An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes

by Randy Ribay

  “Sorry,” Mari says. “We’ll clean it up.”

  He nods and then walks away. Their orders having been mixed up, they trade plates.

  “Before we start eating,” Archie says, “I want to say something.” Everyone pauses, their forks hovering above their food. “I want to apologize to you, Dante. I really am sorry for what I said yesterday.”

  “Thank you, Arch,” Dante says. “I appreciate that.” Mari reaches across the table and places her hand on his bandaged forearm.

  Archie says. “You’re my friend, and I hate how I made you feel. I’ve got some stuff I’m trying to work through, but know that I am trying to figure it out. For you . . . and for my dad.”

  Sam looks up at Archie, surprised, but Dante just nods. “I know, Arch. I heard you and Mari talking last night.”

  Archie drops his eyes. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Dante looks at Archie. “There was nothing you need to apologize for in that.”

  “So are we cool?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool.” Dante extends his fist and Archie bumps it with his own.

  They lower their forks to begin eating, but Sam says, “Wait, guys. I have something to say, too.”

  Mari looks up. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, sorry I’ve been a flake this past week. And sorry I tried to steal your car, Mari. And sorry, Archie, that I hit you with it.”

  “It’s all right,” Archie shrugs. He takes Mari’s hand under the table. “I think I understand now how you feel, about wanting to be with someone so bad you’ll do anything to be with them.”

  “Can I eat now, or does someone else have an apology they need to get out?” Dante asks. “My bacon’s getting cold.”

  Nobody says anything, so everyone starts eating.

  But then Jack reappears at the end of their booth. “So you in? I’ll drop it to twenty each.”

  “We’ll pass,” Mari says.

  “All right, all right,” Jack says. He sighs and runs a hand over his mouth. “Truth is, my girl’s real pissed. Likes to take a hot soak in the tub almost every night, ya know? But can’t do that seeing as how it’s filled with tiny gators. So I just need to get rid of these little fuckers. Heck, you can have as many as you want for free. I make a call, and my girl brings ’em by before you’re done with your meal. What do ya say?”

  Sam looks at his friends and grins.

  What No Longer Matters

  Monday, 12:56 P.M.

  Mari wrinkles her nose. “What’s that smell?” she asks without taking her eyes off the road.

  “Probably Dante,” Archie says from the front seat. “Big guy’s been ripping farts this whole trip like crazy.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Dante says. He reaches forward and flicks Archie’s ear.

  “No, seriously,” Mari says. “It smells like . . . I don’t know. But it’s nasty.”

  Dante and Archie sniff, their faces scrunching when they catch the scent.

  “Sam?”

  Sam sticks his nose into the large bucket and sniffs. “It’s definitely not Reptar.” He peers at his new friend, the tiny alligator swimming in the shallow water. Its leathery skin speckled with yellow and brown. It looks up at him with its permanent grin and murderous eyes, and begins to claw and scratch the side of the bucket as if trying to escape.

  And then out of nowhere, the car stops making its strange sounds, the dying gerbil noise Archie had complained about during his first turn behind the wheel. It is as if the engine has finally cleared its throat.

  Mari looks at the others and smiles. “I guess the fresh air’s doing the old girl some good.”

  But then the engine shudders and everything shuts off. The dials on the dashboard all drop to zero. The radio and lights blink off. They feel the car coasting but slowing.

  “Shit,” she says. She steps on the gas pedal, but nothing happens.

  Mari pulls over. “What now?” she asks as the car slows to a stop.

  The white wisps are faint at first, and Mari thinks her tired eyes are just playing tricks on her. She tells herself that condensation vapors are slipping out of the vent. But the vapors quickly thicken and darken until they become tendrils of brown smoke.

  “Guys?” she asks.

  Everyone sits up. The acrid smell becomes overpowering.

  “Give it a minute. See if it goes away,” Sam says. “Just roll down the windows.”

  They do. But the smoke thickens and begins to choke the car’s interior. Some of it drifts out the open windows, but more smoke pours in. It becomes difficult to see.

  Coughing, they grab what they can and pile out.

  Cars whiz past, kicking up dust and gravel. The surrounding pine trees rustle in the wind. Sunlight shifts behind the clouds.

  Something orange flickers out from beneath the hood.

  They step back.

  “Um, should we call 911?” Archie asks nobody in particular. Dante takes out his phone.

  The flames grow, now undeniable. They hiss and crackle, licking the underside of the hood, trying to escape. A thick, brown smoke billows out of the car and floats into the sky.

  “Fuck,” says Sam, alligator bucket in one hand, Sunshine’s book in the other.

  “Yeah,” Mari says. “Grab your stuff.”

  As Dante dials, Sam, Mari, and Archie rush to empty their belongings from the trunk. They swing their bags over their shoulders and scramble down the road ahead of the car, stopping only when they’re outside of what Archie deems to be the blast radius.

  “They said someone will be here soon,” Dante says, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

  They set down their things and gaze at the car, watching the fire grow, feeling the heat even from where they stand.

  A few minutes pass, and a state trooper pulls up, lights flashing. He steps out of his car, revealing himself to be a small man bearing a small fire extinguisher.

