Part 19 (1/2)

”Yes. Imagine all the versions of you which are strung out through the planes of the universe, all connected through a fourth dimension, and one major four-dimensional nerve running the entire length. Your brain is just a segment of that nerve. You and I becoming aware of the forth dimension is actually the beginning of he human 'creature'

attaining a state of true self-awareness.”

”Really?”

”Yes! And this explains a lot of things that we've never understood before. Things like deja-vu, and psychic connections. And twins --- twins may actually be two ends of the same creature, manifest in the same plane of the universe.”

I nod, not really understanding nor accepting what he's saying. I am not in the mood to sit around and discuss it. ”I'm going to go take care of some business. Do you have a phone number where I can reach you?”

Alvin pulls out his wallet and fumbles with it for a moment, managing to produce a card. I put it in my s.h.i.+rt pocket and walk over to the door. Alvin looks a bit lost, perhaps feeling slighted because I'm not willing to stand around and discuss his theories with him. At the door I grab his hand and shake it, looking him right in the eyes. ”I appreciate everything you've done for me,” I tell him. ”We'll get together later and talk, okay? It's just that, right now, I have to see a couple people.”

”Of course,” Alvin says.

We part, he wandering back toward his car and me heading off across the campus toward the Euclid. The campus is so familiar, each tree and walkway right where they should be, that it feels like a homecoming --- like I'd just returned from visiting a foreign country where everything was alien and backwards. The walkway leads to Hearst Avenue, and I cross it and walk the half block up to Euclid Street. On the corner of Euclid and Hearst sits the large gray-blue building I'm so fond of; I stare at it for a long moment before crossing the street. I feel a sudden anxiety. The Euclid looks weary and run-down, the paint peeling in places. After a moment my anxiety eases a bit, because nothing is different --- the Euclid never was that much to look at, really. I do remember paint peeling here and there. Still, I'm cautious and on-edge as I make my way up the steps. Reaching into my pocket, I find keys to a house and car, but none to the Euclid. It occurs to me that the money in my wallet, and the credit cards and driver's license --- h.e.l.l, even the clothes I'm wearing --- are from another world.

I glance around to make sure no one is looking, then walk around the door and inside to the foyer. There's an awkward moment as one of my neighbors, who's checking his mail, turns and gives me a startled look.

I manage a grin and walk past, up the stairs and down the hall to the apartment. The door is locked and no one comes when I knock, so I slip through dimensions around the door and into the dark hallway beyond.

”h.e.l.lo?” I call out. ”Tom?”

The apartment is quiet; nothing stirs. I turn on the lights and walk to my bedroom. It's exactly the way I'd left it; camera equipment cluttering the desk, terrariums full of reptiles everywhere. Dirty underwear and socks on the floor. I dig through a desk drawer and find my cache of emergency money and a spare key to my Jeep. Lord knows where the Jeep is --- it's probably been towed away.

I pick up the phone and dial Pris's number. It rings three times and a voice answers. ”h.e.l.lo?” It's one of her roommates.

”Is Pris there?”

”She's at work.”

”When does she get off? Do you know?”

”Who's this?”

I tell her. ”Oh,” she says, ”you're the one that studies dinosaurs.

Yes, Pris should be home in a few hours. I don't know if she's free or not, though.”

”I just need to talk to her.”

”I'll tell her you called.”

”Thanks.” I hang up, feeling a low fountain of jealousy. Free or not? She'll be free all right. I put the green money in my pocket along with the keys to the Jeep and leave my room via the gap between the wall and the floor. I emerge outside, dropping to the ground in the small alley behind the building.

I search the streets up and down the hill for my Jeep, but it's gone. I eye several other Jeeps, wondering if one of them is mine --- it's possible, as I don't really know how close this world is to my own.

I even try my key in a couple of them, but no luck. Giving up, I wander down the hill on Hearst Avenue toward the BART station, which looks exactly like it should. The ticket machine accepts my money and issues me a card, I use it to pa.s.s into the boarding area, and a genuine squarish post-modern BART train rumbles into the station and makes it's ”Booop! Booop!” sound. I board the train, trying to think hopeful thoughts. I should be able to make it to Pris's house by the time she gets home from work.

