Quantum Charlie

A man uncontrollably drifts from one parallel universe to the next, always connected to the love of his life.

Feet in the sand and hot beams of sunshine on his forehead, Charlie turns his head left and finds sunglasses on his face.  Salt breeze on warm white cotton shirt, khaki pants rolled up to his knees.  People walk along the beach, children running between them.  Seagulls drift upon drafts of air, wafting lazy crescents against the blue sky.  Charlie stands, feeling the heat of the sand under his feet and stares out across the ocean, to the definite horizon beyond.  Small waves wash across the shore.

            He turns to follow Dorothy, she’s already far ahead of him on the beach.  She’s running in her white swimsuit.  She’s close.  Closer than she’s been in a while.  How long?  He couldn’t remember.  Even if he could know, what would it matter?  She turns to look behind her and smiles.  He feels cold waves meet the hot sand where he is sure his feet are.  He runs to follow, wanting to believe it all. He runs past the people strewn out across the sand, dodging small children and the occasional pet.  The wind carries her laughter to him.  He can hear the beeping of the engine regulators.

            He runs faster, closing the distance.  He knocks a man down and keeps moving.  He knows a warning light is flashing somewhere but he can’t see it.  He ignores it, denies it, and continues to sprint down the beach.  Dorothy see’s he gained and squeals with delight, her long hair wisping behind her.  He allows himself to believe its over, that this will be it, and he reaches her and they tumble to the sand.  He can feel the grit of the beach sticking to her wet skin.  She is soft, smooth and her arms grip as tight as his as they embrace and she kisses him.

            “You got me,” She says.

            “I’ll never let you go.”

            Jensen grabbed him by the overalls and lifted him from the floor.  Charlie grabbed his wrists and tried to resist but the Lieutenant was to strong and the engine regulators were screaming now.  Bright red lights flickered and mixed with the steam and smoke filling the room.

            “Get those engines back online!  Reroute all available power!” Lieutenant Jensen was screaming.  Heat and fear, and blood trickling down his face.  His leg was burned, from the plasma coils he was repairing, he was placing a shunt and then just fire.  Where was the captain?

            “The engines Charlie!  We need them now!”

            He lurched to the panel and moved his hands across the holoscreen and the floor lurched and metal screamed as power returned.

            “Helm responding sir.” Barkley yelled.

            Charlie wanted to faint and crumple into a ball he was so tired and agony spread dark purple splotches over what he could make sense of.  The surviving members of the bridge crew huddled over holoscreens next to the dead sprawled on the floor.  Charlie closed one eye to prevent the blood from flowing into it, and compensated again so the ships main cannon could fire at 10 percent greater efficiency.

            “Bring her around Barkley!” Jensen was screaming.

            Charlie could feel the rain on his shoulders, the water pooling in his expensive leather shoes.  His ears were ringing and he was picking himself off the floor once more.  His eyes were burning now and all noise was coming from miles away.  Behind Jensen they were pouring in, a boarding party Charlie knew, he had seen the vids.  He knew that they were lost, but he also knew that if the fleet lost here the next stop was Earth, and Dorothy.  Oh please, he thinks, don’t let this be it, don’t let this be the one, don’t let it stop here.  We must win! For Earth!

            Rain drops round and fat pounded the nylon umbrella over his head, and he retrieves a pulse rifle from the dead marine at the entrance to the bridge.  He has seen the vids, but the nightmare is too horrible to prepare for, spindly spider-like gnarled bunches of black spines with vague centers pour down from the hole like the water filling his shoes, the rivulets destroying his expensive leather shoes, and the he fires the pulse gun into the coming torrent.