  “Y’all back up,” he tells them. Carefully, he pops the hood, points the fire extinguisher’s hose at the engine, and squeezes the trigger.

  But nothing comes out. Not that white, foamy stuff. Not even a puff of air.

  Nothing.

  “The universe is conspiring against us,” Sam says into his bucket.

  Dante nods.

  “Goddamn cutbacks,” the trooper mumbles. He speaks into the radio at his shoulder and then tosses the useless fire extinguisher into the trunk of his patrol car. “Fire department’s on its way. But it’s local. Volunteer, actually. Probably take a few.”

  Together, they watch the flames spread, swelling and swirling like something alive until it engulfs the front half of the car. Pieces of the car’s frame start to blacken, melt, and sag. They watch the surreal scene, frozen with disbelief.

  “Stay over here. I’ll be back in a sec to get your info. Call whoever you need to.” The trooper disappears into his patrol car and begins tapping away at his computer and talking on his radio.

  “My parents are going to kill me.” And then Mari realizes her hands are empty. She looks around, digs through her bag, panicked. Not finding what she’s looking for, she lifts her eyes to her burning car. “My notebook.”

  “What about it?” Archie asks.

  Her eyes widen as he holds it up. She snatches it away and flips through the pages. She finds something, pulls it out, and presses it to her chest. “Thank you.” She wraps her arms around Archie.

  “What is that?” he asks, as they pull apart.

  “A letter,” she says.

  “From your other boyfriend?”

  “Oh, are you my boyfriend?”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  “It’s from my real mom. My birth mother, I mean.”

  “I didn’t know you had contact with her,” Archie says.

  “I didn’t.”

  “What’s it say?” Dante asks.

  Mari turns the thin, unopened envelope in her hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Well we’ve got time,” Archie says, tilting his head towar
d the conflagration.

  There’s something about the absurdity of the burning car that makes Mari think of her mom. The cancer lurking within her breast. Waiting to ignite, to consume her mom like the flames devouring the car.

  Her mom wanted her to contact her biological mother. It is only now that Mari realizes the simple fact that she has been resisting for selfish reasons. The woman had rejected her, and in her resentment, Mari responded with rejection. She had formed indefensible walls around her heart. And who was that helping in the long run?

  She loves her mom so completely and utterly. And if her mom wants Mari to open up those walls, then perhaps she should. And now would be the time to do so.

  “I guess you’re right,” Mari says.

  She wanders a few feet away from the others. She takes a deep breath, slides a finger under the flap, and tears the envelope open across the top. After removing the single page and unfolding it, she wonders at the handwriting, so similar to her own. She is surprised to discover that the letter is dated the day she was born.

  She reads:

  Dearest Marigold,

  The first thing you need to know is that I love you. I love you. When I first held you in my hands, it was like when you first notice the flowers blossom in the Spring. That’s where your name comes from—my favorite flower. They can grow almost anywhere, and when they do, they’re always beautiful.

  As I write these words, you’re probably in your new home. With your new family. Your new mom and dad are probably holding you tightly to their chests, to their hearts, as I did just an hour ago. Falling in love with you.

  They’re good people. I chose them over all the others. There was something I sensed that told me to trust that they would give you all the love you need, all the love you deserve.

  All the love that I can’t give you right now.

  But this letter isn’t about why that is. There are some things that just can’t be explained in writing. I hope that when you’re ready, we can get to know each other. I hope we talk, and I can explain everything then. And I pray you’ll understand.

  No, this letter is about the simple fact of how much I love you. How this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, the hardest thing I’ll ever do.

  I will think of you every day. I’ve asked your new mom to keep me updated on your life, and I will wait for the day you’re ready to contact me like withered plants wait for rain.

  And as you read these words, know that I will be waiting for you.

  Love always,

  Your first mother

  Mari refolds the letter and tucks it back into the envelope. Then, she starts to cry.

  Nobody asks what the letter says, because they all sense the question would be sacrilegious. They sense she needs to grieve, needs to process alone. But they also sense she needs to know she is not alone. So they join her. Archie hugs her, Dante puts a hand on her shoulder, and even Sam inches a bit closer to the group.

  Mari exhales and wipes her eyes with the cuff of her hoodie.

  “You still want Sam to replace that window?” Archie asks.

  Mari laughs through her tears. “My parents are going to be pissed. And how are we going to get you to Seattle now, Sam?”

  Sam gazes as the burning car. “It really does seem like every force in the universe is trying to tell me not to go. Maybe it’s time I listen.”

  But Mari shakes her head. “My car’s not giving her life for nothing. We can’t control the world, but we can control how we react to it. We’ll find a way.”

  The short trooper walks over, interrupting their moment. “My guess? Electrical fire. I could be wrong. Either way, you’re not going to be able to drive this thing anymore.” He gestures to Mari’s still burning car as if that were even a possibility. “You’ll probably want to call a tow truck to take it to the nearest junkyard.”

  Mari sighs.

  The trooper adjusts his sunglasses. “You got someone who can pick you up? Based on those Jersey plates, I assume you’re a long way from home.”

