ΔEΔt ≥ ħ/2 (ENERGY-TIME UNCERTAINTY)
“Did you know the Universe is going to expand forever?” Khải said. “Because it’s flat.”
“At least something will last forever,” Thương said, only half interested, because he had his own work to deal with and Khải’s astrophysical obsession had to be indulged with great caution.
The clacking of his laptop keyboard filled the room. He looked over and raised his eyebrows at Khải, curled in his chair. Khải was frowning at him, though he didn’t have a face that could be particularly fierce with its expressions. Or maybe Thương didn’t have eyes that could see anything harsh on him.
“The Universe could have come from nothing,” said Khải, seemingly determined to avoid work at all costs. “Which means it will end in nothing. Because energy is conserved. That means we are nothing right now.”
“How does that work?”
“Positive energy and negative energy cancel each other.”
Thương considered. He didn’t have a mind for this kind of thing. “So everything comes in pairs. That’s romantic.” He waited for Khải to say something. He didn’t. “You must be the negative energy, then.” That wasn’t true. Negative charge, maybe.
“Maybe,” said Khải.
Thương felt bad for saying it. He supposed he ought to indulge Khải, to make up for it. “I guess that means nothing truly is forever,” he said.
“Semantically true and false.”
“Does that really matter?”
“You know, we exist forever too,” said Khải, ignoring that. “If it’s all conserved. We’re just a part of the Universe that’s shaped kind of weirdly.”
Thương thought Khải was a part of the Universe that was shaped very nicely. “You’re becoming metaphysical again.”
“Everyone is a philosopher at heart, just not aloud.”
“I think you overestimate the intelligence or curiosity of the general populace.” Thương didn’t know why he had a mouth that could only rebut Khải. At least it could do other things to please him.
Khải shifted to sit normally. “You’re so pessimistic.”
“I guess I’m the negative energy, then.”
Khải made a face at Thương and returned to his work, not trying to argue. It didn’t really matter. Semantically. It didn’t seem possible to know, in any case. Given that their existences in this state were only temporary. Uncertainty was the only thing that made sense to Thương.
They were at the dinner table, and Khải was staring at the steam drifting from the pot of soup between them.
“Dreamy,” said Thương, and Khải flinched. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“The Universe might last forever,” Thương said, watching a plastic bag attack a kid biking down the street without a helmet, “but what about the Earth?”
“It’s going to get swallowed by the sun.” Khải’s pen scritch-scratched over his notepad, mixing with the din of the coffee shop.
Thương looked at him. He was doodling Thương’s cup of coffee. “Not climate change?”
“That might end human civilization.”
“So if I said, what’s the end of the world like, what would you say?”
“Depends on how you define the world.”
“How do you define that?”
Khải put down his pen and looked up. “I don’t know. The Earth with people living on it.”
Thương thought about it. “If we flung everyone off Earth into space then the whole Universe would become our world.”
“What a weird hypothetical.”
“Physicist pot, I’m kettle.”
Khải rolled his eyes. “I suppose we should all jump into space then. Because then we’ll be forever.”
“I’d jump into space with you,” said Thương.
“Nope,” Khải said. “No public proposals.” He drank some of Thương’s coffee. “Anyway. We’re already a part of the Universe. No need to jump just to land in the same place.”
Khải was sitting against the wall when Thương got home.
“What are you doing?” said Thương, staring at him as he took off his shoes.
Khải looked up at him. “Oh,” he said.
“Daydreaming?” Thương said, half-teasing.
Khải didn’t answer the question, even as he stood and went over to the kitchen table to sit. He put his forehead in his hand.
“Are you okay?” said Thương.
“I was in the wrong room,” said Khải.
Thương got him water, which he didn’t drink. “What room?”
Khải frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s so hard to get around.” He rubbed his face. “I’ll try to walk places. I’ll try to open the doors. The spaces don’t go on forever.”
Thương figured he ought to get Khải to bed. “At least the Universe does.”
On Thương’s birthday they went out to the hilly park where the grass was beginning to frost over like the tops of sugar cookies. Because it was cold, and it was dark, and Thương was Thương, he would have liked to just sit in the car. With Khải. But it was cold, and it was dark, and Khải was Khải, so he stole one of Thương’s jackets from the backseat where there was a stash of them for these moments, and he went outside. And Thương followed, because that was what he did. And he brought a blanket, which was stashed in the trunk for these moments.