            His hands are cold despite the leather gloves and he grips the cold handle of the umbrella and the cold wind slices across his face.  The heavy hard rainfall is pounding each brick of despair into its place.  His feet are sinking into the mud, he can’t feel his feet but knows they are there.  He is here, and before him is the grey stone.  Fresh bright flowers pile high on the green grass, withering from the onslaught of rain.  “Here lies Dorothy Hawking”, it reads, “Beloved Wife”.  His mother and one or two of their friends are there somewhere behind him, he can feel them pondering out what to do.  He is so cold and yet so numb and yet so indescribable and dead himself.

            “Don’t worry,” he remembers, her voice in his head, “I’ll be fine.  Just be thankful we have the insurance.” Her delicate mouth spreading into that playful smile. He remembers how bright the sun had shone through the windows as they painted.  “See,” she was saying, “So no matter what the baby is, they’ll feel at home.”

            “Just as soon as I get better,” She was smiling, always smiling, no defeat in her voice, “We’ll fill this whole damn world with babies.” He remembers spreading the paint and believing, and getting lost in arguing over names.  Now his shoulders were shaking and he could feel two thin lines moving down his face as warm as sunshine through a window.  The steak is cooked perfectly.

            “Come on Charlie,” Diana says, she was always there for them, “It’s time, come on.”  His foot makes a sucking noise as it rises from the mud.  He follows her to the car and turns to look again.  Seasoning is superb, the scent of seared beef and garlic butter asparagus fills his nose, tender meat and juices in his mouth, his jaw works effortlessly.  The stone is there, bright wreathes of flowers around it like a lion’s mane, and folds himself into the town car, the rainwater soaks into the seat.  Wine pours to the brim of his already half filled glass, everyone is laughing, and he can feel the boat gently bobbing in the current.

            Beth and Philip are screaming with laughter and so are Charlie and Diana.  The night sky is full of stars and the yacht’s crew is clearing dinner plates, filet mignon with truffles and thick perfect stalks of asparagus.

            “1…2…3!” The women yell and the men lean over and drink from glasses, the red wine running down the sides.  Charlie lifts his glass and tilts his head back and flings the empty glass, it smashes on the wooden deck.  The broken shards are swept up by a crewman while cups of chocolate mousse are placed on the table. Charlie sits and wipes a lone tear from his eye with his thumb and wonders how it got there, then dimly remembers.

            “Getting sentimental on me old man?” Phillip says, “If the glassware means that much to you, you should be more careful.”

            The large boat is rocking on the gentle waves, the water lightly lapping at the sides.  This is the Caribbean, Charlie thinks, my feet are on these tan boards.  “What can I say, I am a man of passion.” He said.

            “I’ll drink to that.” Diana says and leans in for a kiss.  Charlie meets her and under the stars and fluorescent deck lighting Phil and Beth clap. 

            “So my captain,” Phil said, “What is our plan for tomorrow?”

            “Bermuda.” Charlie says, “Shopping for the girls, golf for the men.  Then we have arranged for flights back to the world.”

            “Oh so sad.” Beth says, the corners of her mouth drooped like a clowns.  Everyone’s wine glass was refilled.

            “All good things my love.” Phil said.

            “I can’t wait to show you this little boutique I found last time we were here,” Beth says before taking a drink, “simply to die for.”

            The ship’s crew fluttered about doing this and that.  The breeze was warm and sweet.  Charlie’s head swam in alcohol and good cheer, his stomach full and tight.  Diana reached over and lightly took his hand.  He turned to her and smiled.  She was always there for him.

            The phone on the table began to chirp and vibrate.  Phil exclaimed and picked it up.  He tapped the screen.  “Dorothy! My darling, so nice for you to call!  I’m so happy this blasted thing works so far out. How are you?” Phil spins the phone around and Charlie feels his stomach tighten.  Beth waves and makes air kisses, Diana drunkenly waves.  Charlie looks into the eyes of the teenaged child smiling and waving back at him.  “Hello Dorothy,” he says, “Staying out of trouble?”

