Swansong

by Rose Christo

  "Sometimes lies are better than the truth," Jude says. "Sometimes the truth only brings unnecessary complications."

  "Unnecessary?" I ask.

  "You knowing you were behind the wheel doesn't change what happened to you. It doesn't change that your parents and your friend died."

  "And a stranger," I say distantly. What was his name? Galloway? His family...

  "The thing is, suppose you were adopted, but you never knew. Suppose you died never knowing you weren't biologically related to your family. Does that change anything at all about the way you lived your life? From your perspective, you only ever had one pair of parents. That's the reality you knew. There's no such thing as a reality free from perception."

  "Is this kind of like the tree falling in the forest when there's no one there to hear it?"

  "You ever hear of a guy named Edmund Husserl?"

  I shake my head. I take a seat at the note-laden table.

  "He was a mathematician," Judas says. "Jewish guy from the Czech Republic. If you've ever been pissed off in algebra class by terms like 'real numbers' and 'integers,' you have him to blame."

  "Nice guy."

  "He also coined a philosophy called Phenomenology. Ever heard of that?"

  "No."

  "Yeah, you have. You just don't know it. How about the 'chicken-or-the-egg' dilemma?"

  "As in, 'Which came first'?"

  "Yeah."

  "Yes."

  Jude takes another muffin. He really shouldn't. The pilaf...

  "To be conscious," Judas says, "you need something to be conscious of. Right?"

  "I--I guess so..."

  "So how do you know the rest of reality wasn't just added for that purpose?"

  "What are you saying?" I know what he's saying. My skin's gone cold.

  "There's no such thing as a reality free from perception. The sun is bright because it hurts our eyes. If the sun doesn't hurt our eyes, is it still bright? If we're not here to perceive reality, then reality might as well not be here, either."

  My head hurts. The room tilts in oscillating shadows.

  Jude puts his muffin down. Suddenly he looks pensive. Suddenly he looks remorseful. That must be a really bad muffin to evoke such strong feeling.

  "Wish I could promise I'll never lie to you again," Judas says.

  "But you can't?" I ask.

  "No."

  He's my brother. Brothers are supposed to lie to you. Brothers are supposed to decapitate your teddy bears and hang you from coat racks.

  A chilly weight rests in my stomach.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening I sit up in bed, my cell phone open on my lap. I need to charge it soon. I need to buy milk.

  I take in a deep breath. I dial Mr. and Mrs. Jordan's phone number.

  I haven't spoken to Jocelyn's parents since August. Even then, I don't remember it. Even so, I couldn't possibly have known back then what I know now. I couldn't possibly have apologized to them for it.

  I killed their daughter.

  I have to say I'm sorry.

  The phone rings a few seconds before a high-pitched beep reverberates in my ears. "The number you have dialed has been disconnected," an automated voice informs me.

  I snap my phone closed. I stare at the tangerine lid in consternation.

  If I had to guess how likely it is that Joss' parents moved away--I'd say, "Pretty likely." It's the same as my not wanting to live on Tillamook Bay anymore. The absence would have haunted me. I might have killed myself.

  Maybe I should have.

  Mr. and Mrs. Jordan probably changed residence. I bite down on my tongue. I hope they didn't divorce. You hear about that a lot--couples growing apart when they lose their child. I hope...

  There's another possibility, of course. And that is: that I've dialed the wrong number. That I can't remember my best friend's telephone number because my head's so broken, so porous, I can't trust my own memories anymore.

  I lay the cell phone on the nighttable. I resist the urge to throw it across the room.

  * * * * *

  Thursday morning. I almost went to school today, except I woke up with teeth fresh on my mind, my dreams riddled with Great Whites.

  I won't be surprised if I flunk this year. I think I deserve to.

  Jude leaves for work and I put the television on for noise. I sit on the sofa, massaging my temples. I try and talk myself into tackling my semester project.

  There's somebody knocking at the door.

  My main problem, I think, is that I'm rash. When I'm acting on impulse, I tend to miss the obvious. Only in hindsight do I realize how stupid I was.

