Part 2 (1/2)

”h.e.l.l no,” Aaron snaps at him. ”Why don't you get a job?”

”Aaron, he's a friend of ours.” I pull a couple loose dollars out of my pocket and hand it to the man, who takes it hesitantly and gives me a look out of his tired, dry, withered eyes that are so full of grat.i.tude that the image burns itself permanently into my mind.

”Thank you,” he says in his dry voice.

”No problem.”

Aaron is very quiet, watching this. Tom is looking at me as if he were my proud father and I had just hit a ball out of the little league ball park. After we're down the hill a ways, leaving the b.u.m behind, Aaron grunts and says something like, ”You can't support him forever.” I ignore the remark, as I half agree with him, but Tom goes into one of his speeches about how food belongs to all of humanity, and how we are obligated to prevent starvation, and Aaron counters this with his normal spiel about how everyone has to work for his share, and when someone doesn't work, and someone else provides for him, the person realizes he doesn't have to work so he won't. An argument starts, and I back off and walk beside Pris and Felix. Felix is describing everything he sees for her, giving her a glimpse into the world he has entered; they are still arm-in-arm but being very brotherly-sisterly about it. ”The leaves are glowing,” he says as we walk under a tree. He lowers his gaze and stops mid-stride, staring at the tree's trunk. ”Wild,” he says. ”That's really wild.”

”What?” Pris asks.

”The bark. It has weird patterns.”

”The bark does have weird patterns,” I tell him.

”I never noticed it before. On LSD you notice things that are around you all the time but you never really look at. It . . .” He breaks off, losing his train of thought. ”Patterns really catch your attention. Things like gratings on, like, a heater will s.h.i.+mmer. They look like they move, like they wobble. Did you really see a laser beam on your wall last night?”

”Yes.”

”Really? Are you telling the truth?”

I look at him, annoyed, and he shrivels back at my look as if I'm about to whip him. ”Everything I said happened, happened. Even more than I'm saying, but I'm not going into that.”

”I'd like to see it,” he says. ”I'd really like to. Let's all stay at your house tonight and we'll watch for it.”

”I have to work tonight,” Pris says unhappily. She has pulled away from Felix, and is now standing nearer to me.

”We can pick you up after work,” I tell her.

”No. I'm scheduled for tomorrow morning, too. Early. I'd better stay home.”

We continue down the hill to the Euclid, pa.s.s our b.u.m on the steps, enter the building, and suddenly I freeze. Turning, I open the building door and look out at the steps. Yes, our b.u.m is sitting right there.

Once again, he mysteriously beat us home. He must have a twin brother or something, I think, and shrug it off. Everyone else is already up the stairs and heading for the apartment. ”Check the windows!” Felix is calling, so I trot to catch up to them and enter the apartment at their heels. I check my room, looking the windows over carefully, but see nothing more than unbroken white goop.

I join Tom and Aaron who are in the kitchen, still arguing --- now about something entirely removed from their original conflict --- and they continue without a pause even as they're pulling out ice and opening bottles and measuring quant.i.ties of blood-red mix and crystal clear vodka, and peeling celery stalks. Aaron is saying, ”Naturally you as a writer are against censors.h.i.+p, but you've got to understand that under certain circ.u.mstances the free circulation of dangerous information can be very damaging . . .” and Tom is saying --- at the same time --- ”Aaron, this is America! The very foundation of our society is based upon the freedom to voice our opinions on any topic at any time . . .” There's no venom in their voices, though, because they're just arguing for the sake of arguing, because that's what they're good at and that's what they're interested in. At least, that's what I think. As I'm standing there waiting for the drinks to be prepared, Felix's voice cries out from the living room in astonishment, and Pris is saying, ”What? What?”

”He must have found something,” Tom says, and we go running.

Felix and Pris are standing at opposite ends of the low, long coffee table, facing each other, both staring at the cube the b.u.m had made for me which Felix is holding in his hands. There's a mock expression of terror on his face, and he bellows, ”My G.o.d!” The terror in his voice is very realistic, as is his expression as he stares into the cube, through the cube, then with trembling hands lowers the cube and turns to stare around at everything in the room. He's not joking, I realize --- he's freaking out. ”Oh my G.o.d,” he's yelling. ”What's happening? What is happening!” Felix lets out a cry of fear as Tom steps toward him, so Tom steps back. Felix doesn't move --- it seems he can't.

He's as rigid as a statue except for his eyes.