They sat on the grass. Thương looked at Khải and Khải looked at the sky. The moonlight cut him in black and white, the curves and lines of his face perfectly sculpted. Thương felt an overwhelming urge to throw up. Or something. It felt a little like maybe he wasn’t just part of the Universe, but the Universe was a part of him, this endless void that would not stop growing. Thương nudged Khải’s pinky with his. Khải didn’t even look at him. Thương thought he could be much more obvious about it and just put his hand over Khải’s, but he looked at Khải staring up at the sky and decided against it. Instead, he withdrew his hand and lay down on the grass. It was cold beneath his head.
Thương stared up into the black sky. If he stared at it long enough, it almost seemed like it was really there. Like it was crashing down on him. He closed his eyes. Beside him, he could hear Khải’s breathing begin to dissolve into the soft breeze whistling around them.
“Hey.”
Thương opened his eyes, and Khải was looking over him. His face was dim, but his head was haloed by the moonlight behind him.
“Happy birthday,” said Khải. His voice was soft. More so than usual. Thương liked hearing that because he knew what was coming next.
“Thanks,” said Thương, because he was stupid.
Khải scoffed. Or laughed. Whatever the sound was.
“Where’s my birthday present?” Thương said, since that sounded a little bit less demanding than, “Hurry up.” Even though he meant, “Hurry up,” and Khải understood, “Hurry up.”
“Shut up,” said Khải, even though he meant, “Right here,” and Thương understood, “Right here,” so Thương opened his mouth anyway to catch Khải’s kiss, because it was right there. Unlike the Universe, Thương could touch it, and that was, he thought, the only way he could truly comprehend it.
Khải didn’t make it to his final because he was walking in the park. Thương watched the last person trickle out of the auditorium before he got in his car and drove.
Khải was sitting in the middle of the park with his face in his hands. Thương walked over to him, shoes soft against the grass. It wasn’t winter, but it was night, so his breath came out in little clouds. He stopped in front of Khải, wondering if he ought to scold Khải for missing his final. But that particular concern was dull. Concern was dull in general. Thương didn’t know what he felt, staring down at Khải.
“Are you dreaming?” he said.
In the nothing that passed between them, Thương heard everything. It seemed an eternity before Khải looked up with opaque eyes. “What?”
They stared at each other.
“Can you see me?” said Thương.
Khải frowned. He nodded.
Thương thought he should have felt relieved. But he didn’t. He said, “What else can you
see?”
It turned out sometimes explanations weren’t cosmic. Sometimes they were the opposite and they felt so entirely mundane and human and mortal that it almost would have made more sense if it were some strange, unexplainable cosmic phenomenon.
“So you weren’t just dreaming?” said Thương numbly. The phone was cold against his ear.
“Well, I was,” said Khải. “It just turns out they weren’t harmless.”
Sick was a funny word. Sometimes it meant gross and sometimes it meant great. And sometimes it just meant sick.
Thương had to ask. He hated to ask. “How much time?”
“I don’t know,” said Khải. And it sounded like he was lying. And Thương knew he was lying. But he didn’t want to press. Sometimes he didn’t want to know.
“Did you know,” Khải mumbled into Thương’s hair, “that an excess of positive energy is what would make the Universe eventually collapse in on itself?”
Thương didn’t say anything.
“But things have to be balanced in our Universe.”
Thương wanted to tell him, “Shut up,” and he wanted to mean, “Keep talking.” He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
“I guess that’s a cosmic explanation for grief,” said Khải, and then because the Universe kept giving things to the wrong people, he was the one wetting Thương’s hair with salt while Thương lay on his chest, listening to his heart beat.
The Universe did as it always did, as it always does. It just expanded, forever. And it turned out that sometimes that was the end. Things just kept going even though nothing was there anymore. And somehow it was easier to come to terms with the ambiguity of the Universe than the world.
Thương looked up at the underside of his black umbrella. It was a bit cliche, he had to admit. But he thought it looked a bit like the Universe above him.
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A. V. Nguyen, 18, California - USA ✯ IG: @ayennguyen
“A. V. Nguyen is a Bay Area writer. They usually write long-winded novels fueled by a folklore/fairytale obsession and listening to too much music.”