  The front door has a peephole. That doesn't mean I think to use it. I swing the door open as soon as I reach the knob.

  Annwn's rosy red hair is pinned up at the back of her head. A beret sits sideways on her crown. She looks like she's visiting from the 1950s.

  I check and make sure she's not carrying a violin.

  For a moment, neither of us speaks. She looks at me, and her eyes are pale brown; sleepy, but unsmiling. Her mouth is fixed with what I want to call determination.

  "Go away," I mutter. There's no strength behind it. It's childish.

  "Kory gave me your address," Annwn explains.

  That never occurred to me. I assumed she followed me by scent, like Great Whites are inclined to do.

  And maybe I'm too tired to fight back; or maybe I'm smart enough to know there's no fighting a creature with three thousand teeth in its mouth. I step aside. I let the shark right into my home.

  She closes the door with a quiet click.

  "I'll call my brother," I warn her.

  Her eyes pass between my hands. No, I'm not carrying my cell phone. Stupid. I'm so stupid.

  Her eyes land on my charm bracelet. Jocelyn's present hangs from my right wrist.

  "Did you know," Annwn says, "that our galaxy flies in the same direction as a migratory swan?"

  I stare at her.

  "It's true," Annwn says. I can't interpret the tone of her voice. "The Milky Way is traveling 1,300,000 miles an hour across the cosmos. Its orbit takes the exact same shape as a swan's migration route. Cree Indians were the first to notice it. They call it the Summer Bird's Path."

  Annwn pauses. Her head tilts just slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Since we started talking, you and I have already traveled two thousand miles across the universe."

  "What do you want from me?" I ask.

  "I don't want anything from you, Wendy."

  "That's a lie."

  "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

  "You did that on purpose." I'm babbling. It's--I can't stop. "That's my mom's song. You knew my mom's song. You knew about the universe, you knew..."

  "Please, don't exert yourself. You're still unwell."

  "Who are you?" I ask. And it's infantile. And I already know who she is. Her name is Annwn. She likes Black-Eyed Susans.

  "What does it matter who I am?" Annwn asks.

  "You're in my apartment." That's supposed to mean something.

  "We are all one," Annwn says. "It doesn't matter who I am, because I'm everybody, and they're me."

  "You're crazy." From one crazy girl to another.

  "All the matter in this universe came out of one tiny subatomic particle. That includes you and me. How can you argue that we're not the same? If you pour a pitcher of water into a tiny glass, it's still water. You and I are sharing atoms right now, just by talking. How can that be helped?" She hasn't moved at all, but I feel as if she's standing too close. "Every sixteen days, all the water content in your body gets replaced. Every month, your skin. Every three months, your entire skeleton. By the end of this year, you will have traded 98% of your atoms for somebody else's. You're never the same person from one year to the next. I'm sorry. It can't be helped."

  "You are crazy."

  "Maybe."

  A crazy person usually doesn't admit she's crazy, does she?

  "What are you?" I
try again. Foolish as it sounds.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Then you can show yourself out, right?"

  "I don't matter much. But...have you ever considered that you do?"

  My head pounds slowly. "If I do, then you do." Because I have to believe that. Because I have to believe no one's any better or any worse than his counterpart. I have to believe it was just an accident that I lived and my family died.

  "You are in a unique position," Annwn says. "You can observe this universe in a way very few people can. Good for you."

  "Good for me?" My ears ring. "You can have the migraines."

  "I don't need the migraines," Annwn says.

  The pain almost subsides. Almost. "Have you seen--?" I trail off. It's stupid. I shouldn't get my hopes up. But the prospect that I'm not alone in this--this insanity--

  "Rudolf Steiner," Annwn says.

  I want to curl up in a ball and hide.

  "Autoscopy occurs when the brain's upper processes slow down while its lower processes speed up. That is what Dr. Steiner discovered in his tenure." Annwn invites herself to sit down on the sofa. "Anybody can induce autoscopy so long as he understands how his own brain works. How better to understand the world around you than to view it as an outsider?"

