Yuma – not Vegas
I am back where I am. It is a blur. I need it to be a blur.
I clean rooms and put on clean sheets at the nursing home and get the usual broadside from Jeannie and her ilk for not being fast enough, as if they cared. I come home tired. I fetch the kids and I am tired. I cook and I am tired. I don’t have sex with Jon – again – because, guess what, I am tired. I watch television to forget that I am tired and fall asleep. And through all of it my thoughts race, because I just opened a fucking dam.
Then the science guy actually emails me back.
Polite even. Perhaps amused. Or perhaps he is just a kindred spirit who also, like the rest of humanity at some point or other, knows what it’s like when a part of that humanity who you loved is no longer there.
Yes, he writes, if we could find a way to prove all of this and by way of that to interact with these other worlds. Then there is nothing in the theory, as it stands now, that prevents us from interacting with people, and not only photons. It might take decades or even centuries to get to the tech level, though, and the understanding that it requires to pull off such a feat!
Here you are told that magic, spirituality, your wildest dreams in an agnostic mind might be REAL enough, under a new name, to get you into contact with, well, at least a version of someone you loved and lost.
And then you are told that all of this miracle may NOT come around for you to experience it, before you yourself are consigned to the void you fear may be all that waits for you. The one that is all around you. Unseen. Waiting. To take you.
Like it took Lin.
It is a fancy theory and you feel embarrassed for even having pulled it down to this very personal level, and not left it to be something to do with measuring particles.
You wanted to measure your heart’s longings, not particle interaction. You wanted to take the consequence of all this. The ultimate mind-boggling, forbidden-to-believe consequence. You did. You got your answer. It was worth … nothing.
As you bloody well knew.
That is my last thought before I delete that email, too.