Convergence
Fiction - by Yang-Yang Wang
“The universes are converging.”
“Thanks Martha,” I said, taking my morning newspaper from her outstretched hand. “Once again you’ve saved me the trouble of reading today’s headline.”
“Do what I can, Mr. Donaldson,” she replied, giving me a lazy shrug. “Troubling news seems better from a familiar face.”
“Well, beats more bad news about Vietnam. Maybe we’ll be winning after the convergence.”
“Sure, Mr. Donaldson,” Martha replied. “I also want my husband to quit smoking.”
“Nah, just have him buy filtered. They’re much safer.” I waved before walking back inside the house. I hated to admit it, but I was fond of the postal worker. I hoped she stayed the same after the universes came together. Much easier to deal with than, say, my upset wife who waited for me in the kitchen.
“What’d the paper say, Tony?” Allison’s green eyes searched mine. Her hands were in her lap, clenched into fists. She was wearing her favorite yellow summer dress with the faded pattern of daisies. “Are we still going to be destroyed?”
“I already told you,” I said, sitting down at the breakfast table. A plate of Alli’s homemade biscuits and eggs-over-easy sat in front of me, tendrils of steam rising in the morning chill. I ate a large forkful, talking between chews. “Nothing’s being destroyed. The world isn’t ending, it’s just changing. You watch too much TV—you should read more. This’s just all possible universes coming together to form a single reality.”
Alli picked up her fork but didn’t eat anything. She was an amazing cook, but biscuits and eggs were my favorite, not hers.
“If it’s all possible universes Tony, then it’s possible we could be destroyed.” Her face turned ashen. She touched the silver cross at the end of her necklace. “Oh God, I hope there aren’t zombies.”
I sighed. “You’ve been talking non-stop about zombies since you saw that new Life of the Deading Night movie.”
“That’s Night of the Living Dead, dear.”
“Whatever.” I shook my head, mopping up the last of the egg yolk with my warm biscuit. “Don’t get fantasy and science fiction mixed up with reality. All universes are comprised of rational possibilities. Zombies are creations of irrational people, like Vampires or Santa Claus. There’s no empirical proof they could have ever existed, and thus they couldn’t have ever existed. Not in this reality, not in any reality.”
“You eat too fast,” was Alli’s reply. After 20 years of marriage, I knew that was her way of telling me I was wrong.
The vein on my forehead threatened to bulge. She just didn’t get it. I poured a mug of coffee to calm myself down. It was black and bitter, disgusting really, but I needed a moment to refocus. “Just trust me Alli. If zombies were a rational possibility, it’d be just as likely—if not more so—that we’d be zombies as we’d be humans. But it won’t be. Mostly minor changes will take precedence, like wearing black shoes instead of brown for your morning walk. Tiny, harmless deviations.”
“But Tony-” she began.
I cut her off. “Very little randomness actually exists you know. The Universe is orderly; it can all be measured and explained, given enough time and intelligence.”
“You didn’t believe that 10 years ago.” She snorted. “How many lectures did you force me to go to about chaos ruling the universe, and how only good morals and a hard work ethic would keep things from falling apart?”
I sighed. This again. “Look, that’s before new discoveries were made explaining the previously unexplainable. I’m entitled to change my mind, given new facts and data.”
“Yeah, and in the meantime preach it to the world like it’s the Good News.” Alli’s fork had broken the eggs on her plate. The yolk ran in thin yellow streams across her plate. “You’d never admit to being wrong. Big shot high school science teacher, who thinks he knows better than everyone else.”
“Not everyone,” I retorted, shooting her a look. “Just irrational people.”
The silence between us grew. It was still uncomfortable, which I was secretly grateful for. Uncomfortable I can handle—it’d been uncomfortable for the past 10 years. I’d worry when the silence started feeling familiar.
“I’m sorry,” she said first. “I don’t want to fight, just in case. You know, zombies.”
I nodded. “Sorry I called you irrational.” I walked over and held her hands. They were so small.