            “Hello Mr. Hawking.” She says, she is bright and cheerful, and in an instant she’s talking to her mother and father about some trivial thing for school.  Charlie wipes the sweat from his head and digs into his eyes.  Diana’s hand lightly takes his again and he turns to her.  She gives him a concerned look and he smiles and pats his stomach.  She smiles back and Charlie pulls his own phone out and checks e-mail and stock prices to redirect his nervous energy.

            “Goodnight honey,” Phil says.

            “Sweet dreams darling,” Beth says.

            The phone is lifted again and Charlie and Diana wave.  Phil places the phone back on the table and they talk of what a sweet young girl she is.  Charlie remembers, but reminds himself that his feet are here, on these tan boards, under these twinkling stars.  The crew clears the table, the stained linen tablecloth removed.

            “Cigar?” Charlie says.

            “I thought you’d never ask.  The men leave the women for two deck chairs on the bow of the ship.  The two men sit puffing bright red embers, otherwise lit only by the bright moon and starlight. 

            “You’ve had a good year.” Phil says.

            “You win some you lose some.”

            Phil laughs and sits up.  He studies his ember.  “True, true, so true.”

            Charlie puffs and the smoke fills his mouth and he holds it there.  It’s rich yet mellow and smooth.  He tries to detect the notes, vanilla, or cognac, or was it supposed to be nutty or earthy, or was that the description of the wine?  He was too drunk to know, for now the smoke was enough.

            “Charlie,” Phil says, still looking down, “Things have no gone as well for me.”

            Charlie looks over to his friend, “Oh?”

            “Things are bad, Charlie, things are real bad.  And there’re getting worse.”

            Charlie breathed out, he puffed his cigar and sat up a bit.

            “The new investments, the Chinese steel mill, I mean Charlie, I thought wars were supposed to be good for business.”

            Smooth mellow smoke drifted from Charlie’s mouth.  “How much do you need?”

            “Charlie I would never…”

            “How much Phil?  Don’t start with that.”

            Phil glanced at his hands the red ember glowing. “Ten million, that should float me for the rest of the year.  But Charlie, trust me, things are primed to shoot back up, I could guarantee…”

            Charlie let him go on, he was looking back down the ship, to the fluorescent lights and the sound of the women laughing.  He thought of Diana and wondered if he really loved her or if she was just convenient.  He thought of his friend’s daughter and his memories.  There were thousands of images as far as he could tell, all blasting through his mind.  Were they real or was his minds slipping?  The only thing he could tell for certain was that this child needed to be protected, cared for.

            “Whatever you need, you know you and Beth mean the world to us.”

            Phil didn’t look up, he just nodded his slung head and continued to speak of business terms and ideas.  They were all sitting there watching him, row upon row of eyes in stadium seating.

            “You’re the best man I’ve ever known,” Phil said.

            Charlie stared up at the moon, he could smell the ink and hear the squeak of the marker as it glided across the whiteboard.  He lifted up his hand holding the cigar and tapped it, ashes flutter across the water, landing in the reflected light of the moon.

            He adjusts the thin wire glasses, his hair hangs loose over his ears.  He has on a green tweed jacket, even khakis and loafers.  “So an interesting aspect to String Theory” he says, “is that it make possible what is known as,” he writes each word as he says it, “The Multi-,” the markers squeak and someone coughs, “-verse”.  He turns to the lecture hall.  An entire room of faces, mostly just far enough to make it difficult to recognize the features.  “For a good long while, the scientific community believed that atoms were as small as you could get, in fact the word “atom” comes from the ancient Greek word atomos, meaning undivided.  However, since the building of the Hadron Supercollider, we now know that you can break an atom up even further, into what are called quarks, and it is my belief that you can break matter down even further than that.  So you see the point is that there is limitless progression in any direction, inwards, the sub atomic level, the quantum level, and outwards at the universal level.

            “The universe is expanding folks, light is still incoming from the edge of the universe from the big bang and at the same time the possibility of defining the smallest piece of creation eludes us.  Given that grand of scope, what meaning does size or limit even have?  How can we continue to think in those types of terms?”