  "You..." I draw tentatively closer. Not too close. I still remember the Great White's fin, how beautiful it looked, how menacing of a creature it really belonged to. "You do this stuff? Willingly?"

  Annwn smiles at her knuckles, her hands folded on her knees. "It gets lonely, you know," she tells them. "Belonging to this planet. Seven billion is the loneliest number. Sometimes you have to get away."

  Get away. Get away from me, get--

  "I'm making you uncomfortable, Wendy?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I'm not here to hurt you, Wendy."

  "You're scaring me."

  "Most physicists believe the universe is at 80% its inflationary capacity," Annwn says. "20% more and it will collapse."

  "That could take millions of years," I argue. I can't bring myself to sit down.

  "Not quite. The more the universe expands, the faster it expands. This is called the Accelerating Universe model." Annwn smiles at me. "There’s no fixed rate for that expansion, except that it’s growing faster every day. Everything around us could be gone by next year."

  "Please get out." I don't want to hear this anymore.

  "From your unique vantage point, you can literally watch the universe die. That is a luxury many physicists only dream of."

  "Luxury?" I demand, voice cracking. "What is wrong with you?"

  "I don't understand."

  "You want this universe to just--just die? Don't you like Black-Eyed Susans? Don't you like violins? How are you going to enjoy them if everything stops existing?"

  "Does it?"

  Dialogue with a maniac. I don't want this.

  "This universe will be gone," Annwn says. "Will you? Will I?"

  "How do you expect us to live if there's no air, no mass, no gravity?"

  "Ah," Annwn says. "But we weren't talking about living. We were talking about existing."

  My head hurts. It hurts so much.

  Annwn stands up. "I can see that I've taken enough of your time, and I'm very sorry for that. You should think a little about the position you're in, and how you might want to use it. I hope you feel better, Wendy."

  "No, you don't."

  "Of course I do," Annwn says softly. "After all, I am you."

  10

  Schrodinger's Cat

  I lay inside the oxygen chamber, eyes closed. Air blasts around me, my skin raising in delicate bumps.

  Why do they make me endure this? It doesn't help with the headaches. It doesn't help with the memory lapses. It's a waste of insurance money. Oh. There's my answer.

  The machine rumbles in my ears. I open my eyes.

  Through the glass lid I can see Judas talking with Dr. Moritz. Their backs are turned to me. Dr. Moritz shows Judas something on his clipboard. He gestures.

  I think I want to die. I feel so confused. I feel so tired. Whenever I find myself in reprieve of the exhaustion, the confusion, raw fear take their place. Then bitterness. Then anger. Maybe even hatred.

  No. Nobody ever wants to die. All anybody ever wants is a way out.

  I am trapped in a glass casket. I am broken and useless and left behind.

  There's no way out.

  * * * * *

  I walk home after the oxygen therapy. I can't bring myself to sit in the car anymore. Jude has to head back to work, so we part ways at the cold chrome street corner.

  On the cold chrome street corner, I open my cell phone. I bring up the search bar and type in a name.

  Ash Galloway.

  The usual articles pop up. Four Killed in Motor Vehicle Accident. I browse past them. I shuffle through pages of results.

  Whoever Ash Galloway was, I guess he wasn't very social. I find exactly one webpage belonging to an Ash Galloway--only when I click on it, it turns out to be an Ashleigh Galloway, and she's looking for hot singles in Miami. I hit the back button. I try the SSI death index.

  There he is. Ash Galloway, 27. Died in Tillamook County, Oregon. The harsh white screen shows me his expired social security number, but no address. No telephone.

  I want to apologize to his family. I don't know how I'm going to contact them if he didn't leave any information behind.

  I close my phone and stuff it in my jacket pocket. I breathe the toxic city air.

  The library's just north of here.

  I cross the street when the light changes. Dozens flocking across the crosswalk. Pedestrians' heads tilted down, because God forbid they interact with another member of the human species.

  Never mind the universe. This planet is screwed.

