doc. It’d be the end. So, the only real option is to get off this fuckin’ rock.”

  I feel a sense of panic in my heart.

  “Actually, the expectancy for the need for total evacuation has been lessened every year since the theory’s inception. The greatest minds of our generation are singing the same song. First, it was a thousand years. Then it got down to a hundred. Now they’re telling us we need to be out in twenty-five. Give it another year, and we’ll be down to five.”

  “So what’s the fuckin’ hold up? Why do we keep doin’ this to ourselves? We got all the answers, but we don’t do anything about it. What is this? Self-sabotage.”

  “I’ve been asking myself that same question,” Cohen replies. “But, to give them a little defense, the logistics are incredibly complicated. And given the failed missions to Mars, there’s not a lot of people that are wanting to financially back any more attempts. But then again, we still got the rapid climate change. So yeah – another catch-22.”

  “You’re goddamn right it is. But there’s gotta be an answer somewhere?”

  “I don’t know what that would be. I don’t know what that would even look like. We’d have to change a lot of minds first. I mean, we still have a lot of climate change deniers out there that— ”

  “You got my answer doc – its escape. We still gotta get off this, inevitable, world, that is just falling apart around us, by our own hands no less.”

  “And go where?”

  “I don’t know. Aren’t there other Earth-like planets out there? Can’t we Terraform something?”

  “Those are light-years away. And the closest thing we have to Terraform is Mars. And no one wants to touch that now.”

  “So you’re saying we’re fucked.”

  “I’m not saying that. My take: we have to change minds first, change ideas, to change actions. We have to wake everyone up.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Cohen pauses and stares, takes in a deep breath, and then very delicately…

  “We can’t give up hope Tybalt,” he says with a wry smile, a sense of desperation on his face. His demeanor however suddenly shifts to that of careful contemplation soon after.

  “As far as we know, right now, Earth is our only home,” he continues. “It’s the only place, we know of, that can sustain life. So to save ourselves, it’s clear, we have to save it. So I don’t think the answers are out there; I think the answers are in here,” he says pointing to his head.

  “I don’t know about that one doc. It’s hard to rely on anyone anymore.”

  “Unfo
rtunately, we are…all we have. I believe humanities only hope is…humanity. But where that can go is anyone’s guess. Luckily, the world is smaller now than it’s ever been like you said. So if it’s going to happen, that we start to see a shift toward a Type I Civilization that you so desperately desire, it’s now.”

  “But, are we really any closer? I mean, we don’t have the best track record...”

  “Unfortunately you’re right. Our history can tell quite a story.”

  “Maybe, maybe, we shouldn’t be saved then,” I say, matter-of-factly. “Ever think of that?”

  “That I can’t agree with. But what I can give you, is the fact that, in a sense, you’re initial thoughts are correct; one day, we will have to evacuate and find a new home. It’s eventually going to be an absolute necessity, regardless of the climate – it’s inevitable – I simply look at it as more of a long-term goal, longer than most would perceive. In the shorter-term, however, we need to find a way, figure out how to reverse this catastrophic level of entropy we’ve given to the world.”

  “And how do we go about doing that?”

  And Cohen stares, sharp, piercing.

  “With ideas,” he finally says.

  And I laugh.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I quickly chime as I read a look of shock stretching over Cohen’s face. “It’s just, hearing that kind of an answer, I mean, I thought I was the fucked up one here doc. I mean, ya gotta be kidding?”

  “I’m not. We’ve both talked about the power of ideas at great length, yes, unfortunately, we’ve only focused on the conceptualizations of how the wrong kind of ideas have changed the realities for people, societies, culture, et cetera, for the worse.

  I believe the opposite is true. Why can’t a series of carefully crafted good ideas shift the culture consciousness into a positive direction?”

  And the thought sinks into my core: Ideas don’t always have to be viruses; they can also be seeds.

  “Guess I never thought about it that way.”

  And Cohen smiles.

  “Case in point,” Cohen continues. “You see – This one idea has opened up a multitude, a landscape of other branching ideas in you. You were quick to dismiss it initially, but one, counter-idea, opened up everything.”

  And I see it. A wave of changing minds. Changing behaviors. The world finally agreeing for once.

  But I stop short.

  “But the dream is so big? There’s no way—”

  “We have to try; we clearly need change. And history does show a bleak legacy of human culture, interaction, behavior, the wrong kind of ideas. But it also shows us the individuals that were sick and tired of history repeating itself, and with the right ideas, forging a new path. I believe we can do that again for Earth. With our climate. And give us the time we need for total evacuation. And most importantly, avoid our greatest fears – the end.”

  “But we can’t fix…what we don’t have.”

  “But what’s if we had everything we needed to—”

  “But again doc, I hate bein’ that guy, but isn’t ‘the end’ more likely than—”

  “We just need the right idea is all,” Cohen presses, sternly.

  “Alright, Alright,” I return, defensively.

  “Earth is more than just a pale blue dot Tybalt.”

  “I wish I could agree with you there doc, but the only foreseeable practical answer I see happening, is with an ending that begins with a ‘goodbye…”

  January 8th, 2052

  I can see everything from here.

  I can see Heaven and Moksha and even Nirvana. I can see every color. I’m floating, but still. I can even see myself. I can see myself…seeing myself. So far so that I can even see myself at the beginning. Through time. At the Big Bang.

