“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, the whole galaxy is rotating around this supermassive black hole. But very slowly. I mean, it takes our solar system like two hundred twenty-five million Earth years to orbit the galaxy.”
I asked him if the spirals of the galaxy were infinite, and he said no, and then he asked about my spirals.
I told him about this mathematician Kurt G?del, who had this really bad fear of being poisoned, so much so that he couldn’t bring himself to eat food unless it was prepared by his wife. And then one day his wife got sick and had to go into the hospital, so G?del stopped eating. I told Davis how even though G?del must’ve known that starvation was a greater risk than poisoning, he just couldn’t eat, and so he starved to death. At seventy-one. He cohabitated with the demon for seventy-one years, and then it got him in the end.
When I’d finished the story, he asked, “Do you worry that will happen to you?”
And I said, “It’s so weird, to know you’re crazy and not be able to do anything about it, you know? It’s not like you believe yourself to be normal. You know there is a problem. But you can’t figure a way through to fixing it. Because you can’t be sure, you know? If you’re G?del, you just can’t be sure your food isn’t poisoned.”
“Do you worry that will happen to you?” he asked again.
“I worry about a lot of things.”
We kept on talking, for so long that the stars moved above us, until eventually he asked, “Wanna swim?”
“Bit cold,” I said.
“Pool’s heated,” he answered. He stood up and pulled off his shirt, then kicked out of his jeans while I watched. I liked watching him take off his jeans. He was skinny, but I liked his body—the small but sinewy muscles in his back, his goose-bumped legs. Shivering, he jumped into the water. “Magnificent,” he said.
“I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Well, if you have a bra and underwear that’s basically a bikini.” I laughed and took off my coat, then stood up.
“Do you mind turning around?” I asked him. He turned toward the dimly lit terrarium, where the billionaire-in-waiting was hiding somewhere in her artificial forest.
I wriggled out of my jeans and pulled off my shirt. I felt naked even though technically I wasn’t, but I dropped my hands to my sides and said, “Okay, you can look.” I slid into the warmth of the pool next to him; he put his hands on my waist under the water, but didn’t try to kiss me.
The terrarium was behind him, and now that my eyes were fully adjusted to the dark I could see the tuatara on a branch, staring at us through one of her redblack eyes. “Tua’s watching us,” I said.
“She’s such a perv,” Davis answered, and then turned to look at the animal. Her green skin had some kind of yellow moss growing on it, and I could see her teeth as she breathed with her mouth slightly open. Her miniature crocodile tail flickered suddenly, and Davis startled, curling into me, then laughed. “I hate that thing,” he said.
—
It was freezing when we got out. We didn’t have any towels, so we carried our clothes in our arms and ran back to the house. Noah was still on the couch playing the same game. I hustled past him and jogged up the marble stairs.
Once we were dressed, we went to Davis’s bedroom. He put the Iron Man on his bedside table, then knelt down to show me how his telescope worked. He plugged some coordinates into a remote control, and the telescope moved itself. When it stopped, Davis stooped to look through the lens, then cleared the way for me.
“That’s Tau Ceti,” he said. The way the telescope was zoomed in, I couldn’t see anything but darkness and one jittering disk of white light. “Twelve light-years away, similar to our sun but a little smaller. Two of its planets actually might be habitable—probably not, but maybe. It’s my favorite star.” I didn’t know what I was supposed to be seeing—it was just a circle like any other. But then he explained.
“I like to look at it and think about how the sun’s light looks to someone in Tau Ceti’s solar system. Right now, they’re seeing our light from twelve years ago—in the light they’re seeing, my mom has three years to live. This house has just been built, and Mom and Dad are always fighting about the layout of the kitchen. In the light they see, you and I are just kids. We’ve got the best and the worst of it in front of us.”
“We still have the best and the worst of it in front of us,” I said.
“I hope not,” he said. “I sure as hell hope the worst is behind me.”
I pulled away from Tau Ceti’s twelve-year-old light and looked up at Davis. I took his hand, and part of me wanted to tell him I loved him, but I wasn’t sure if I really did. Our hearts were broken in the same places. That’s something like love, but maybe not quite the thing itself.
It sucked having a dead person in your family, and I knew what he meant, about seeking solace in the old light. Three years from now, I knew, he’d find a different favorite star, one with older light to gaze upon. And when time caught up with that one, he’d love a farther star, and a farther one, because you can’t let the light catch up with the present. Otherwise you’d forget.
That’s why I liked looking at my dad’s pictures. It was the same thing, really. Photographs are just light and time.
“I should go,” I said quietly.
“Can I see you this weekend?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Could we hang out at your house next time, maybe?”
“Sure,” I said. “If you don’t mind being harassed by my mother.”
He assured me he didn’t, and then we hugged good-bye, and as I left him alone in his room, he knelt back down to the telescope.
—
When I got home that night, I told Mom that Davis wanted to come over this weekend. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asked.
“I guess so,” I said.
“He respects you as an equal?”
“Yeah.”
“He listens to you as much as you listen to him?”
“Well, I’m not great at talking. But yes. He listens to me. He’s really, really sweet, and also at some point you just have to trust me, you know?”
She sighed. “All I want in this world is to keep you. Keep you from hurt, keep you from stress, all that.” I hugged her. “You know I love you.”
I smiled. “Yeah, Mom. I know you love me. You definitely don’t have to worry about that.”
—
After going to bed that night, I checked in on Davis’s blog.
“Doubt thou that the stars are fire, / Doubt that the sun doth move.”
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
It dothn’t move, of course—well, it does, but not around us. Even Shakespeare assumed fundamental truths about the fundament that turned out to be wrong. Who knows what lies I believe, or you do. Who knows what we shouldn’t doubt.
Tonight, under the sky, she asked me, “Why do all the ones about me have quotes from The Tempest? Is it because we are shipwrecked?”
Yes. Yes, it is because we are shipwrecked.
I hit refresh after reading it, just in case, and there was a new entry, posted minutes before.
“There’s an expression in classical music. It goes, ‘We went out to the meadow.’ It’s for those evenings that can only be described in that way: There were no walls, there were no music stands, there weren’t even any instruments. There was no ceiling, there was no floor, we all went out to the meadow. It describes a feeling.”
—TOM WAITS
I know she’s reading this right now. (Hi.) I felt like we went out to the meadow tonight, only we weren’t playing music. In the best conversations, you don’t even remember what you talked about, only how it felt. It was like we weren’t even there, lying together by the pool. It felt like we were in some place your body can’t visit, some place with no ceiling and no walls and no floor and no instruments.
And that really should have ended my evening. But instead of going to sleep, I decided to torture myself by reading more Ayala stories.