            He had been putting up a good effort to ignore her, but let himself meet her gaze.  She smiled and re-crossed her legs, lightly chewing on the end of her pen.

            “Taking that into consideration, the idea of the multiverse becomes clear.  If there is no definite limit to the size of existence in any direction, it then becomes possible that even our reality may only be one of many realities, consisting of infinite worlds.  If all of matter is made up of molecules and each molecule of atoms and each atom made up of quarks and so on, then it is not really all that hard think that even our entire realm of existence is simply a part of something greater.”

            She flicked her golden shoulder length hair and twirled it.  She wore a low cut shirt and her plump round breasts were heaving with each breath.  Charlie felt his eyes following her golden smooth legs up to where they vanished under her short skirt.

            “Of course the math supports this, but that’s for another day, uh, thankfully.”  He erased some of his writing from the board and drew three large circles in sequence.  “Going further,” where the circles met he drew a large X, “it is theorized that these multiple realities may intersect or rub against each other.”

            She was smiling at him, plump lips in a slight grin.  The fingers of her other hand twirling her necklace.  Her breasts heaved, her legs drew him to the shadows of her mini-skirt.  He remembers.

            “If it were possible to locate these points than it may be possible to travel between these realities.  To travel to a world that you may recognize, but is different in a slight way.

            “This has been observed in experiment before.  At the quantum level, particles at near light speed have been observed to phase in and out of existence almost at random.  One experiment, this is interesting, one experiment discovered that the path of carbon particles could only be predicted when the experiment was being observed.  Think of that now.

            “Here though is my favorite part of quantum mechanics.” The majority of the faces were blank and stoic, some took notes others sat slumped, heads leaning on hands.  My feet are on this beige carpet, Charlie thought.  “Particles have been observed of being linked in such a way that acting on one, causes an immediate reaction on the other, instantaneously, no matter what the distance.  One particle affecting another despite boundless distance between them, even from one edge of the observable universe to the next.  This is what Einstein called ‘spooky movement and a distance’ and what has plagued physicists ever since.”

            She was staring directly at him, her large wide sky blue eyes gave him a long, slow, blink.

            “What we see and what we are is not all there is, and as far as we know, all there is is not even definitive.”  The channels were flickering, fast and with annoyance.  Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose, she re-crossed her legs.  He closed his eyes and fumbled for a marker.

            “So let’s turn to page 160, here is a great example of what I’m talking about.  He was bored. So bored and yet restless, he needed to piss but didn’t want to get up.  He began to erase the circles, stopping briefly at the X, then swiped that away too.

            His feet hung over the edge of the recliner, his toe poked out of the left sock.  He was hungry, but didn’t feel like getting up, but he wasn’t satisfied with sitting anymore either.  Finally he stood and walked over to the fridge.  He opened it up and looked inside. The he closed the door and leaned against the door frame from the kitchen to the TV. room flicking the channels.  He looked outside his apartment window to the apartment building next to his and sighed and opened the fridge again.

            It was Thursday night and while he was not accustomed to going out during the week, he thought maybe just to get out of the house it might be nice to head somewhere and have a beer.  He decided against that though, nothing made him feel more despicable than drinking by himself.  So he decided instead to take a piss.

            He flushed.  Washed his hands.  Then stared into the mirror.  He recognized himself of course, but he found that in circumstances such as this he could never quite be sure.  When things were this quiet it was easier to remember, to realize.  He was himself, but also not himself and remembered but also knew that had been here for always but also elsewhere and beyond.  He stared at himself and wondered if his face changed as well, it always seemed to stay the same, but how could he really be sure?

            He thought back to Dorothy.  He remembered her from back in high school and that they were close and could have been closer, but he had failed to act and now she was married and filling Facebook with baby pictures.  He decided to pour himself a drink after all.