  Sam, Mari, Dante, and Archie look at one another.

  The trooper rubs the back of his neck. “Well, maybe the tow truck can take—” he stops speaking as his eyes land on the book in Sam’s hand, the copy of On the Road that Sunshine gave them. “That what I think it is?”

  Sam tilt’s the cover toward him. “A book?”

  The trooper laughs. “Mind if I have a look?”

  Sam hands it over. The trooper takes it, and turns it over, handling it carefully like a relic. He runs his hand over the cover, opens it to the copyright page, and scans the tiny print.

  “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. First edition.” His eyes flick between them and the book. “I majored in English in college until I read this book.”

  “And then what?” Archie asks.

  “I dropped out of school and traveled the country.”

  “And now you’re a police officer,” Sam observes.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the trooper says, rubbing his chin. “You let me have this, and I’ll give you a ride to wherever you were headed.”

  Mari looks at Sam and smiles. She turns back to the trooper. “Seattle,” she says.

  “Great!” The trooper says. “Just sit tight a moment.” He returns to his car.

  “You actually seem to be taking this all pretty well,” Archie says to Mari. He takes her hand and squeezes it.

  She smiles at him. She looks at Sam and Dante standing next to her. She feels the letter in her other hand, its paper weight insubstantial. She watches her car burn.

  “It’s just a car. We have to let go of what no longer matters.”

  Three Thousand Miles

  Monday, 2:48 P.M.

  After the firefighters extinguished the flames.

  And the paramedics checked vision and breathing and pulse.

  And they called home.

  After the yelling and the apologies and the relief.

  After hotel arrangements were made for the night and plane tickets purchased.

  The state trooper dropped them off in front of Sarah’s school.

  He would have preferred to leave them at someone’s house, but that was all they had. None of them had Sarah’s new address yet, not even Sam, and she wasn’t answering their texts and calls. And, of course, he had made a deal.

  So it is; they now sit on a bench in front of the school with all their smoke-scented belongings, watching the doors and waiting.

  “So they started last week?” Archie asks.

  “Yup. This should be Sarah’s first day, though.” Sam checks his watch. “Ten minutes.”

  He leans back. And then forward. He lifts the shirt draped over the bucket and checks on Reptar. He replaces the cover. He glances at his watch again.

  “What are you going to say?” Archie asks.

  Sam shakes his head. He pulls out a cigarette. He fidgets with his lighter, flicking the flint wheel over and over again, just enough to make it spark. But he does not light it.

  Dante watches the clouds. Archie and Mari hold hands and whisper to one another.

  Kids start to trickle out of the building even though the bell has not yet rung. Some glance at Sam and the others, casting them a confused look as they continue on their way.

  Finally, the bell rings. A moment later, the doors burst open and teenagers spew forth. They rush out of the building in a loud, chattering mass. Many run off, but several linger in clumps, waiting for rides or just hanging out.

  Sam stands up on the bench and scans the sea of faces. “Help me look for her.”

  His friends raise their eyes in search of Sarah.

  But after a few minutes, the flow begins to lighten and there is still no sign of their erstwhile rogue.

  “Maybe there’s another exit,” Dante says. “I’ll check the back.”

  “Good idea,” Sam says, eyes glued to the crowd.

  Dante walks away and disappears around the side of the building.

  “Maybe she wa
s out sick today,” Mari offers, but Sam ignores her.

  As the minutes pass, the clumps drift away and the crowd thins out. Fewer and fewer students emerge from the building, like water trickling from a tap being slowly turned off.

  Dante returns. “She’s not over there.” But he grins, and holds up a scrap of paper. “I did get a number, though.”

  “You dog,” Mari says, nudging him with her elbow. “You actually hit on someone?”

  “I didn’t even do anything,” Dante explains, blushing as he tucks the paper into his pocket. “These two guys just walked up and started talking to me. They were really nice. When I told him I needed to get back to you guys, one of them slipped me this and said we should hang out sometime.”

  “You going to call him?” Mari asks. “We have the rest of the day.”

  “Nah. But it just feels good having it.”

  Archie says, “Good for you, D.”

  And then. Suddenly. Like a firefly glowing in the darkness.

  Sarah appears.

  Sam instantly recognizes her, even though she has already cut her hair and dyed it a purplish red. Even though her eyes are darkened with mascara. Even though she’s walking with unfamiliar friends.

  “There she is,” Mari points, although Sam has already seen her.

  But Sam, still standing on the bench, does not move.

  He does not call out.

  He watches as she and her friends stop on the sidewalk. They gather in a circle and start talking. She swings her bangs out of her eyes and then laughs at something someone says. It is a laugh Sam knows. A laugh he misses. A laugh that cuts him somewhere deep inside.

  Sarah does not notice her old friends.

  Sam puts the unlit cigarette between his lips.

  “You want me to go over?” Archie asks, moving to stand.

  But Sam does not respond. He does not move as he continues gazing at Sarah.

  She readjusts the bag slung over her shoulder and laughs again, this time covering her mouth.

  The gesture triggers a memory in Sam’s mind. Halloween. Freshman year.