of eyes? What if you could see an infinite distance? What if you could see as far as you wanted, an unbroken Euclidean line of sight, in any direction? What if you could see me right now, halfway across the galactic cluster, sitting at my desk, so long as nothing got in the way? Would that make us close?
Tina. Come on now.
No, answer me. What's close? What would be enough for you?
There are gaps. When we talk. Long gaps between everything we say to each other.
Delays are a fact. Gaps are a fact.
So it's time then. That's what this boils down to. You don't want to spend the time.
Everything has to have a cost associated with it. Everything has to cost something and time is the price mechanism for the universe. Time is not so difficult to understand. Time is not such a mystery.
Then what?
Tina says:
It's distance. Distance equals rate times time. Distance is the mystery. You're there and I'm here.
***
Four years go by. A package arrives from Aunt Betty. Vitamins and a calendar and a new toothbrush. A pair of socks. A note. "No need to visit. I'm fine. Hope you can use these." This year. This year will be the year I visit her.
And then it's almost Christmas, and, once again, it's the night of nights. A sun goes down, and then the other. The moons go down. Everything goes down. The sky comes up. It's Christmas Eve. It's been one million something thousand something years since the birth of baby Jesus. I've lost track. Everyone's lost track. I bet even my aunt Betty has lost track.
A message comes through from the boss. It's a time-delay Christmas carol for me. Away in a manger, he sang, he sings, the little Lord sleeps. It's the last Christmas Eve for another seventeen thousand years. From now until then, all Christmases will be scorching and dry and red orange with the light of two suns. After this, more than a hundred centuries of blistering Christmas Days, fiery and interminable. But for now, it's night and it feels like time has stopped.
Tina is out there somewhere, whatever that means, and I am right here, whatever that means, and my boss is nowhere but a song he sang some years ago, a song he recorded for me about the baby Savior, a song he is singing while dancing naked for me, his penis and testicles flapping like a pink, gummy marsupial, a song just now arriving, color and melody at the speed of light. Florence is swimming toward me in her silent arc, sweeping through the mute, dark, frigid, motionless water, looking at me with those eyes, and I wonder if I leave if she will be okay. I wonder if I were ever to leave if she would even notice. I wonder if she knows I am here, knows what I am, if she knows anything at all. What is she doing here, out in space, on a planet by herself, in an isolated pool of water, no food, no mates, no connection to anything at all? How long has she been here? What would she have done if I had never found her? What is she? What is a shark? Do I know anything about sharks? Do I know anything about anything? I don't. My boss sang and sings and will be singing for who knows how long. My boss sang and the song is still coming, my aunt prayed and I hope she's still praying.
Tina is moving away at the speed of light, and if only I could see across the room, if only I could see across the universe, I could watch her. Florence is circling. Another card from Aunt Betty. I have a stack of them in the corner of the control room. Four feet high. That's it. No more screwing around. I resolve to go see my aunt Betty. I open the card. It says: "Didn't want to trouble you. I know you have your own life. Wished I could have seen you, but I know you're busy. I'm going to the Yttang-67 Loop. I have an old grammar school friend there. I hope she remembers me. Take care. Your aunt Betty." I ignored her one day too long. I was going to go. I really was, but I ignored her and she gave up on me and she moved away. Four minutes go by. Four minutes, four minutes, four moments. Four milliseconds
Tina. Come on now.
No, answer me. What's close? What would be enough for you?
There are gaps. When we talk. Long gaps between everything we say to each other.
Delays are a fact. Gaps are a fact.
So it's time then. That's what this boils down to. You don't want to spend the time.
Everything has to have a cost associated with it. Everything has to cost something and time is the price mechanism for the universe. Time is not so difficult to understand. Time is not such a mystery.
Then what?
Tina says:
It's distance. Distance equals rate times time. Distance is the mystery. You're there and I'm here.
***
Four years go by. A package arrives from Aunt Betty. Vitamins and a calendar and a new toothbrush. A pair of socks. A note. "No need to visit. I'm fine. Hope you can use these." This year. This year will be the year I visit her.
And then it's almost Christmas, and, once again, it's the night of nights. A sun goes down, and then the other. The moons go down. Everything goes down. The sky comes up. It's Christmas Eve. It's been one million something thousand something years since the birth of baby Jesus. I've lost track. Everyone's lost track. I bet even my aunt Betty has lost track.
A message comes through from the boss. It's a time-delay Christmas carol for me. Away in a manger, he sang, he sings, the little Lord sleeps. It's the last Christmas Eve for another seventeen thousand years. From now until then, all Christmases will be scorching and dry and red orange with the light of two suns. After this, more than a hundred centuries of blistering Christmas Days, fiery and interminable. But for now, it's night and it feels like time has stopped.
Tina is out there somewhere, whatever that means, and I am right here, whatever that means, and my boss is nowhere but a song he sang some years ago, a song he recorded for me about the baby Savior, a song he is singing while dancing naked for me, his penis and testicles flapping like a pink, gummy marsupial, a song just now arriving, color and melody at the speed of light. Florence is swimming toward me in her silent arc, sweeping through the mute, dark, frigid, motionless water, looking at me with those eyes, and I wonder if I leave if she will be okay. I wonder if I were ever to leave if she would even notice. I wonder if she knows I am here, knows what I am, if she knows anything at all. What is she doing here, out in space, on a planet by herself, in an isolated pool of water, no food, no mates, no connection to anything at all? How long has she been here? What would she have done if I had never found her? What is she? What is a shark? Do I know anything about sharks? Do I know anything about anything? I don't. My boss sang and sings and will be singing for who knows how long. My boss sang and the song is still coming, my aunt prayed and I hope she's still praying.
Tina is moving away at the speed of light, and if only I could see across the room, if only I could see across the universe, I could watch her. Florence is circling. Another card from Aunt Betty. I have a stack of them in the corner of the control room. Four feet high. That's it. No more screwing around. I resolve to go see my aunt Betty. I open the card. It says: "Didn't want to trouble you. I know you have your own life. Wished I could have seen you, but I know you're busy. I'm going to the Yttang-67 Loop. I have an old grammar school friend there. I hope she remembers me. Take care. Your aunt Betty." I ignored her one day too long. I was going to go. I really was, but I ignored her and she gave up on me and she moved away. Four minutes go by. Four minutes, four minutes, four moments. Four milliseconds
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