The Theory of Everything (13 page)

“Citrus,” I said. “Clementines, tangerines, mandarins.”

“Swoon,” Finny said. “What happened next?”

“He busted me for running out of the café and not calling him.”

“Ouch,” he said. “And then?”

I played with the frayed ends of the arm of my sweater. “He didn't ask me out again,” I said. “And he didn't show up at lunch.”

“Maybe he wasn't hungry?”

“I blew it,” I said.

“Maybe not,” Finny said. “He could be playing tough.”

“Meaning?”

“Smart girls like you don't like being worshipped. You are feminist and punk rock. You'd rather be an equal.”

“Where did you read that?”

Finny opened his bag and there, in between the physics books, was a copy of
Teen Vogue.
I laughed.

“You treated him like crap, so even if he agreed to go out with you, you wouldn't respect him. So he treats you like crap to even the playing field, and you'll be all into him again.”

“But I'm into him now,” I said.

“So you say,” he said. “I'll bet you twenty bucks he texts you later today.”

“Deal,” I said. “But only if you agree games are ridiculous.”

“Of course they are,” Finny said. “But according to the magazine, they're necessary. Welcome to the big, bad world of dating. Leave everything you thought you knew at the door.”

“I think I already did that with Walt,” I said, yawning.

“Who's Walt?”

“My shaman panda,” I said, drifting off. “He shows up when I need guidance.”

And then I realized what I said. My eyes popped open, and judging from the look on Finny's face, I could have used some guidance right then.

“You have a recurring hallucination?” Finny said.

I nodded.

“Who's a shaman?”

I nodded again.

“And a panda?”

“Yes,” I said. My life was like a cartoon.

“Would it kill you to tell me everything all at once?”

“I told you that I hallucinate. Dad hallucinates. And we bring back souvenirs,” I said. “Do you really think you'd be here if I added a shaman panda to the mix?”

Finny leaned back in his seat, sighing. “Of course,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him. “Fan of the unexplained, remember?”

That's what I liked about Finny. He huffed and puffed for five minutes and then he was over it.

“It sounds crazy when I say it out loud,” I said. That's why I hadn't wanted to say it. But if I was going to come out of the shadows and into the light, I might as well bring my panda with me.

“It doesn't sound any crazier than you looked at Café Haven,” he said.

He was right. I hoped I never looked that way again. It was why I was going to New York—to prove that I wasn't the one thing I didn't want to be—my dad. I could only hope the trip came with an antidote.

“Walt, huh?” Finny said. “Is he a grumpy old man panda?”

I laughed. “Not exactly. He plays in bands—and not just marching bands.”

“Now you're blowing my mind.”

“You'd love him,” I said. “He likes Audrey Hepburn and Chinese food and being snarky . . .”

“Go on,” Finny said.

“He thinks I'm on some kind of path, which is why he's here. He's supposed to guide me or whatever.”

Finny tapped his left foot. It's what he did when he knew there was more to tell.

“Basically, Walt's my guardian angel,” I said. “Except he's a panda sent by the High Panda Council. And I don't disappear into his world, he pops into mine.”

“Wait, have I seen him?” Finny said.

“Don't you think you'd remember seeing a giant panda?”

“Good point,” he said, tapping. I put my hand on his knee to make sure his leg didn't fly off his body.

“I'm the only one who can see him,” I said.

“But I'm your physics adviser,” Finny said. “How can I possibly run a true experiment without all the data? Please tell your guardian panda healer that I need to meet him. Pronto.”

“I would love for you to meet him,” I said. He had no idea how much. “But that's not how it works. Walt can't appear to anyone but me, per the rules of the High Panda Council.”

“Since when did hallucinations have rules?” His leg stopped moving, but a red flush crept up his neck.

“Since I'm doing more than hallucinating,” I said.

“Right,” he said. “I knew that.”

I loved that Finny was just as open-minded as Dad was. I loved that he went from hearing that I hallucinate to trying to solve me with science in less than ten minutes. I loved that he cared about me enough to come to New York, even if it was partially to meet one of the greatest minds in physics. I knew part of it was about his future, but I also believed that part of it was about mine, which is why I had to give him something.

“Walt and I talk about you,” I said.

“Walt knows about me?”

“Of course,” I said. “Walt knows about everything. Not the future—I wish—but he's pretty intuitive for a panda.”

“What does he think of me?” Finny said. “Does he like my outfits? The whole Normalcy Project name?”

“He thinks you're great,” I said. “He's the one who convinced me to tell you everything.”

“Walt!” Finny said, high-fiving the air. “My man.”

“He's not here,” I said.

“How should I know?” Finny said. “It's not like you tell me anything.”

I'd told him plenty—it just took me a while. I was still getting used to having a best friend, especially one who kept my secrets. It was easier to be vulnerable with Walt because he wasn't real, but that wasn't fair. Not anymore.

“From here on out, I will tell you everything,” I said, holding out my hand and extending my pinky. “I swear.”