  * * * * *

  Kory's in the library, on the first floor. I knew he would be. Last night he told me he wanted to look for the Lost Dead Chronicles series.

  He's the only occupant of an empty white table. I sit with him. He lays his battered book on the table and smiles a goofy smile.

  "Tired," I tell him.

  "Want to go for a coffee?"

  I don't drink coffee. "Okay."

  He tucks his book under his arm. We walk out the sliding front doors.

  The tepid air smells like rain and rust. It hasn't rained in three months. We head north and pass the apartment building. We walk a couple blocks east.

  "Kory?"

  "What is it?"

  "Is it true that we're all the same person?"

  I can hear the frown in Kory's voice. "You know I'm no good at philosophy..."

  "I mean atoms. We all share atoms?"

  "Oh. Well, technically speaking, yes."

  We cross the street.

  "Therapy no good today?" Kory asks critically.

  "I hate it," I tell him.

  "Then rebel," he says.

  "They'll take me away from my brother." Being a minor sucks.

  "Rebel with a chainsaw," he clarifies.

  "Where would I even find a chainsaw this time of year?"

  The cafe's squished in between a deli and a video rental store. Big potted shrubs stand on the sidewalk outside. Somebody wanted to give the illusion that there's life in this city.

  We go inside. The aroma of burnt coffee beans tastes acrid in the back of my throat. Kory orders an iced coffee. I buy an iced tea.

  We carry our drinks outside. We head off for the recreational park.

  It costs fifty cents to walk through the recreational park. That's how money-hungry this city is. People will pay it, though, because it's hard to find a place in The Spit that doesn't make you want to spit on yourself. The park itself is no more than tiles stretched between malnourished trees. Kory and I pay our fare at the front gate. We step onto the tiled walkway.

  "You told Annwn where I live?" I start the conversation.

  Kory looks sideways at me. "Was that the wrong thing to do? She seemed co
ncerned."

  "She's not."

  "Something happen?"

  This is so crazy. This is so messed up. "She... I think she has out-of-body experiences. She knows I do."

  "How did she guess that?"

  "I don't know. Kory, this is insane..."

  We find a bench underneath a withered oak. We sit on it. I adjust my knees, wary of splinters.

  "Of course," Kory muses out loud, "OBEs are one of many strange events linked with brain damage. Lucky guess. It doesn't mean anything."

  He says it doesn't mean anything. I've seen planets and stars, but it doesn't mean anything.

  I know that's not what he means.

  "She talked about the universe dying," I say. "She said I was lucky. Because I might get to see it."

  Kory's face turns green.

  "Isn't there anything we can do? To stop it?"

  "Wendy, I don't know..."

  "You have to know. You know everything."

  "Well, that's true, but..."

  "Azel said something about mass," I tell him. "If it's mass the universe is running out of, then--I mean--how did it get its mass to begin with? There's got to be a way to get more, hasn't there?"

  "That's a very naive way to look at cosmology, you know."

  A dull pain starts in my forehead. I pinch it. As much as I admire Kory, he's a headache and a half.

  "All the mass in this universe," Kory says, "comes from a tiny subatomic particle called a Higgs boson. Do you know what that is?"

  "No." It sounds doofy.

  "Then picture a walnut that has cracked itself open, only for novas and asteroids and entire galaxies to pour out of its shell. If you want to be technical, the Higgs boson is the Big Bang."

  "But wasn't there a bang...?"

  "Well, sort of. A Higgs boson forms when a trillion protons smash into each other."

  I sit back on the bench, lost in thought. "If we could find another Higgs boson..."

  "You don't just find another Higgs boson, Wendy, think about it for a second!" Kory's earrings jangle with righteous indignation. "Mass is nothing but energy in solid form. And you can't create energy from nothing. Everybody knows that."

  "You can," I say quietly.

  Too quietly. Kory doesn't seem to hear me. A bird skitters past overhead, crashing noisily from tree branch to tree branch. Kory turns around to yell at it. My thoughts weigh me down with gravity. My thoughts bind me to the park bench.