Wormholes by Walter Campbell
Andy casually tells me that the sole scientific justification for wormholes is that the idea of a wormhole doesn’t break any universal physics laws. He says it as though it’s not a big deal, as though it’s not completely earth shattering.
“You’re a liar,” I yell, jumping to my feet like a soldier in basic training. “And your mother’s quite loosely moraled,” I say, knowing I’ve just pulled off a brilliant movie move with my astounding insult, like smoking an antediluvian pipe, or traveling through spacetime. Andy jumps up just as militaristically, and slaps me for my indecent comments about his mother and his take on theoretical physics.
Seeing this, our middle school chemistry teacher rushes down the aisles.
“You two are out of line. How dare you talk about physics during chemistry class. As punishment,” she says with the whole class watching, and a few filming on their cell phones, “you’ll eat every page of this essay on black holes.” She pulls a fifty-page manuscript from her pocket, cuts it like a deck of cards, and shoves half at me and half at Andy. “Consume!” she yells, and we scarf down the work of a great mind.
Once we’ve finished, she tells us to continue our chemistry without another word on physics. The whole class stares, making sniveling, sneering, snide comments as they reach for beakers. It’s even worse than when I pissed myself in third grade after finding out that time was relative, because now not only do I look like a fool, but my friend—someone I care about immensely even though I don’t respect his scientific beliefs—does, too.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Andy. “You’re mother isn’t loose moraled or slutty in any way, and what you said about wormholes has some truth to it. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble or embarrass us in front of the whole class. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I accept your apology, but don’t worry about it. I’m not embarrassed,” Andy says, clearly unaffected by a stomach full of equations.
“How could you not be embarrassed?” I ask him.
“Well, because none of this is really happening, obviously.”
“What? How is none of this happening?” I ask, immensely confused.
“Have you ever heard of alternate universes?” he asks me with clever grin.
“I have,” I tell him.
“Well, this is one. In the universe I actually care about we’ve just been making solutions and talking calmly about Star Trek this whole time.”
“Oh. In that case,” I add, “your mother’s a slut.”
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About the Author
Walter Campbell
Born: Los Angeles, CA
Now Resides: Philadelphia, PA
Bio: Walter’s work has been published in Toasted Cheese, Weirdyear, Vestal Review, and Eclectic Flash. A publication in Jersey Devil is forthcoming. He knows next to nothing about wormholes or alternate universes, and blames any inaccuracies on excessive sci-fi comic book consumption during his youth. All accuracies, however, are directly attributable to Carl Sagan.
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image by Teh-cHix0r.
