Jump Starting the Universe

by John David Buchanan

  CHAPTER TWO

  DOUBLE OCCUPANCY

  Sometimes buses are crowded. Take for instance the buses in Kumasi, Ghana; those puppies are crowded beyond crowded. People are in the aisles, in the seats, on the steps, there are more people than you could possibly imagine, and they make it work beautifully. Newtonian physics certainly wouldn’t disallow two people sharing the same seat on a bus, whether they were happy or not. However, it’s not so forgiving if those two people are sharing the same space – literally the exact same space. Even the thought of it tends to get a little messy. I mean all those organs, veins, and cells swimming around in the same pool with each other. It’s just not cricket. The idea is simply a little too intimate for most folks to consider. So, they don’t. They simply don’t. The general effect of reneging on that closeness or on the possibility of such unnatural closeness is bliss. Oh yes, and being totally blind. Completely blind to what happens before our very eyes. Give us order, give us instruction, give us a queue. See, that makes people happy, or at least not insane and uncomfortable. There you have it.

  Mark really didn’t care about sharing the same space. He didn’t give it a second thought (where have we heard that before?). He was only too thrilled to be gliding down the highway toward a paid gig, and why not? In his defense, most of the population of Terra Bulga, save a few brainiac celestial studies professors, didn’t care about sharing space either; and they didn’t get it right until Dr. Shrud Competier published his ground-breaking treatise. Wayne drove and hummed. Blackie used what was left of his consciousness to work on a better seating arrangement.

  “There it is,” said Mark with some measure of satisfaction. It seemed like a big deal for Mark to have said we are going to a bar on Otis-hell Highway and the bar was actually there, exactly where it was supposed to be. Unaware of how relieved Mark was, Wayne pulled into the parking lot of The Getaway Bar and Grill.

  “To the back, the back” Mark said as he gestured menacingly close to Wayne’s eye.

  “Sure” said Wayne as he intentionally whipped the wagon around the side of the building like it was an Austin Healy 3000, drifted sideways slightly in the loose caliche (temporarily forgetting the entire wagon was full of equipment that would come crashing down on Blackie, who, as always, was tucked away in the very back) and brought the Nomad to a sliding stop.

  “Nicely done,” said Mark, “If we get paid, I’ll spring for a carwash.”

  “Where have you been?” thundered Buster, “I’ve been waiting 15 minutes.” Buster was so red in the face he looked like he could pop a heart valve at any moment. The band often wondered where he got such a big head since his mom and dad and sisters were of normal head size. It’s crazy the things band members think and talk about, but that’s probably where great lyrics come from. Right? Wayne looked at Buster through the open driver’s side window; Mark braced himself and Blackie was asleep or more likely unconscious.

  “Yeah, totally our fault mate,” said Wayne, “it seems our pleasant hour long drive to get to your bloody back yard was purposely interrupted by an antelope slamming into the side of the Nomad.

  “Well, that’s just bad form that is,” retorted Buster who didn’t have a clue what to think about Wayne’s comment.

  “But, no harm no foul,” said Mark, “someone knock on the back door of the bar so we can unload.” Buster looked at the side of the Nomad then brooded all the way to the back door. That’s what made him a great lead singer; all that angst, and of course writhing on the floor during songs like he was possessed or demented, or maybe both, but in fact neither. He was great.

  All the equipment was unloaded, set up and checked. The manager gave them the nod, and Blackie who it turns out had not succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning in the back of the Nomad (yet again) gave a four count to start the first song. Wayne played bass. You could have guessed couldn’t you? That dry air of detachment and the look of knowing stuff spelled bass player deluxe. Mark played guitar, and he was really good, but he played right handed. Left- handed guitars were hard to find and more expensive, so the right- hand model prevailed. That was okay with Mark because it made his left-handedness mysterious. During the breaks he could drink left handed, gesture left handed and generally and naturally be left handed which was such a counterpoint to his right-handed guitar playing. It was an overwhelming yet subtle advantage. A pretty girl who had entered the bar during the second song noticed Mark’s incongruity. She couldn’t exactly figure out what it was, but she liked it. Mark said hello, lifted his drink left handed and knew immediately he had made a connection.

