Gonzo unwraps a piece of Juicy Chew and pops it in his mouth. “So, what, like, all of time is elastic?”
“Sure. I mean, why not?” I say, getting excited. “Maybe, right now, Junior Webster is still fighting in the war that changed him even as we’re sitting on this porch watching the grass grow. The Copenhagen Interpretation is giving its forty-second comeback show and you’re a kid burying toy cars in the backyard. Or you’re giving a forty-second comeback concert and the Copenhagen Interpretation is hanging with your cars. It’s all a big soup and it never stops cooking.”
Gonzo rubs his head. “Dude, this is a stoner conversation, and we are not even high.”
“I’m just saying that it’s totally possible that things don’t happen until you connect with an event, then the other choices you didn’t make unfold in other worlds.”
“Whatever, dude,” Gonzo says, hands up. “I’m fine with this reality. In fact, it’s already more reality than I can handle. I’m not ready to take on another one.”
“Gonz, if, um—you know,” I say softly. “Make sure Balder gets to the sea and Ringhorn lifts the curse, okay?”
“There is no Ringhorn, man.”
“Just promise me.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Gonzo bends and folds his gum wrapper into new shapes. “So, you think maybe in another world, I’m … you know. Not a dwarf?”
It’s hard for me to think of Gonzo as anything but Gonzo. “Or you’re the Littlest PI—the Dwarf of Destiny.”
Gonzo makes a gun out of his forefinger and thumb. “The dame wanted advice, but I was coming up short,” he says in a hard-boiled detective voice. He sets the gum wrapper on the table. It’s now a tiny silver swan. “I’d want a fedora in that other world. Can’t be the Dwarf of Destiny without a sick topper.”
“Indeed.” The wind’s died down. It’s still, like the world’s holding its breath. “I’m sorry,” I say after a while.
“For what?”
“Dulcie told me there was something for you on this ride, but I guess it’s been kind of a bust so far.”
“Yeah, well.” Gonzo hugs his knees. “Beats high school.”
Gonzo’s phone has a green light.
“You’re fully charged,” I say. “You wanna call your mom?”
Gonzo lets the phone lie. “Maybe later.”
I find Ed in the living room in his Star Fighter pajamas. He’s playing with the Calabi Yau model. The TV’s on. Parker Day struts across the studio soundstage. “Just want to remind everybody back home that we are counting down to the YA! Party House—only one more day—and we’re gonna … what?” Parker asks.
He puts his hand to his ear as the audience chants his catchphrase back to him.
“Smoke it!” he joins in, and the place goes nuts.
I flip over to ConstaToons. It’s the same roadrunner and coyote with all the doors.
“That one’s a train,” Ed says, just before coyote opens it and gets run over.
“Yeah, I know. You’d think he’d learn.”
“He can’t learn. He’s a cartoon.”
“Good point.” I offer him a Corny Doodle.
He shakes his head. “I already brushed my teeth for bed.”
“Gotcha.” I pop it in my mouth. “So, you’ve lived here since you were little?”
He nods.
“That’s rough, man. Sorry, you know, that your parents died.”
“My parents didn’t die. They left me here on the doorstep when I was three.”
“Wow,” I say before I can stop myself. For all my dad’s assholian tendencies and my mom’s spaciness, they would never do that.
Ed keeps playing with the Calabi Yau toy, arranging and rearranging the macaroni-like dimensions to make whole new shapes. Every time he does, the thing lights up like a pinball machine.
“Hey, Ed? Do you know what happened to Dr. X?” I ask. “It’s really important.”
“He went in the Infinity Collider,” he says, not taking his eyes off the cartoon.
“Yeah, but is he lost or, like, caught in some other world? Do you know where he is right now?”
“He’s gone to tomorrow. Anvil!” he warns the coyote.
I sigh. This is getting me nowhere. On the TV, the road-runner runs through the painted backdrop. Confused, coyote tries to follow and whams his whole body against a brick wall.