Finny linked his pinky around mine, and we squeezed.

“Me too,” he said. “Which means I have to tell you something.”

I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “Can it wait until after my nap?

“Sure,” he said, grinning. “But I doubt you'll be able to sleep knowing your dad wrote a book.”

Finny got his iPad out of his bag and handed it to me. There, right on the screen, was a website that looked like a new age explosion. It was aqua and green with an animated GIF of some earth-moon-sky celestial thing and the name of the press across the banner: Possible Realms. I was about to hand the thing back to him when I saw their featured author, Angelino Sophia, and his book:
The Heart of Physics: The Role of Love in the Theory of Everything.

“Whoa,” I said, scrolling down, clicking, hoping for a photo. “Wait, I Googled all night and never found this.”

“That's because you don't search like a scientist,” Finny said. “I wasn't even looking for it, I was just making sure I was up to date on string theory. I was reading a blog post about it and parallel universes—it was so awesome—when I saw your dad's name in the list of references. I followed it until I ended up at this website.”

“The book's out of print,” I said, wanting to curse the cursor.

“That's why it's good we're headed to New York,” Finny said. “Who needs a book when you can have the real thing?”

I do, I thought. Finny wasn't the only one who needed to prepare to meet my dad.

“Don't look so sad,” he said. “There's an intro you can read online.”

He took the tablet from me, pointing to a link, and clicked it. We leaned together, holding the iPad between us, the screen lighting up our corner of the train while Dad's words illuminated everything.

INTRODUCTION

Socrates said the unexamined life was not worth living. As scientists, we rise every day because of the search, no matter how often the answers elude us. As husbands, we leave those we love to fend for themselves because there are questions only we can answer. But as fathers, we're brought back to ourselves. Brought back to the reality that we search and rise, day after day, for someone else.

I wrote this book to prove that the thread between physics and emotion exists; that it's just as important to question as it is to answer; and that if you walk through the world with a different view, maybe it's not your world that you're walking in.

Sophie, may this book help you to know me—and therefore, know yourself.

“Where's the rest of it?” I said, my heart pounding. “Why isn't there more?”

“It's just a sample,” Finny said. “But isn't it great? The whole
maybe it's not your world that you're walking in
thing?”

Part of it was my world, the part where Dad never called. The part where I cried myself to sleep and then vowed never to cry again. But then there was the other part where hearts rolled off sleeves and rock stars serenaded me in grocery stores, things of a different world. Whichever world I was in, it made me realize I needed him. I needed my dad.

“And he mentioned you!” Finny said, pointing to my name. “You, my dear, have just become immortal.”

My hand shook as I took it away, letting the iPad rest with Finny.

“Wait, are you okay?”

“I just need some air,” I said, crawling over him and walking through rows of people like they weren't there, reaching the back door of our car.

I waved my arms in front of it, hyperventilating, until it finally whooshed and opened up. Standing in the space between one car and the next felt like limbo, like the place I'd been for the past four years. Bits of air rushed in, but even the deafening sound of wheels against tracks, steel against steel, couldn't drown out the message running through my head: Dad wrote me a book. Dad wrote me a book. Dad wrote me a book.

I walked back in, the door whooshing behind me, but something had changed, like chairs and armrests. Lamps and wallpaper. This wasn't the same train I'd been on, it was better. Bright green seats gave way to pink armrests. Green, pink and plaid curtains hung from the windows, and the walls were covered in hot-pink wallpaper with velvet blackbirds on it. Amtrak, brought to you by Jonathan Adler.

Finny would love this, I thought, feeling like I'd just walked into the most amazing party in progress, except most people were sleeping or reading, just like the train I'd been on before. I chose an empty row in the middle and plopped down beneath a delicate green wire lamp—a birdcage with a miniature bulb hanging from the center. The lamps floated above each seat like tiny, aviary chandeliers. I turned mine off as light seeped through the curtains. Night had turned to day and bright green hills rolled by, pink flowers scattered across them like stars.

“The interior design is crazy good,” I said to no one in particular, admiring the cursive
M
embroidered on the seat back in front of me.
M
like moody, like mind over matter, like multiverse. Like M-theory.

M-theory was an extension of string theory, Mr. Maxim had said in class last week. We were studying velocity, but he couldn't stop skipping ahead, probably because parallel universes were way more intriguing than one toy car versus another. The idea of parallel universes had lost its appeal in popular media, but with the emergence of M-theory, the idea was plausible again.

He'd said that originally the
M
stood for
membrane
but it was such a big theory, scientists thought the letter should be open to interpretation. How do you name something that could be the answer to everything?

I didn't completely understand it, but I liked its fill-in-the-blank aspect. The Marvelous Theory, I thought. Magnificent Theory. Morose, how I sometimes felt. Miniature, mayonnaise, milliner. Miser, munchkin, meringue. I was on a roll when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a blackbird, slowly peeling itself off the wallpaper and coming to life. First it was one, then two, then all of them, peeling away and hovering above my head like a hoodie, enveloping me in darkness. The birds scattered and flew higher, waving their wings, flitting their bodies and flying full-fledged above my head on an Amtrak train.