  Blackie knew two beats. Buster thought he was performing in the Royal Albert Hall. To him, each of the seven people in the bar, six disinterested, represented thousands upon thousands of die hard, platinum-coated fans and he wasn’t going to disappoint them. Scare them a little maybe, but not disappoint, not ever. The set went well. They could usually gauge how well they had played by the amount of dirt on Buster’s left side. He preferred to have a left-side lie-down on stage during his writhing. The more dirt on Buster’s left side the better they must have played. The band believed it was a linear relationship. It was Wayne who first verbalized the writhing theory, although they all had stumbled around the edges of it. They figured Buster’s writhing was proportional to how much they thought the crowd was getting into the music – a linear relationship of sorts – so the solos were extended when the crowd was really with them and Buster was having a really good writhing. The view from onstage was magnificent. The set ended with a grand total of twelve people in the bar.

  “You really pulled them in today,” joked the bartender who had just seemed to notice how straight Blackie’s shoulders were. Buster didn’t mention the fee was based on attendance, a fact that made little difference really, but the bartender thought it was amusing.

  Blackie looked at the positive side, “hey, we started with seven people in the bar and ended with twelve, that’s a 71 percent increase - not bad.”

  Wayne looked mutinous, “six of the seven people left just after we started playing and a group of eleven came in just before we finished.”

  “So right,” said Mark, “but they came IN didn’t they.” Wayne had that apoplectic look he got when something was about to be thrown or verbally abused (remember the deer/antelope).

  “They were lost Mark; they stopped in for directions didn’t they.” The bar man chuckled in a way that was faintly familiar to Blackie.

  “Maybe so,” Mark allowed as he looked across the room at the pretty girl who had stayed to the bitter end and lifted his drink left-handed, “but we can post that the crowd swelled 70 percent during our performance.” Wayne looked exactly like you might think he would. The bartender chuckled again. Blackie was impressed that Mark had calculated the correct percent in his head, and then tried to figure out where he had heard that chuckle before.

  Buster was busy trying to convince the manager he should have the band in again, next time with some advertising, including that bit about the crowd swelling. “Don’t wait until we’re completely booked-up,” said Buster, “we’re on a roll.” The bartender chuckled again and the manager agreed to have them back.

  “Good theatre,” murmured the bartender.

  “Let’s pack up,” said Wayne. Mark was now sitting at the pretty girl’s table. None of the crowd asked when they were playing again; turns out they really were just tourists passing through. At that moment someone came through the front door. She hesitated, and then walked over to Wayne.

  “Excuse me” she said, “when does the band play.”

  “We’ve only just finished,” said Wayne who then looked up from his bass amplifier and proceeded to be mesmerized. She was absolutely beautiful with long, dark hair tumbling in soft waves down her back. She was tall and lithe like an athlete, with dark penetrating eyes that pierced you like a knife. Her skin was beyond perfect. But there was nothing arrogant or pretentious in her manner, she simply was beautiful and charming. Wayne we
nt stupid. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move, which was simply not like Wayne.

  “Any chance you will be playing here again,” she asked. The fog penetrating Wayne’s brain fought to maintain its control. Wayne blinked and the fog lifted.

  “We hope to play here again next week,” he said, pointing to Buster who was now begging the manager for a third booking.

  “It’s not like it cost you a wad of C-notes is it,” said Buster. The manager considered the fact that he was only obligated to pay the band a small amount, slightly less it turns out than the cost of the gasoline the Nomad burned to drive to his bar, and he signed the band for another two gigs with a promise to actually advertise next time.

  “Don’t forget that crowd swelling bit,” said Buster. The manager agreed. The bartender chuckled.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CROSSING TO ALPHUS NEBULUM

  Owing to the fact that budging scoots things together that were previously farther apart, it should be obvious that things “budged-up” are way closer than things that are not budged. How much closer depends on context as you might expect. No, well we carry on in hopes of accidental enlightenment. This means that the time to travel between budged-up things is less than the time to travel between the “unbudged,” assuming the same rate of travel of course. Rather than walk around the house to the backyard, why not just walk through the back door? Accidentally enlightened? No? We press on. Let’s say you were planning a trip to Alphus Nebulum. You certainly aren’t going to walk there are you? Next option, since Alphus Nebulum is 42.689 light years and some change from Earth (really we should consent to just call it Terra Bulga and be done with it) it will take you some enormous amount of time to arrive; shall we say a very long time even at 186,282 miles per second.

