Be Good Be Real Be Crazy

by Chelsey Philpot

  “A girl?” Apollo swiped the baseball cap off his head and tossed it on the dashboard. “She must be something.”

  Sid’s face appeared between the front seats. “Her name’s Mia.”

  “Sid, man. Put your seat belt back on,” Homer said, watching Sid until he saw him click his seat belt.

  “Fine, but as soon as we hit New Hampshire, I am not legally bound to wear a seat belt.”

  “Sure.” Apollo glanced in the rearview mirror. “But if you don’t want to walk, I suggest you keep it on.” He turned his eyes back to the road. “So, where’s Mia now?”

  Homer scratched his head. “It’s a long story.”

  “And we’ve got over four hours of drive time, so start at the beginning.”

  Homer leaned forward. Dropped his head to his chest. Inhaled. Exhaled. And began talking. “After the first time I met her, before I knew her name, in my head I called her the Anywhere Girl. . . .”

  And for the second time in fewer than twenty-four hours, Homer found himself spilling his story to an understanding stranger.

  It would have been easy to miss Grace Mountains completely. The last two hours of the drive were all twisting two-lane roads dotted with potholes that felt large enough and deep enough to swallow a whole car—never mind one or two tires.

  By the time Apollo crept by a green road sign that read “Grace Mountains: Two Miles,” it was impossible to see anything that wasn’t directly lit by the SUV’s headlights. Between Sid’s snack stops and Einstein’s bathroom breaks and traffic once they got on the Kancamagus Highway, the trip had taken twice as long as it should have.

  The clouds covered the moon like a piece of clothing carelessly thrown over a lamp, causing buildings to look like boulders and street signs to be unreadable. The glaring whiteness of the snow on the ground made the black of the night that much darker. And every hotel, motel, bed-and-breakfast, or inn they passed had a “No Vacancy” sign up.

  “Einstein,” Homer said with a yawn. “How many people come to this conference?”

  “Lots,” Einstein replied, his voice heavy with sleepiness. “Lots and lots.”

  They had to drive two towns away to find a motel with free rooms.

  “Sorry,” Homer said once he and Apollo had collected their keys from the apathetic woman at the front desk. “This is probably not what you’re used to.”

  “Nah, don’t be.” Apollo tossed his key up and caught it. “Fancy places all blur together. This one’s”—Apollo looked at the flickering neon “Open” sign over the entrance for registration—“memorable. Reminds me of the place I grew up. Actually, this whole drive, I’ve been thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve been in that town.” He laughed. “Crazy, right? I spent most of my life figuring a way out and now I feel like I owe it to myself to go back.”

  “Believe me,” Homer said, his footsteps falling into the same rhythm as Apollo’s as they crossed the frosted parking lot to the SUV where Sid and Einstein were asleep in the backseat, “there are wackier reasons people end up where they do.”

  On December twentieth, Homer, Einstein, and Sid discovered firsthand how difficult it could be to wake up a pop star who was used to sleeping past noon. The sun was already high in the sky before they got back to Grace Mountains.

  “This place is a circus, man,” Apollo said as they crept along Main Street that afternoon. “Reminds me of the scene before one of my concerts.”

  “There’s a woman in a tutu and . . . alien ears?” Sid pressed a finger against the SUV window. “Three people dressed as robots. Everyone else looks like Einstein in ten years.” Sid slumped down in his seat.

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Einstein didn’t look up from his phone. “Okay, Apollo. You want to take this right turn once all the people are out of the way.”

  “Aye, aye.” Apollo saluted and then gunned the SUV through the first break in the stream of conference attendees.

  The road Einstein directed them down became dirt just a few yards after the turn. After the second bend, it led to a weathered barn that guarded a sprawling farmhouse twenty or so feet behind it.

  Einstein saw her first. Then Sid. And, finally, Homer turned his head to see what they were gasping about.

  And there she was.

  This time, there was no pausing.

  This time, the universe spun like it hung at the end of a twisted rope.