A soft, punctuated vibration ran through everything. It was like a huge kernel of popcorn exploded on the other side of the house.
“I think it’s starting,” I said. “The convergence.”
“Was that it?” Allison asked, glancing around the kitchen. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t think so though. Should be gradual, with the universes most similar to ours merging first. It could have happened already. In fact, it could even be happening right now. We wouldn’t notice anything different, since it’d be normal to us by the time the merge finishes.”
Her worried look returned.
“Or maybe nothing’s changed,” I backtracked, holding up our hands side by side. “See? We both still have six fingers. We’re still human.”
Alli gave me a tense smile. “You’d think we’d have some kind of machine to prevent this, like in the movies.”
She pulled one of her hands away. She returned a wisp of her hair to the ponytail behind her head. Her hair was the same light chestnut as when we first met 25 years ago. Time was far less generous to my thinning grey.
“Maybe your hair ties will finally work in the new universe.” I drew her up to hug her, my arms closed around her midsection. “And if those work, then who knows? Anything could happen.”
I felt her flinch. Such a tiny movement, really. Such a tiny movement.
Her gaze went to something outside the window. “Would you be mad at me if I told you I don’t want anything to change?”
“Nothing?” I asked, surprised.
Her hands fell to her belly before she drew them to her thighs. “Nothing.”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Me neither.”
She pushed my arms away to face me, her blue eyes studying mine. “We both know that’s not true.”
So we did.
“What if there’s a possibility afterwards,” I blurted, “of you getting pregnant?”
She bit her lower lip. “And what if there’s not?” she said. “Let’s not put ourselves through it all again.”
I was stunned. “But it’s our dream.”
“Is it really our dream?” she said softly, “Because it sometimes feels like a nightmare—my nightmare.”
“Well it was a little hard working things out with our insurance but that’s no—” I began.
“All those years trying, Tony. All those smiling doctors. All our disappointments.” Alli crossed her arms around her stomach protectively. “I tried all the drugs, all the treatments.”
“There are new ones by now,” I said. “Better ones.”
She stared outside, her attention caught in another world beyond our window. “I tried the other ones too. The ones for desperate people. I tried them for us. For you. Before we started fighting.”
“All couples fight,” I said lamely. The world vibrated again. “We’re still together.”
The sunflowers on her dress stood bright against the dark green fabric. “All those years I watched my sisters, cousins, and friends have babies. All that time I smiled at their children, celebrating their birthdays, and lying about why I didn’t have a friend for them to play with. All those years, Tony.”
“I don’t see why you can’t just hope,” I said. “Just entertain the possibility.”
Alli took one of my hands in hers. “Do you really want to go through it again?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Tony.” I heard the unspoken too. She clutched her cross tightly. “We almost didn’t make it the first time.”
“Did we really make it?” I replied. It was a stupid accusation, and I should have apologized. Instead, I let it hang in the air between us.
The world vibrated again and again. The popping grew more solid, like the popcorn was a few rooms closer now. I closed my eyes and prayed for a reality where we weren’t fighting.
“I can’t lie to you.” Alli said, pulling her hand out of mine. “I’d like to keep trying.”
I really wanted to say yes, I really did. I almost did.
“No, Alli. I can’t.” I reopened the boxes I tried to forget. The memories inside were oddly jumbled, the details all disjointed, but the pain still sharp.
“All those years trying, Alli. All those smiling doctors. All our disappointments.” I crossed my arms across my chest protectively. “All those years I watched my brother and best friends have kids. All those years of enduring the pity in their eyes, knowing they were relieved—relieved!—not to be me. All those years I didn’t come home after work, because every time I saw you I was reminded. All those years, Alli.”
“Tony,” she said. “I never knew.”
I chewed my lower lip. “I know you think I’m a prideful, stubborn man. But the truth is I lost my pride a long time ago.”
Her expression softened. “You never talked about it.”
Another tremor ran through the world as I picked up my coffee.
“I never wanted to.” I emptied my mug, finding comfort in the silence it brought between us. I’d start worrying once the silence became uncomfortable.