”You're on drugs, Felix,” I tell him, my voice very calm. ”You're seeing hallucinations. Everything's okay. Nothing is really wrong, it's just the drugs. Okay? Felix?”

Felix looks down at his feet and lets out another startled cry.

”Felix? Can you hear me?” I edge closer.

”Oh G.o.d,” he says.

”Felix, this is me, your friend. I'm going to save you. Can you hear me?” I'm almost within arm's reach of him.

”Everything's going insane,” he says in a small, boyish voice, full of fear. His entire body is trembling now.

”Close your eyes,” I tell him. ”It's only a hallucination. You took LSD and now you're hallucinating. When you come down everything's going to be normal.” I reach him, put my arms around him. He's broken out in a cold sweat.

”It's not a hallucination,” he whispers.

”Yes it is. Close your eyes.”

I can't tell if he's closed his eyes or not, but suddenly he's squeezing me in a bear-hug.

”It's just a bad trip,” I tell him. Everyone else is talking to him in soothing tones as well, but everyone else seems afraid to come near us. ”It's just a bad trip, Felix. You've had bad trips before, right?

Well, this is just another one. You're going to have to be brave and ride it out.”

”It's never been this bad,” he whispers.

”You're just going to have to ride it out. Okay?”

”Don't leave me.”

”I won't leave. I'm right here with you.”

”If you let go I'll go drifting off. It's so big that I'd never find my way back.”

”It's okay,” I tell him. ”I'll keep holding on until you come down, as long as it takes.” I do --- for several hours. He moans and screams and cries the whole time, until finally he falls asleep. At one point during this vigil, just before Pris leaves to make it to work, Tom asks her what it was that set him off. ”The cube,” she says. ”He looked at the cube and freaked out.” I say nothing to this, but I think to myself: Jesus f.u.c.king Christ.

Monday morning, June 23rd, it's just past 9:00 AM and I've been up since 5:30, unable to sleep, sitting at my desk and staring at the mysterious little cube.

Now while I have never claimed to be much of a scientist, and I admit my knowledge of physics and especially quantum physics is sketchy at best, I do know that there are theories accepted today that are dependent upon the existence of an infinite number of physical dimensions. I have read a number of bizarre science papers that explore the possibilities these theories imply. One paper by a physicist named Hogan believably depicts the existence of 6 physical dimensions. Six.

And that doesn't include time, which is usually referred to as the ”forth” dimension.

The b.u.m had said ”a four-dimensional cube” and ”you have to learn how to look at it.” Felix definitely saw something unusual about the cube, and while he was under the influence of what some claim to be a ”mind expanding” drug. Whether LSD expands your mind or merely scrambles it is a question that reaches into the realm of metaphysics --- which I don't feel qualified to discuss --- but it strikes me odd that Felix, a veteran LSD user who has learned to handle himself under the drug, suddenly loses control when he looks at a simple little cube made of plastic drinking straws. So, my suspicions stirred, I have spend all morning staring at the cube and find, maybe due to the lack of sleep --- or maybe not --- the cube seems to be bending light.

It is so subtle that a casual examination would not reveal it, and ---until now --- a casual examination is all it was worth. But after staring and staring and hoping and wis.h.i.+ng for something strange to happen, it has. At only one angle, holding the cube just so, and squeezing it, light going through the cube bends and objects beyond do not match up. The line of the edge of my bedroom window is broken when I look at it thought the cube, like looking through a gla.s.s of water with a straw in it; the straw in the water does not match up with the straw emerging from the water.

Then again, it isn't that obvious. I am tired, I do want to see something weird, and it could be nothing more than an optical illusion.

There is one way to tell if the cube is bending light, however: s.h.i.+ne a laser through it.

Okay. That's exactly what I'll do.

After breakfast I make my way out of the building and start the two mile walk up hill to the lab. My car is only 5 blocks away from the Euclid, and as far as I know it still runs, but it's gotten so many parking tickets on it I'm afraid to go near it. Walking is good for me, anyway.

At the top I'm exhausted, but I feel great. The cube is in my pocket, and as I reach the low blue-and-gray building I pull it out, straighten it, and check to make sure it isn't coming apart. As I stand there, staring at it, I hear a door open. ”Hey, what kind of drugs are you on?” a voice says. I look over to see one of Dr. Carbajal's lab a.s.sistants staring at me. There's two others with him on the other side of the gla.s.s doors, both of them girls dressed in white lab coats. One of them looks enough like Pris to remind me of her, and I inwardly cringe.