Together-Apart

Together-Apart

She was convinced that he was real. Despite what Clyde thought. Despite the five thousand mile travel to Florianopolis to find a mall where the house should have been. 

She scowled at the massive building. In its place there should have been a row of 19th-century houses built in the Azores style, popular in that region of Brazil.

“Could it be that we got the wrong address?”

“Clyde... No! See?” She took out the Polaroid from its envelope. “Look at the picture. It says Rua da Limoeira, right here, across the street.” She followed her husband’s gaze to the blue plaque that announced the name of the street, then back to the photograph in her hand. It was undoubtedly the same blue plaque announcing the name of Pedro’s street. Yet, instead of his house, the Palacio Limoeira Shopping Center loomed large over them like a tower of all wrongs.

“It's a scam, Mary,” he concluded.

She gave him a sour look. If Clyde was correct, she might as well call herself crazy, because…well, shit. 

“Pedro and I have been friends for longer than I’ve been friends with anyone,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She plopped herself down indelicately at the nearest curb, fiddling with the Polaroid in her hand. Pedro’s most recent letter peeked out from her purse, as real as anything else around.

Clyde walked toward his wife, slowly sitting next to her on the curb. He rubbed the small of Mary’s neck, a reassuring gesture. 

“I get how frustrating this is,” he whispered in her ear. “There's got to be some sort of explanation that makes more sense than...” 

Clyde didn’t have to finish the thought. They both knew he alluded to her mother’s research. A far-out idea involving the multiverse and crossing space-time itself. Crazy theory, yet very mathematically sound.

Mary’s mother, the renowned physicist Dr. Rose Silvester, had just published a paper claiming her latest findings: Planes of reality superimposing one another so that, depending on a certain time, date, and locale, a person could hypothetically transverse into a different universe. There were certain fixed locations across the globe that exhibited a weakening in the fabric of spacetime. Mary glanced sideways at her husband.

“If anything, this is proof to me that mom's theory could actually be correct.”

“Mary, you can’t possibly think…” He paused, shaking his head. “You’re actually entertaining the thought that this penpal of yours doesn’t really exist in our timeline. That your letters, sent from Boston to Florianopolis by plane year in and year out for twenty years traversed into a parallel universe. Mary, do you know how that sounds?”

She sighed. “But tell me this: Who could actually build a mall this big over an old neighborhood in the span of two weeks?” She pointed to the back of the photograph where a date and time had been imprinted. June 28th of that year. Exactly two weeks ago.

“How do you explain that?”

* * * ** ** * * *

Mary had first come to know of Pedro’s existence, and he of hers, during their teenage years. Dr. Rose Silvester, concerned about her daughter’s shyness, had heard about Linked Hands Penpal Services through a colleague. Intrigued by the idea, she signed her daughter up immediately. “You love to write,” she had said to Mary, “and you’ll get to meet people from all over the world!” 

The writers had to range between thirteen to seventeen to participate. By sending the company their address, they’d automatically be part of a pool of potential penpal candidates, picked by another interested teenaged party.

On paper, Mary had found it easier to put down thoughts and feelings and to learn how others experienced their worlds. 

Of the many penpals she had had since then until now, only one stuck around long enough for her to trust completely.

Pedro, equally shy, loved to go on about philosophy, odd thoughts and theories, and share the occasional poem with Mary.

His English was nearly perfect. Sure, he’d make some grammatical errors every now and again. Yet, other than this, due to his eloquent verbiage, she’d like to joke he spoke better English than she did.

Letters between them took about two weeks to arrive back and forth, and both took to letter writing vigorously. Pedro was a bit of a celebrity in Mary’s household, like a well-loved character from a favorite book. But of course, he was much more than that. A flesh-and-bone person she had never met physically, but with whom she shared a very deep connection. 

And the house- Oh, the house! Pictures sent were often in front of or inside of his most prized possession, an inheritance kept in the family going back two hundred years. Pedro had written Mary so much about it, she felt she had been there already. 

“I was born here and that's where I want to die, like my mother before me and her father before her,” he had written on more than one occasion. Though it sounded melodramatic, Mary admired him for being so sure of his place in the world. 

Whereas his pictures were more candid by nature, the ones she sent him were almost always professionally done. Everything she sent Pedro had the family dressed to the nines, formally posed against some bland background. There were precious few candid photos of Clara and Will playing in the snow, or a day at the beach, but mostly everything was a bit too formal. Forced smiles. Stiff postures.

He’d been there for her during her toughest times- her parent’s divorce. Her college breakups. Getting fired from jobs. 

She’d been there for him, too. His struggles with an alcoholic father. His mourning over the mother he never knew. The inner guilt he had over her death. 