“I don’t see why you can’t just hope,” she said. “Just entertain the possibility.”
I held all three of her hands. “Do you really want to go through it again?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Alli.” My voice sounded weak. “We almost didn’t make it the first time.”
“Did we really make it?” she replied.
I stopped. That was a stupid accusation, so hurtful and unnecessary and stupid.
Another vibration ran through the world, followed by a second and then a third. The convergence should have been a terrifying yet wondrous occasion for the world, but I found myself unable to focus on anything but Allison. She was untouched by time and space, her blue hair tucked into the same French braid I first met her with 30 years ago.
I wondered how many times our fight occurred across the universes, and if we would be suddenly relieved by another branch of reality taking precedence. Perhaps it already did, since we wouldn’t know. Perhaps it already robbed us of the child we both so desperately wanted and left us with only bitter memories and silence. All I could be certain of in that moment was that I still loved her. The convergence hadn’t changed that.
“I’m sorry,” I said first. “I don’t want to fight, just in case. You know, zombies.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry I called you irrational.” She walked over and held my hands. They looked so small. “I want to say yes but as a scientist, it’s just hard for me to believe in miracles.”
“I’ll believe enough for both of us.” I clutched the cross at the end of my necklace. “Miracles happen. Have faith.”
The vibrations came faster and faster until the world was one elongated rumble. I drew Alli close to hug her, my wings around her midsection. We gazed out the kitchen window together, trying to remember a world that we would never remember being any other way.
“Thanks for the bacon and hash browns,” she said. “You’re a wonderful cook.”
“You eat too fast,” I whispered into the triangle of her ear. “You should wait for it to get cold first.”
She smiled, the tip of her tail twitching back and forth, as she rested her head on my shoulder. “I don’t care what comes as long as we have each other.”
“Alli?” I said, my skin shifting to violet. “What if we’re not meant to be? What if, afterwards, we’re not even married anymore?” My body flushed bright red as the thought sunk in. “I don’t want to be married to anyone else.”
Alli pulled me in close. We kissed. Not a peck but a real kiss, long and lingering, a kiss we hadn’t shared in decades. I saw the glisten in her eyes as we pulled away.
“Don’t worry Tony. There are some constants across all universes.” She held up our hands side by side. “See? We both still have four fingers. We’re still human.”
So we were.
I closed my eyes as the rumbles became increasingly violent. It felt like everything was threatening to vibrate apart. A final thrumming chug and everything became still.
“Was that it, Toni?” Al asked, glancing around the kitchen. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Yeah, everything seems normal.” I looked out the window and nodded. “The sky’s still white, and our lawn still makes our house look abandoned.”
Al caught my hint. “Guess I should get around to cutting it,” he replied.
“Nah,” I said. “We’ve gone through enough today. Just relax and finish your breakfast.”
He peered at me. “Guess some things did change,” he muttered as he broke one of the eggs on his plate and mopped up its yolk with his hash browns.
I smiled as I watched him eat his favorite breakfast. I was content with just a tiny cup of coffee, black and bitter. I had to be, since I gave up most of the other food and drinks I loved.
We heard the familiar steps of our postwoman coming to our house.
“The afternoon paper’s here,” I said.
“Don’t,” Al replied past a mouthful of food, “I’ll get it.”
“No, I’ve got it.” I replied. “Don’t treat me like I’m incapable of doing anything.”
His worried sigh warmed my heart as I went outside to greet Martha.
“The universes converged this morning,” she said.
“Thanks Martha,” I replied, taking my afternoon newspaper from her outstretched hand. “Once again you’ve saved me the trouble of reading today’s headline.”
“Do what I can, Mrs. Donaldson,” she said, giving me a lazy shrug. “Good news is even better from a familiar face.”
“Maybe there’ll be nothing but good news from here on out,” I said, chuckling as I walked back inside the house. I had to admit, I was fond of the postal worker. I was glad she stayed the same after the convergence. I was glad, as I patted my swollen belly, that everything stayed the same.