  Unless you are one of “those” people who just love to drive, how about a clever option. Share a little space with Alphus Nebulum. That’s right, share a little space and walk right out the back door into Alphus Nebulum. You won’t enjoy the drive, but think of all the solar energy you’ll be saving. Maybe you can take a drive when you get there, if they don’t impound your ride.

  “It’s going to storm” remarked Buster. “I think it’s going to storm or hail or something.”

  It wasn’t like Buster to notice such things. He didn’t care about weather and literally no one had ever heard him go on like this; it was two or three whole sentences. Apparently that’s what got Mark’s attention and he looked at the sky outside quickly so as not to avert his attention from the girl across the table too long, “What makes you say that?” Mark asked he turned back to the table and picked up his drink.

  “Well, look at it out there, the sky is all contorted,” replied Buster.

  Wayne looked out at the sky that looked like it was boiling, reached down for his bass amplifier and said, “Maybe we should load before its goes bad.”

  “I could help,” said Amelia as she reached down and picked up a notebook and set list.

  “Yeah, okay, great,” said Wayne. Mark excused himself before making plans for dinner and grabbed his amplifier with his left hand. Blackie had noticed the boiling clouds before Buster’s improbable comment and was already out the back door with the kick drum. In went the amps, drums, and assorted paraphernalia for noise and music.

  “It looks really green, like it’s going to hail” remarked Amelia. Then it happened.

  The budge occurred right then, and a little sliver of the parking lot behind the bar became very green. Unnaturally greenish. Not hail storm green if you understand the drift. The yellow sunshine had gone, the blue sky had gone, there was no storm, there was just that greenish tint like when certain blue and yellow water colored pie charts overlap. It lingered in the air like smoke billowing from a firecracker that exploded on the ground and then, the green was gone. So was the bar.

  “Hey, that’s not right” said Mark. “Something’s not right.” Right he was. The budge receded as they are all inclined to do, the overlap disappeared, and the temporarily distorted parallel planes were parallel once again, as they prefer to be. The not right part was this – Blackie, Wayne, Mark, and Amelia, oh, and the Nomad full of equipment were on the wrong side. Well, not wrong side as in the bad side, but the wrong side as in the incorrect side. Incorrect, except in the unlikely possibility of a bigger plan of which they were completely unaware; a state in which humans often find themselves and characteristically accept with utter acceptance. Suffice it to say they were on the side where the bar and Buster were not. A shame really as it was a nice bar.

  Celestial context put them smack dab in the middle of a high plain on Alphus Nebulum, although for a very short time they didn’t know they were no longer on Terra Bulga.

  “Something is not right,” said Amelia.

  “I said that already,” replied Mark, “where is the bar?”

  “No I mean really not right,” said Amelia,” look up.”

  “Yeah, the evening sky is beautiful,” remarked Blackie “but…his sentence trailed off to silence.

  “Exactly,” said Amelia.

  “Exactly what?” said Wayne and Mark at the same time.

  Looking up at the sky, Blackie’s face scrunched up as if trying to see something that wasn’t there,” then he said, “The stars are wrong.”

  “What does that mean, the stars are wrong?” said Wayne who appeared on the verge of needing to swear.

  “No way,” Mark chimed, but after a moment of starring at the sky he said, “they’re right Wayne, remember that album cover of mine with the stars on it, those aren’t the right stars, those are definitely not the right stars.”

  Astronomy was not Mark’s study of interest, but he had been mesmerized for countless hours by that vinyl album cover, whose images were printed to look three dimensional, and he was sure of one thing. These were not album cover stars. Wayne kept looking up and Mark could feel it coming, he had known Wayne for a long time.

  “Now just a blasted minute. How can the stars be wrong? Stars CANNOT be wrong.”