BART takes me through Oakland and then out under the bay. I used to think the train was fast, but that was before I got used to cars that raced down the freeway at Indianapolis 500 speeds. In San Francisco I transfer to a Muni bus and ride the rest of the way out. The trip is long and tedious, as I find myself on edge thinking about what to say to her. ”Hi, I may be from another dimension. Do we have a relations.h.i.+p?”

Other pa.s.sengers glance at me, and I realize I've been thinking out loud. I frown and remain silent, watching the houses and shops pa.s.s outside the window.

As the Muni bus nears Priscilla's street, I pull the cord to signal the driver to stop. There's a hissing sound from the air brakes and the vehicle grinds to a halt. There's another hissing sound as the doors pop open, and I step out. The Muni bus continues on it's way, and I take a breath and start walking. As I near her apartment house I feel nervous and flushed, and I don't know what to do with my hands. I end up jamming them into my pockets. It feels like everyone on the street is watching me --- even every window of every house seems to have someone watching, using binoculars and high-powered telescopes --- examining my every move, every twitch on my face.

When I reach her house and knock on the door, no one answers. I knock louder. Either no one is at home, or Pris doesn't want to see me.

Fine then, I think, and wait outside. I sit on her front steps and brood. In the sky above, clouds are rolling in from the West, blocking out the sun. It looks like a summer storm is brewing.

Twenty minutes later I see Pris coming down the hill from the Muni stop, her arms full of groceries. I walk up toward her, meeting her halfway and taking the heavier of the two bags. ”Hi!” she says brightly, and flashes her beautiful smile. But the smile is nervous, self-conscious, and she doesn't look me in the eyes for more than a split-second. ”Where have you been?”

”Oh, I went on a little trip.” I fall in beside her, walking back toward the house. ”How have you been?”

”Fine.”

”Seen much of everybody? Tom and Aaron?”

”No, but Tom called a couple times to see if I knew where you were.”

”Been seeing much of Felix?”

”No.” She says it flat, with emphasis, letting me know that she has not seen him whatsoever. A little weight lifts off my heart. ”Where did you go on your trip?” she asks.

”Nowhere in particular. Here and there, visiting some friends and family.” I almost say ”Spent some time in jail,” but at the last moment I decide against it. We reach the steps and head up to the door. I take the other bag from her so she can pull out her keys.

”Are you sure you didn't take off with some hot chick you met in a bar or something?” she says as we step in.

I laugh.

In the kitchen we unload the grocery bags and as she puts things away I wash a few dishes that her roommates had left in the sink. I can tell that there's something wrong; she's stiff and formal, not to mention nervous. Could it be that we've never been intimate in this version of reality? That my visit here, like this, is inappropriate? Is she wondering what the h.e.l.l I'm up to? I'm trying to think of some subtle question I might ask her that would let me know where I stand when she says: ”Let's go out for a beer.” She smiles, pus.h.i.+ng her hair away from her eye. The hair falls back.

”Sounds good to me.”

”I'll go change.” She rushes off to her bedroom.

I stand in her living room, feeling awkward. The door to her bedroom is partially open as she changes clothes. Does this mean we've been intimate and she doesn't care if I watch, or is this just the Pris-casualness that I love so much? Since I'm unsure, I stand where I am, and she is out of sight as she changes. When she emerges she is wearing tight jeans and a white cotton s.h.i.+rt, and is carrying a big red and black sweater. ”Let's go,” she says.

The tavern is up and around the corner, just past the tiny Laundromat where she does her laundry. We walk close together, cringing at the sudden gusts of wind. The clouds have congealed into one solid ma.s.s in the sky; it looks like a thunderstorm. We reach the tavern, ducking out of the wind and into the darkness beyond; the place is all dark wood and neon beer advertis.e.m.e.nts. I order a couple beers --- beers with familiar brand names --- and we sit at a table way in the back.

This is a familiar, comfortable place. We sit and drink, and make small talk. After a while our conversation falters, and there's a long quiet.

I'm about to break it with some inane comment when she leans over and says, ”I've decided not to sleep with you anymore.”

I stare at her, feeling a sick, sad, strong sense of deja-vu.

”Why?”

”I'm still not over Tom, and I started seeing you on the rebound. I like you very much . . . very very much. But, I'm not in love with you.

I shouldn't be making love to you. I don't want to make love with anyone until I'm over Tom. Do you understand?”