  “Ah, Apollo, you can drop us off here. This is it.” Homer pointed to a wooden sign, half hidden by the branches of a winter-naked bush: “Welcome to I-9 Institute for the Study of Probable Doom, Existential Risks, and Apocalyptic Possibilities.”

  The barn couldn’t have been higher than three stories, but its shadow seemed to stretch all the way from the building’s sunken base to the beginning of a dirt parking lot where Mia stood, her arms crossed and her fruit-punch hair made even brighter by the bareness of the trees behind her.

  Apollo shifted the car into park. “Is that her?” He pointed outside Homer’s window.

  “Yup.” Homer undid his seat belt and hopped out of the car. Sid and Einstein were already standing side by side looking at their feet in the dirt. Homer turned to say good-bye to Apollo, but the driver’s seat was empty.

  “Hug it out, man.” Apollo strode around the front of the car, flipped his cap backward, and pulled Homer into a hug. “Stay good. All right? World needs good guys.”

  “Yeah,” Homer said, stunned. “You, too.”

  Apollo hugged Einstein. “Stay real, genius. Keep saving other guys’ moms.”

  Then Sid. “Hey, man, you keep crazy. Okay? Gotta let that enthusiasm flow. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  Finally, he turned and crossed the dirt to where Mia was leaning against the Banana’s trunk. He shook Mia’s hand and said something to her, but the only words Homer could make out were “Be kind.”

  As Apollo jogged back to the SUV, he shouted, “It’s been real, but I gotta split. You have my number. That means you keep in touch. You guys ever want concert tickets . . . whatever. You got it.” Then he hopped in the car, honked the horn, and disappeared down the dirt drive.

  “Was that who I think it was?” Mia asked softly as she walked toward them.

  “Long story,” Einstein said.

  “Awesome story,” Sid added.

  “Sid and I are going to look around,” Einstein said, pointing toward the barn.

  “We are?”

  “Yup.” Einstein punched Homer lightly on the arm with one hand and clapped Sid on the back with the other. Then he and Sid crunched over the frozen grass and Homer was alone with Mia.

  “I brought back the Banana.”

  “I see.”

  Mia shuffled her feet and wrapped her arms around her chest. Looked up. Looked down. “I came back for you. The grumpy guy at the parking lot said he didn’t know anything. The lady at the diner said she hadn’t worked the night shift. Then I went back to Trisha’s just in case you’d gone there, and to the beach. But—”

  “How’d you know to come here?”

  “Einstein’s been talking about this conference for months.”

  “Oh.”

  “Homer, I—” Mia swept her foot back and forth across the ground.

  “It’s fine, Mia.” Homer saw Einstein and Sid appear around the corner. “I think I get it now.”

  Then the side door to the barn at the end of a brick walkway opened and a man in a white lab coat stuck his head out. “You kids know we aren’t doing tours today, right? You should have seen that in the conference packet.” His voice was high, almost to the point of being squeaky.

  “But we drove all the way from Florida,” Einstein said, stopping next to Sid a few feet from the door. “And I have a broken wrist.”

  The man looked Einstein up and down, then sighed. “Oh, come on in. I’ll see if we can make an exception. No use freezing your molecules off out here.”

  “Ha. Get it? Molecules off.” Sid was the first one through the door, followed closely
by Einstein. Homer didn’t turn around to see if Mia was coming, but he heard one more set of footsteps follow him in.

  MEETING THE WIZARD WHO WAS JUST A MAN

  WHEN THE DOOR SWUNG SHUT, they were left in total darkness. The air smelled like sawdust and stale coffee and the floor was cold stone with a layer of grit that scratched and scuttled under the many pairs of shifting feet.

  “Hello?” Sid’s whisper echoed like they were in a cave instead of a barn.

  “What brings you to this place?” The robotic voice was loud enough to make dust sprinkle from above.

  No one answered. The only sounds were those of grit grinding beneath shoes and dust pinging against the floor.