He once wrote during a vulnerable moment: “you know me better than any friend I physically have. It’s like we’re always Together-Apart.” She had liked the term so much that this is how she chose to always sign off thereafter. 

* * * * * * * *

 The thought of looking Pedro up on the internet had not even occurred to Mary until her son had suggested it. That’s when things got interesting. Reality as she knew it hit hard and crumbled in on itself, making Dr Sylvester’s wacky theories all the more concrete to her.

Pedro,

I’m excited to hear about your trip to Rio! Everything you described sounds gorgeous. The postcard you sent us seems like some computer-generated paradise. Clara is now convinced that we need to visit! 

Speaking of which, I know we floated the possibility several times but it never came to be. So Clara convinced me to look you up on the internet to “make travel arrangements easier” (She’s really serious). I thought it would be easy enough to find you, given your last name, but I’m having no luck whatsoever. Email, social media…nothing.

Would there be a way for you to contact me instead? I’ll give you my Facebook and Instagram accounts. My email is MaryWillard.79@gmail.com. Send me an email when you get this. Claire might be right. Time to get with the times. This of course doesn’t mean we can’t keep writing letters. 

I want to find a way for us to finally meet each other- wouldn’t that be cool, to actually do it instead of just talking about it? What do you think?

Her hand trembled as she wrote the words. She forced herself to keep writing, informing Pedro of all the gossip at work, the kids’ after-school activities, and new Portuguese classes at her local community college. About two weeks later, his response punctually arrived. No emails. No DMs.

Dear Mary-

I was surprised to find out I am so hidden to you. How can this be? I have both Facebook and Instagram accounts. I even have Tik Tok! 

But the most confounding thing is that I cannot find you at all either…I triple-checked your information and was unable to find any of your accounts. 

Similarly, I wrote an email to you and it was returned as undeliverable. I printed it out and am sending it along with this letter. I think I typed it correctly, according to the information you gave me. I went over it a thousand times.

There must be an explanation for this, surely. 

I will keep this short. I am packing to go to Rio tomorrow, so my next correspondence will possibly come from there.

I know what you’re thinking, and can imagine you smiling as you read this. Yes, I am planning to stay over at my friend Guilherme’s house. This is not, however, purely a romantic escapade. I’m there for business. Guilherme just makes my business more of… a pleasure trip. 

I really do hope we can get together soon. I agree that we talk too much about this but it never becomes a reality.

Can you believe that we have known each other just shy of twenty-five years? Let’s do this!

Together-Apart,

Pedro

* * * * * * * * * * *

Excerpt from Quanta Magazine:

“Given the right conditions, such as weather, the time of day and/ or inclination of the Earth in conjunction with specific coordinates, hypothetically one could transverse into a different universe that is not their own quite by accident,” claims proclaimed physicist, Dr. Rose Sylvester. “It is mathematically proven now to travel between one plane of existence and another.”

As the above pictures seem to show, it is no longer mere speculative science fiction, but something which can be affirmed as definite as gravity itself. 

  Travel and manipulation of space-time can be influenced by any living being, traversing from one world into another. Parallel universes offer a variety of choices made at the same time by the same individual which, consequently, generate different results…

(Reprinted with permission from “Proven Superposition of Time and Space” by Dr. Rose Sylvester et.al, published by Quanta Magazine)

* *** *** *

Clyde had run out of patience. He had told her he’d meet at their hotel room when she was ready. She had taken her time, walked at least fifteen blocks in all cardinal directions from the mall, and finally gave up. Dead end.

 That stupid mall…why was that there? It shouldn't…. Suddenly, the memory of a long-ago letter resurfaced. She gasped.

“What’s up?” Clyde looked at her in alarm.

“I remember a letter from College in which Pedro told me about this Neighborhood Association suing the city. He helped organize a local protest about it. If I remember correctly, the city of Florianopolis was trying to raze the whole neighborhood down to build a…”

She stopped in mid-sentence, mouth and eyes wide open. “Yes, I’m fairly certain,” she whispered to herself. “Clyde, I gotta get a hold of that letter.

** * * *  

Claire had searched Mary’s letters and had sent the screenshots that her mother requested; pictures of the protest, Pedro proudly frozen next to some of his older neighbors, holding a sign that said what roughly translated to “no malls in exchange for our history!” 

An electric thrill passed through Mary's spine. Her mother had been right, after all! In their timeline, the mall had been constructed, whereas on his, it had not. 

Also, in her timeline, there was no journalistic evidence of a protest, and the only things she could pull up in terms of old photographs with Pedro’s house address had yielded photos of empty barren grounds with old-growth forests in place of where his house should have been.

Pedro,

You will probably think I’m crazy. Hell, I’m starting to think I am. 

In this package, you’ll find an article. Please read it.