  “Wayne, said Mark, “they are wrong, they’re not in the right place and look no ice cream dipper.”

  “Big dipper,” offered Amelia.

  “By the way, who are you?” Mark said looking at Amelia.

  “Oh yes, sorry, I’m Amelia, I was just helping Wayne stow some band stuff when it went all greenish.” Everyone was completely perplexed. Blackie was looking up, and lightly tapping out one of two beats he knew on the fender of the Nomad, completely oblivious to how much it annoyed almost everyone; the exception being Blackie.

  “Wayne, I’m sorry but we are not in the bar parking lot, in fact we are nowhere near it,” Amelia said softly.

  “How can you know that?”

  “Well,” she said slowly, hoping that Wayne had cooled slightly, “I am studying astronomy, working on my PhD actually, in math and astronomy and the star pattern above us is not visible from the bar parking lot this time of year.”

  “You had better tell them the rest,” urged Blackie who looked at Amelia knowingly.

  “The rest of what?” said Mark.

  “Well,” she said again slowly, “this star pattern is not visible from….from,” she hesitated, Blackie nodded.

  “From anywhere on Earth,” finished Amelia.

  Dead silence. Completely void of expletives or any other words for that matter.

  “Any idea how this happened?” commented Blackie casually as he looked at Amelia.

  “Any idea how we get back?” said Mark watching Wayne.

  “No, none.”

  “Hi, I’m Blackie.”

  “I’m Mark,” I guess you’ve met Wayne.

  Amelia nodded.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GIGGLEY

  Have you ever had that giggley kind of feeling? Well of course you have. Everyone has them but not many people recognize them for what they really are. You see, when two sets of something occupy the same location in space and time it results in a
Giggley. No idea? Well let’s continue and press the matter shall we? Giggley was first defined by Parathelsey when he concluded that the symptoms he felt were not the lack of Extra Dry Centon Lovian Draught, at least on the occasion of which we now comment. Although he suspected the effects of draught insufficiency were similar if not identical, at one pristine moment in time, when Parathelsey had not imbibed four quaffs of Extra Dry Centon Lovian in the last 39 some odd minutes as was his custom, he had a Giggley.

  “What was that?” he thought. What indeed! After some investigation of the typical suspects and paranormal activities, he concluded that the symptom must be both natural and physical in nature, and the Desredeedese Shades had nothing to do with it.

  Parathelsey absolutely dedicated himself to discovering the cause of his symptoms. So much so that he purposely began to delay drinking four quaffs of his beloved Extra Dry Centon Lovian Draught for over 39 minutes at a time. The effects were terrible, much like achieving a very bad hangover while using one of those old vibrating exercise belt machines, except in reverse. The physical price he paid for this research was terrible, simply terrible. But, after much painstaking endeavor, Parathelsey finalized this theory regarding the Giggley.

  No one actually claims to understand the theory (well except Einstein of course who pulled a walk-about to visit Parathelsey during one of his experiments, you remember the one - it lasted 42 MINUTES). I will describe it like this. Item A exists in Dimension 42B.601W while Item B occupies space in Dimension 612C.711S. As you know dimensions are almost innumerable and coexist adjacent to each other, overlapping each other, extending through, around, beside, and within each other and in every other way imaginable associated with each other. Dimensions are like the spaghetti at your favorite local café, all entwined and cozy. For the sake of discussion let’s say Item A and Item B are thrust into the same time and space, as dimensions may sometime want to do. Well, not to worry, there is plenty of space in there, so all of the subatomic particles in Item A budge-up and make room for the subatomic particles of Item B so that the Items occupy the exact same location in space and time. Now, when the budge-up occurs, there is a slight shiver in the Omni-dimensional fabric of time and space to accommodate the extra load. Ta Da! That shiver is theoretically the Giggley. Simple isn’t it? Parathelsey went on to theorize that two occurrences may result in a Giggley; the random co-occupation of the same location in space and time by objects in two separate dimensions (which he experienced and first thought was the effect of withdrawal from that wonderful Draught), and the occurrence of a mixing zone caused by the budging-up of two parallel planes of existence which subsequently “leak” into one another. There you have it.