  “I said, what brings you to this place?” This time there was a short chime that sounded like a computer being turned on, and then a giant green face appeared on the wall behind them as smoke crept around their feet like a herd of friendly cats. The air smelled like chemicals, something dry and vinegary, and the giant face, which looked like a Halloween mask altered and angled to appear futuristic—the eyes were just slits, the cheekbones triangles—hovered a few feet in the air. Homer had to think deliberately about unclenching his hands before his fingers obeyed, and when he looked at the others, their faces tinted green by the light coming off that face, he saw reflections of his own confusion. Mia was biting her lip. Sid looked stunned. Einstein’s face was a mixture of awe and terror. The guy in the lab coat had disappeared. And suddenly, Homer was angry. Really, really, really angry.

  “What brings—”

  “Look,” Homer yelled. “We’ve driven more miles than I want to count. We’ve been bossed around by strangers, lost, bored, hungry, freezing, boiling, and . . . sad.” Homer took a breath and kept going. “We’ve survived crazy people, mean people, and leaving places we wanted to stay, so if you could just cut the bullshit, I would appreciate it.”

  “Oh.” The huge mouth in the huge face formed a circle, and then the face disappeared. A moment later, the barn was flooded with light.

  “Awesome!” Einstein shouted, and when Homer could fully open his eyes, he had to agree.

  The inside of the barn could just as well have been the interior of a spacecraft. Except for the door leading to a dark hall, the space was open. To their immediate right was a shiny, sterile-looking area with things made of stainless steel, glass beakers, test tubes, and other lab apparatus dotting its countertops. A large modern table surrounded by clear plastic chairs was set up in the far corner, and the rest of the floor was taken up by desks overflowing with books, papers, and a bunch of other stuff.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A short man with deep-brown skin and a gray beard streaked with black and dark orange appeared in the doorway, his arms firmly behind him. “Usually, visitors are amused. We start every tour this way. A hologram expert from M.I.T. once praised its intricacies. As far as green faces go, it seems this one is distinctive.” He sighed. “But I digress. Welcome to I-9.”

  His voice, Homer noticed, had a particular cadence to it, a rhythm that made each sentence sound like he was reading poetry.

  “I’m Dr. Az. Please come in.” He gestured toward the area in the corner closest to the doorway and next to the lab. “Take a seat.”

  The four of them moved like stunned zombies to the various stools and chairs Dr. Az had indicated.

  “I have a question,” Sid said. He was perched on the edge of the chair next to Einstein’s. “What’s with the hologram?”

  “Why do I use it?” Dr. Az smiled. “Part of the reason is laziness, pure and simple. Dr. Fischer put it up three years ago as a practical joke, and week after week we neglect to take it down. It’s a bit like brown Christmas wreaths in spring or a lawn ornament half buried in snow.” Dr. Az sighed. “But mostly, I keep it up for the visitors. More leave upset than elated, and I believe the hologram gives even the most disappointed ones a story to tell.”

  “Why are so many upset?” Mia asked softly, looking up from her lap.

  “Because they arrive expecting a wizard, and I am just a man. They want a cathedral to the future and find an old barn instead. They come hoping for answers and only leave with more questions.”

  “But why would they leave with more? Einstein says you’re the smartest guy in the world.” Mia’s voice was stronger now.

  “Because they say they’re here to learn the fate of the world, how it will end and when. But I can’t give them an answer—not for those questions, not for the many others that also brought them here.”

  “Why—” Einstein started to say.

  “That’s how many of the questions start: ‘Why.’ What a terrible, wonderful word.”

  Dr. Az stepped to a dented globe, walked his fingers from Canada to Australia, and then around and around again. “We could have remained a bunch of atoms darting about in the darkness like cosmic bumper cars. But we didn’t. You’d think ‘Why are we here at all?’ would be the most popular question. But in my nearly thirty years with I-9, I have heard so many more.”

  He stuck his hands behind his back again and started pacing. “Why are there hangovers, death, frizzy hair, and speeding tickets? Why do pets die and best friends move away? Why does milk spoil and why do species go extinct? Why do people use faith to justify terrible things and why is righteousness so often offered as a reason instead of what’s right?”

  When Dr. Az’s back was to them. Homer tried to catch Einstein’s eye, but his brother’s gaze was pinned to Dr. Az, who was now weaving through the large room, picking things up, inspecting them, then setting them down.