Blackbirds used to gather on the electrical wires in front of our house and I was scared of them—their dark, beady eyes and big bodies—until Dad told me they were a good omen, not a bad one.

“Blackbirds are all about intuition,” he said. “What you feel in your gut.”

I'm afraid that I'm my dad.

“According to Native American tradition, they represent increased awareness,” he said.

I'm pretty sure that I'm my dad.

“And the magic of worlds you can't see? It's now available to help ground you as you walk your path.”

Parallel universes. Walt. The path.

I stood up and they flew in, out and around me like rain, reminding me it was time to do what Walt said. What Dad said. What they were saying. Wake up, Sophie. It's time to pay attention. And even though a magpie was different than a blackbird, it was close enough.

“Magpie,” I said, smiling at myself. “It's the Magpie Theory!”

I ran up and down the aisles, arms held high, fingertips grazing the wings of blackbirds. They twisted and twirled, spun and soared through my arms and up to the ceiling, diving at seats and spreading their wings as I expanded my mind. My flock on the inside as the world went by outside, whichever world I was in. I spun and fell into one of the chairs, my laughter mixed with the cawing of blackbirds.

|||||||||||

“Excuse me, miss?”

A piercing voice took me from Birdland back to Trainland.

“You're in my seat.”

A woman in a hot-pink shirt towered above me, her flowered fanny pack in my face, the smell of coffee wafting over me.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to get my bearings. “My mistake.”

I stood up, felt the door whoosh and walked into the café car.

“One hot chocolate, one coffee, please,” I said. “With room.”

Room for books written by missing dads. Room for parallel universes. Room for blackbirds, which stood for intuition, something I was starting to discover within myself.

I walked through three automatic doors until I saw Finny's hair sticking up over the seat.

“Thanks,” he said as I gave him his coffee and he gave me back the window seat. And then he pointed at my hair. I could feel it rising off my head like a bad bouffant.

“You weren't back there hanging out, were you?” he said.

“Not exactly,” I said.

Finny smiled and pulled a chocolate bar out of the inside of his coat pocket. I guess birds of a feather
did
flock together. I smoothed my hair down, set my hot chocolate to the side and went for the chocolate bar.

“Can I ask what you saw?”

“Blackbirds,” I said, pulling a feather out of my pocket. “One minute I was getting some air and the next I was on a train car like this one but prettier. Hot-pink seats, birdcage lights and wallpaper filled with velvet blackbirds.”

“Chic,” he said, his foot tapping.

“Yes, except the birds peeled off the wallpaper and flew around the car.”

“Whoa,” he said. “They attacked you?”

“Not exactly,” I said, but when I looked down at my arms, they were full of little nicks, like from the beaks of birds. Had I been so into the magic that I hadn't noticed that part, or was that just the hazard of raising my arms in the middle of hundreds of birds?

“Sophie!” he said, grabbing my arm. “You look like a cutter.”

It was scary now, but it didn't seem scary then. It felt good to be surrounded by them, soft, warm and aware. Being part of a flock was always better than going it alone.

“They didn't bite me—they embraced me,” I said.

“If by embrace you mean rip into your skin, then yes,” Finny said, pulling a packet of wipes out of his coat pocket. “They embraced you fully. This is going to sting, but after what you've been through, I doubt you'll feel it.”

As he dabbed my arm with antiseptic, I let the stinging wake me up to my purpose. I was serious about finding my dad, but maybe it was time to be a little more serious about all of it. The fact that I had run away from home, leaving only a note. That Dad was alive and well and apparently still in Brooklyn. And that we were on a train, headed there without calling, without texting, nothing. Maybe my memories were wrong. Maybe we weren't as alike as I thought. Maybe his book was total trash, a theory that couldn't hold up, which was why we'd never heard of it. Why it was out of print. And why I was probably out of my mind for being on this train with my best friend, headed into I Didn't Know What.

“Just wave your arms,” Finny said, putting the antiseptic pad in between our two seats. “The air makes it sting less.”

I didn't want it to sting less—I wanted it to sting more. The way it would sting if Dad slammed the door in my face. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted Finny to be prepared, but instead we sat in silence for a while as the train propelled us forward. Maybe this was as far as Finny could go, should go, but it was farther than anyone had ever gone with me before.

“You need to sleep,” he said, packing away his iPad and putting up the tray table. “You want to be awake for New York, right?”

I wanted to be awake to what was really happening to me, but for now, I'd settle for sleep. I drank the rest of my hot chocolate, put up my tray table and leaned against the window.

“It's more comfy over here,” Finny said, patting his shoulder. “Come on.”

I was too tired for pride, so I leaned over and nestled into the corner of his jacket like a bird seeking shelter from a storm. It was time to batten down the hatches. Fortify the heart. Make sure the mind was intact and don't forget to bring a friend. There could be rough skies ahead.