  Even on our first date no less.

  We were so innocent then.

  And I knew things would be different right away, because the night started with her picking me up. Not the other way around. Not the usual way. Not even close.

  Her idea.

  My oldest memory of her in fact.

  Hearing a knock at my door, I open it to start our evening. Juliet stands at the threshold firm, with a confident posture, and gives me a ‘hey’ with a certain ring to her tone to say ‘we may already be old friends.’

  “Hey,” I respond in equal.

  Those radiate blue eyes of hers hitting me first, beautiful, piercing with elegance, and I think…‘damn.’ Her brown-black hair in soft curls. Her makeup light; just enough for me to notice. Her shoulders out bare, her skin soft, silky, atop a form-fitting floral sundress, a cream piece with coral flowers. Her matching cream open toed heels showing she even matched her toe polish with her fingers, the little things clearly important.

  She looks absolutely stunning. And to top it off, I can tell she barely even had to try, her beauty, effortless.

  “You hungry?” she then says.

  “Yeah…god, you look…man ah…yeah, I’m, yeah I’m definitely hungry. We can—”

  “Well let’s go,” She says, motioning to her car with a quick shift of her head, accompanied with a smile, a smile to say ‘all that word stumbling was cute; I’m gonna remember that.’

  And we do just that.

  She’s a fast walker however, a bit of a leader-strut to her pace, her positioning just in front of mine.

  Doesn’t matter.

  The smell of spring is in the air, the temperature perfect, and the sun just about to set.

  Not everything is backwards. She doesn’t open the door for me or anything, just waits until I make it to my side before getting in on hers.

  With a plop in the car, she looks at me and smiles.

  “You like Italian?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” I respond softly.

  “Good. Because you don’t really have a choice anyway,” she teases, a touch of wit in her voice, and then smiles again. “I know this…little place, kinda off the beaten path, kinda tucked away. I think you’re gonna love it.”

  “Perfect.”

  A fast driver too, we get there in no time.

  She waits for me to get out however before getting out on her end. And then doesn’t wait after we both are standing to march to the door, her pace out matching mine once more. She doesn’t hold the door open for me from the outside, but does so from the inside.

  “C’mon slow poke,” she teases again.

  “Alright alright,” I say, laughing in return.

  We make it to the hostess stand, and Juliet simply holds out two fingers, much like a peace sign, and the hostess quickly returns the gesture with a nod, and begins to reach for the menus.

  “Right this way,” the hostess chimes, us following behind as we make our way to the table, Juliet of course leading.

  Sitting down, I find myself looking around at the restaurant interior, the wall décor simple, dark, and soothing, and then look back at Juliet to find another smile, her body language perched forward, her elbows on the table, and her hands nestled snuggly under her chin.

  Everything tells a story.

  “Y’know, you don’t look so bad yourself,” she then says, reading my mind from earlier, and responding in a way.

  “Flattery…will get you…everywhere,” I say with a smile of my own.

  “Guess I better keep it up then huh?”

  “Guess you better.”

  “It’s gonna cost ya though; a girl’s got her standards.”

  And I smile again.

  “I had a feeling you’d be that girl. So what do I have to do to—”

  “Now I take payment in many forms, but for now, a little information will do just fine.”

  “Well what do you wanna know?”

  “Why has it been so hard for us to connect lately? Y’know very few guys call anymore. So I was very impressed to hear from you after you got my number. But lately, every time I text, I feel like I don’t hear from you for a day or so. You’re like a ghost in there. So what are you doing all day?” />
  “I’m, I’m usually in my office writing. Sorry, I ah, I’m one of those people that need almost complete isolation, no sound, nothin,’ to work, so I usually have my phone on silent or off.”

  “You never told me you were a writer.”

  “Yeah, ah, I always feel like it comes off as pompous or pretentious when I tell people that, so I usually keep it a secret for a while.”

  “Ok, ok, I guess I can let that one slide just this once then. So. Is this gonna be one of those things where you’re some kind of big famous author and I just don’t know it?”

  And I laugh.

  “Not yet,” I then say. “But soon, I think you’ll be seein’ my name in a book store or two.”

  And she nods.

  “Confidence. I like that.”

  But before I could respond, our server comes over to begin the ritual of every restaurant, to take down our drink order, a Vodka Cranberry for the lady, and of course a scotch for myself, inevitably breaking the rhythm of our conversation. Juliet orders an appetizer for the two of us as well. Doesn’t even ask for my input. Just takes the reins, and soon, we find ourselves back to our eye contact.

  “So what do you do?” I say, trying to get our conversation back on track.

  “Sorry, I can’t tell you that,” she says with a touch of humor.

  I simply give her a look of confusion in return.

  “I mean, I will, eventually,” she continues. “But ah, let’s play a little game: You can ask me anything you want, but you can’t ask me that, and if you can piece together what you think I do, and guess it right by the end of the night, I may feel a little more inclined to take you out again.”

  Twice now she’s shown me that I really have to work for her attention, because I imagine there’s no shortage of men chasing her and giving her just that.

  “Game on,” I say with confidence.

  And she returns with a smile.

  “Ok,” I continue. “Let’s start with the basic stuff: Favorite movie?”

  “‘The Land Before Time.’”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Favorite song?”

  “Don’t have a favorite song; have a favorite artist – Prince.”