My mom’s a quantum physics professor, as I think I've mentioned before. She’s been recently featured in Quanta magazine, and this is her latest body of work.

I’m back home from Brazil, where I had the shock of my life. Instead of surprising you with a visit, I was the one who was surprised.

Remember the protest against the construction of a mall in your neighborhood some twenty years ago? Well, apparently, in my timeline at least, the mall was built. 

I have proof- look at the enclosed pictures I printed off my phone. These were taken exactly where your house should have been.

Please write back as soon as you can, cause I’m freaking out, here.

Together-Apart,

Mary

A month went by with no response from Pedro. When it finally arrived, Mary had given up hope of ever hearing from him again.

There was a long letter which Mary was glad she read right away, as it explained the photographs that accompanied it.

The one that stuck with her the most made her heart stop and jump to her throat. It was a picture of a grave. Pedro, as a very young boy of maybe eight or nine, stood in front of it, smiling shyly. The back of the photograph announced in Portuguese, “he wanted a picture with his mother. June 1987.” The name inscribed on the grave was one dear to Mary’s heart: Rose Sylvester Escarra-Gylden. 

“Oh. My. God.” Her hands trembled as she passed the photograph to Clyde, who scowled at it as though it could possibly not be real. It was then passed around from hand to hand as each member of the Willard family took time to study the contents therein.

“Rose Sylvester…that’s…grandma?” Clara lifted her eyes to Mary.

“It's grandma, alright. Listen...” Taking a few slow breaths to steady her nerves, Mary picked up Pedro’s letter and began to read:

Dearest Mary:

I confess it has been a while since I could trust myself to send you anything. At first, I thought all this was a stupid, senseless joke. I thought, how would anyone find a way to hurt me so deeply by implying my mother is still alive, living in the States under her maiden name? How dare Mary do this, knowing how sensitive I am to my own mother’s death? But then I realized that we actually never mentioned our mothers by name.

I went over every letter, from the very first to the very last. Not ever did you mention your mother’s name. I don’t even know your dad’s name either, and I doubt you know mine.

Either our mothers were named the same (coincidence) or….as your mother’s paper states…. 

I have researched you and your whole family. You really do not exist. You or your kids. Your husband does, though. In my “universe”, if you will, he is married to someone else. A certain Kitty Parson.”

Mary stopped reading long enough to lock eyes with Clyde and catch him blushing. “I knew a Kitty Parson during college,” he stammered. “But I never talked to her, though.” 

“My Father’s name was Geraldo Escarra-Gylden. I never did tell you, but he was half-Scottish. What else have we not told each other about our families?

This is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. If I allow myself to believe this, then I am either pathologically insane or entirely missing out on some evident metaphysical truths.

But- I have gained a sister!

Together-Apart,

Pedro.”

** *** * **

Dear Pedro,

You have no idea how relieved I was to finally hear from you. This is indeed crazy, as you have mentioned. 

I’ve decided to enclose some pictures of my mother for you to see. I have also shown the grave picture to her. I wanted to see how she’d react, and nothing could have prepared me for what she did. Pedro, she actually started crying!

She told me that, during her college years, she spent half a year in Florianopolis. She met this guy named Geraldo, and they had a really nice time together. He asked her to marry him, but she was homesick. She decided to come back to the States, to patch things up with an ex (my dad!) because she’d never forgive herself if things could still be fixed between them.

So, in my plane of existence, she came home, and in yours, she didn't. 

She also gave me a few coordinates of where she thinks there are ruptures in the fabric of space-time. According to her calculations, the closest coordinates to me lead to a town in Massachusetts named Hartford. This is where my mail passes on its way to you.

I’m going there. Then I plan to fly over to you.

I swear, Pedro, if I get to Florianopolis and find that mall still standing there instead of your house, I’m gonna blow something up.

Oh, and, also…my theory is that I am you from your timeline and you are me from mine… Does any of that make any sense? Nevertheless, I've gained a brother!

Together Apart,

Mary

* ** ** ** * ** ***

The sign announced she was about to enter Hartford. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she drove into the town. 

After parking, Mary walked to the exact coordinates her mother had calculated. How fitting that they should lead to a bus shelter. It contained a bench with two indented seats.

The seat to the right, she figured, would exist in her universe, whilst the left one would be linked to Pedro’s. Sitting to the left, she would defy the laws of quantum physics and exist in a world not meant to contain her. As she sat down, Mary felt nothing special or different, yet knew in her heart she was in Pedro's world.

She checked her bag. Passport, airplane ticket, ID, everything was the same, the very exact same as if she were sitting to the right of the bench.

Through the fog, the bus’ headlights came into view. Mary got up from her seat. Beyond her, the scenery seemed to shift just slightly. She smiled as she stepped into the bus.