Everything seems the same: the streets, the shops, the houses. I pass Gracetown High, where Mum taught Science and I went to school. Cal went to a private school across town that had a good music program because he played the piano.
I park outside our old place on Matthews Street, a three-bedroom Californian bungalow, painted cream. Whoever lives there now has kept our chairs out the front and the plants, but there are different bikes leaning on the side, and different cars in the driveway.
The back of the house was glass when we lived there. I remember Cal and me sitting in the lounge room one night when a summer storm started. Cal and I both loved storms. We loved the accumulation of charge in the air, electricity building in the clouds above and on the earth’s surface, moving towards each other.
Cal was interested in science, and he was good at it, but he didn’t love it, not the way that I did. He liked science because of all the possibilities, but he believed in other things like time travel and the supernatural. I remember once we had this argument about whether ghosts existed. Cal thought they did. I thought they didn’t. Mum explained to us why, according to the second law of thermodynamics, they couldn’t exist. ‘Humans are a highly ordered system and once we’re disordered beyond repair, we don’t reorder.’
Cal chose to believe in them anyway. I sided with science.
But after the funeral, after everyone had left the church, I stayed, waiting for Cal’s ghost. I still didn’t believe in them but I had this crazy idea that because he did, they might be possible. ‘See, Rach. I’m here,’ I imagined him saying, as he held up his arm to show the sunlight shining through. Ghosts are nothing but dust and imagination, though, and eventually the funeral director told me I had to leave. There was another funeral starting soon.
I think about Rose’s ultimatum. Stay here or go home. Cal’s everywhere, but at least in the city I won’t think about those waves that took him.
The dreams of the silver fish make me sad, but they’re not the worst ones I have. The worst are where I’m tangled in the water, screaming his name, hauling him onto sand, desperate to give him my breath.
I check the address of Laundry, and start the car.
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
Letters left between pages 44 and 45
8 December – 16 December 2012
Okay, Pytheas, I’ll write back, but only because I feel sorry for you. What kind of guy likes freaks?
I’ll tell you about me, but first I have some questions. Who is Pytheas? Have we spoken before? Why do I never see you putting letters into the book? I’ve been watching very closely.
George
Dear George
Are you always this suspicious? I don’t mind, but I wonder if you trust anyone. You’re always on your own at school. I asked to sit at your table in the cafeteria once. You looked at me, said sure, and then got up and walked away. Not exactly welcoming.
So, Pytheas – I’m glad you asked. He lived in 300 BC, and he was the first person (at least on record) to write about the Midnight Sun. He’s the first known scientific visitor to the Arctic, and he was the first person to record that the moon causes the tides.
You never see me putting letters in the book because I’m incredibly stealthy.
Pytheas
P.S. I saw that you marked the United States on the map – I’d like to go there too. My sister and I would like to dive off the coast of California some day.
Okay, Pytheas: things about me.
I like the bookshop. I read a lot. Some favourites are Hugh Howey, Kurt Vonnegut, Ursula K. Le Guin, Margaret Atwood, John Green, Tolstoy (just read Anna Karenina), J.K. Rowling, Philip Pullman, Melina Marchetta, Charlotte Bront? and Donna Tartt. Lately (you know this) I’m getting into the mash-ups of the classics (Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, that kind of thing).
I like dumplings. My birthday is the first day of winter; I actually like being cold (everywhere except my feet). Music-wise I like The Finches, Jane’s Addiction, Amber Coffman and Wish.
I’m sorry about that day in the cafeteria. I don’t remember it. But if I’d known you were you, then I would have hung around.
George
Dear George
Thank you. I accept your apology. If I ever get the courage to walk up to you again, I’ll be expecting a warmer reception.
I actually do understand. I changed schools too – but I’ve made a good friend now, so it’s bearable. I think you’d like him, I know he’d like you. You’re in his English class, and he thinks you’re interesting. He liked the book report you gave on Liar. He told me you said fuck and didn’t realise it.
I haven’t heard of those bands, but I downloaded some of their music. I like Wish. They sound kind of dream-like. Have you heard of The Dandy Warhols? I think you might like them.
I read a lot of fiction and I like comics, but I love non-fiction. Like I said, I’m into time theories. I’ve been reading a lot about the growing block universe. I don’t entirely understand the theory but I like trying to get my head around it.
Pytheas
P.S. I do like freaks, but I don’t think you’re one. Or, if you are, it’s in the best possible way. You’re gorgeous. (I’ll never tell you who I am now.) I like the blue stripe in your hair and I like how you give answers in class and don’t care what people say. I like how you’re always reading interesting stuff and I like that you work in a bookstore.
P.P.S. I’ve left a book in the Letter Library for you. It’s one of mine, so you can keep it – Mark Laita’s Sea. It’s one of my all-time favourites. I’ve marked the North Pacific Giant octopus. It can change its appearance and texture to look like even the most intricately patterned coral. Its life span is only about four years, which is actually longer than other species.
Dear Pytheas
So I read up on the theory of time you mentioned. If I believe the growing block universe theory, then I have to believe that the past actually exists. So while I’m here in the present, I’m also there in the past? That makes NO sense, Pytheas. And if the past exists like a place does, why can’t I travel to it?
Thank you for the book. It’s very beautiful. Are the photographs enhanced? The fish seem unbelievably bright. I’ve been looking at the pictures in almost complete darkness, with a small torch to shine on the fish. I feel like I’m underwater. Have you done that?
The giant octopus is amazing, sure. But my favourite photograph is of the jellyfish. I go to the aquarium sometimes to watch them. They look like ghosts in the water.
Thanks for all the compliments you’re giving me – I’d give some back but I can’t (obviously). Lately I’m distracted in class, because I can’t stop wondering who you are. You don’t seem like you’re one of the popular kids (I mean that in the best possible way).
Are you ever planning on telling me who you are? Or will we keep writing like this forever?
George
Dear George
I thought it might be getting weird that I’m at school and you don’t know who I am. But I just can’t tell you. I’m worried that if you knew, it might change things, and I don’t want to stop writing.
I like the jellyfish too. Did you know that they’ve been in the oceans for more than five hundred million years? There’s a lake in The Republic of Palau, Jellyfish Lake, that’s flooded with them. My sister wants to dive in Palau – but not in that lake.
The growing block universe does mess with your idea of time, doesn’t it? Think about it like this – the universe is growing, and as it grows, slices of space-time are added to it. As slices are added, you move forward. Travel to the past is impossible, though. Space-time moves in one direction – forward.
Pytheas
Henry
a watched phone never rings