  “Why are some souls crushed and some dreams never fulfilled? Why are some people born poor and some people born rich? Why are movie tickets so expensive and why is food that’s bad for you so cheap? Why are animals neglected and children allowed to go hungry? Why do ballerinas fall and planes crash? Why do parents get old and grandparents get sick?”

  Dr. Az stopped in front of a sculpture of a woman in a lab coat and started polishing the plaque on the base with his sleeve. “Who knows? I don’t. Dr. Greenfield”—he pointed at the statue—“doesn’t, I mean didn’t.” He stared past the statue as though he had already forgotten it was there. “And she was the greatest biologist the world has ever seen.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mia whispered. “For your loss.”

  Dr. Az looked puzzled. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

  He kept pacing, but slower now. “Perhaps it’s because we are the products of broken-down stars or it’s that the world actually spins counterclockwise from the south and Pluto is a planet after all.” He picked up a tennis ball that was more brown than yellow and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps, more often then not, suffering has no meaning and cannot be anticipated. Perhaps the future, the present, and the past are all full of unknowable unknowns. Perhaps this is not a problem we can solve.” Dr. Az sighed and set the tennis ball in a coffee mug. “It’s a paradox we need to accept.”

  Dr. Az used one of the stools to lift himself onto the lab table. He sat down, crossed his arms, and swung his legs. “Forgive me. I’ve always found this time of year to be melancholic. In a December, more years ago than I like to count, I left the country where I was born for a new life. I wasn’t much older than you.” Dr. Az nodded at Homer, then at Mia. “And here I haven’t told you anything about the Institute or let you ask any questions.” He shifted to face Sid. “Why don’t you start? What brings you here today?”

  “Oh, I didn’t want to come here, I just wanted to get out of Delaware. Shoot.” Sid’s face went from interested to stricken. “It’s not that this isn’t awesome, but, it’s just, I was only along for the ride.”

  Dr. Az smiled. “I’m not offended. Go on.”

  “Uh, I don’t have anything else. It’s been great. I made friends. Home is going to seem incredibly boring after this. I probably won’t do anything cool again until I turn eighty.” />
  “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Sid. It’s short for Siddhartha.”

  “Are you familiar with the Law of the Conservation of Matter?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m advanced for my age.”

  “Then you know that when matter changes from one form to another in a closed system—a vacuum, so to speak—that matter stays constant. Nothing lost. Nothing gained. However . . .” Dr. Az paused. “Life is far from a closed system, and thus a changed life cannot stay constant. It’s forever altered. Understand?”

  Sid’s eyebrows were furrowed, but he nodded.

  Dr. Az looked at Einstein expectantly.

  “Hi. I’m Einstein.”

  Dr. Az drummed his fingers on the metal table. “Good name.”

  “Thanks. My brother chose it.” Einstein pointed at Homer.

  “Good brother,” Dr. Az quipped.

  “Thanks,” Homer said, staring down at his hands.

  “I just need to say that I have wanted to visit I-9 since I decided to write my dissertation on existential risks,” Einstein said. “And it’s more amazing than I could have dreamed and . . . and so awesome to meet you.”

  “You drove—how did you put it?” Dr. Az glanced at Homer. “I think it was ‘more miles than can be counted.’ You did this just to see an old man, an ancient prophet of doom and gloom?”

  “You’re the greatest physicist since, well, Einstein.” Einstein flung his arms out to his sides, forgetting that he had a cast on his left wrist and that Sid was sitting next to him.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry, Sid.”

  “No worries,” Sid said, rubbing his shoulder.

  “I see,” Dr. Az said, his voice steady and his gaze unnervingly even. “As flattered as I am, evidence suggests that meeting me is hardly the highlight of your undertaking.”

  Einstein looked like he was thinking of protesting but then shrugged.

  “Young lady.” Dr. Az crossed his arms again when he turned to Mia. “What brings you to the second annual I-9 Institute for the Study of Probable Doom, Existential Risks, and Apocalyptic Possibilities Conference on the Significant Dangers and Slim Rewards of the Giant Atom Accelerator?”