            This was the truth, but not the only truth.  Maybe he was simply just losing his mind, or was he simply just bored bored bored bored bored bored.  He sat back down on the recliner.  My feet are here, he thought, dangling.  He flickered through the channels until he realized just how much if freaked him out then turned it off.  He sat and cleared his head and tried to think and concentrate, but nothing happened.  All was still he realized for the first time in a long while, and it would have been nice if not for the crushing loneliness.  He sat for hours, until he saw the sunrise.  “Scalpel,” he said.  He felt the metal press into his palm.  “Clamp,” again the same metal press.

            Charlie stood up and refilled his glass.  I should have just kissed her, he thought.  He had, he remembered, but also he never did.  He could feel the tension and the stress of the operating room, and before he transferred, was thankful for the rest, but wanting to see her again.

            Charlie went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

            Dorothy lit the candle with a lighter.  Charlie watched the flame while she dug into her bag.  She produced a bent spoon and a syringe.  Charlie twitched and scratched, he was sick, so was she.  Neither had been able to score in almost a day and even then not much.  He wanted to vomit, but he also felt exhilarated at the prospect of fresh dope.  She squirted some water into the spoon and they sat transfixed. Suddenly through the sickness and the need to get his hit Charlie remembered.

            “Kiss me,” he said.  He looked down, he only had one shoe, but his feet were here.  The stench was a putrid mix of vomit and feces and piss.  Someone was dead in this building he knew.  He could smell that too.

            “What?” she said.

            “Kiss me.”

            “Not now,” she shook the spoon and scratched at the sore on her face.

            “Please, just once, kiss me.”

            She looked at him, then back to the spoon.  She dropped a piece of cotton into the liquid than sucked it up into the syringe.  Then she leaned over and kissed him.  Charlie lightly took her by the shoulder and held her there for a brief second, then she leaned back and tied a belt around her arm.  Charlie took the spoon and prepared his own hit, and watched as she slumped back into a pile of garbage and went totally slack and blinked at the ceiling.  Charlie watched her and smiled, pulling off his sock to shoot between his toes.  He ran his fingers across his mouth remembering the kiss, then thought about how much he could snag from her stash without her noticing.

Author's Note

This is an experiment for me, so if its hard to follow or just plain doesn't work please let me know.

Reviews

[Goat]

Wow, this is a great story. It held my attention really well. You are right, it was very difficult to follow, but the plot and story was great. If you maybe double the space between each place transition in the story that would help the reader. Maybe enter twice, or change the font style to match each setting. May I ask? In the end, was that Dorothy and Charlie when they were back in high school or elsewhere?

[M.R Douglass]

Thanks for another review! It's much appreciated. I thought about making the transitions easier to follow, but in the end I thought it was more important to maintain a sense of disorientation to match Charlie's. As long as you can follow it at all I think the experience is successful.
In regards to the ending, it needs work. Charlie is drifting through realities attached to Dorothy. Each time he jumps they are different people in different situations each unrelated for the most part to the previous scenario. I was nervous people would think the whole thing was just some kind of drug trip. Plus I'm raging over all the f*****g missed keystrokes! Hope this answers your questions, thanks again.

[Goat]

Oh, I understand now. You see I loved this story but not understanding the ending was driving me mad. I think this is an amazing story. I'm really sorry but can I ask one more question? I like this story but I don't understand in the end why he wants to take from her stash, It's obvious through the story hes very in love with her, so why does he want to steal from her stash? Is it because drugs make you do things you wouldn't?

[M.R Douglass]

I don't mind answering questions, discussion seems to be one the main ideas of this website. I wanted to bookend the start of this story with opposite scenarios (good/bad) but with similar victories for Charlie. While the situation in the end is decidedly negative, stealing a kiss is a drug den is as much a win as rolling in the sand on a beach. However, Charlie occupies two personalities at once. Addicts will steal.

[Goat]

Thank you, I get it now.