The Paramount Dimension

by Joseph Calev

  “Don’t be so dramatic. There was a good sale,” she replied, then left.

  At times Jason seriously wondered whether his parents were embedded aliens from the Planet Zorg, where an advanced civilization thrived whose members lacked a single bit of empathy or common sense. Their standard response to everything, whether it was spilled milk or a severed artery, was “That’s very nice.” Now there was this tidal wave of bedding.

  After struggling to shove enough comforters away so he could open his bottom drawer, Jason dressed and made his way to the kitchen. His father was there, a frail man with a thin layer of black hair that had been permanently bonded together with nearly as much hair gel. He wore his standard buttoned up white shirt complete with pen holder and gray slacks. His attention was absorbed by something on his tablet.

  “Hey, Dad,” Jason called, who knew it was useless to wait for a response.

  He poured some cereal while his mother screamed that he hadn’t folded the mountain of blankets that filled his room.

  “So, what’s the news?” Jason asked. It was just small talk. He really didn’t care.

  “There’s a new pancake house in Renton,” his father said without looking up. “They found that dog that’s been missing for the last two weeks in the Cascades.”

  Jason had no idea what any of these had to do with the other, or why he should care. His father spent endless hours watching videos on that tablet, and very rarely made any sense. “Good news about the dog,” he said while his mother called for him. He downed the rest of his cereal and grabbed his bag. It was still a few minutes before the bus, but he desired anything outside of dealing with that mess.

  “Oh,” his father said again without glancing from the tablet. “I almost forgot. Ninety-seven thousand people died last night from lightning.”

  Jason nearly regurgitated his cereal. “What? Where?”

  “Here,” answered his father without a thread of emotion. “Seattle. Bellevue. Tacoma. All over. Biggest lightning storm in years. Lots of people unhappy. Be careful when you go outside. They’re still cleaning up bodies.”

  After wracking his head and wiping his face, Jason looked for proof from his father’s tablet, but he’d already moved on to a kitten video. His father had long been incapable of joking. Was this his first feeble attempt?

  “Ninety-seven thousand,” Jason questioned out loud in a calm voice.

  “More or less,” said his father, then smiled at a cat falling off a shelf.

  Jason started to pace. “This is a major distaster, then.” He thought back to the battle, then shuddered. “Should we go out to help them? And I take it there’s no school.”

  “And why would they cancel school?” asked his mother incredulously.

  Before he could even consider an answer, there was a honk from the street where a familiar yellow bus stood. Instinctively, he bolted through the door and made it just as it was starting to head away.

  Was his father serious? After all, how could lightning kill so many people? His parents rarely made sense, but this was a new low for them.

  Inside the bus, a few students moaned while others cheered as Jason found his seat.

  “That’s three now!” shouted one of them. “Told you Jason wouldn’t be hit. I’ve never seen him outside. With Angie fried that makes it thirty bucks! Forty if Arnold’s dead.”

  Jason suddenly felt sick. How could they be so light about this? Thousands seemed dead, and they were taking bets? Why was there even school? Why was no one crying? And why had that destruction he dreamed about felt so real, and then mysteriously a similar number of people actually died?

  Further shouts accompanied Arnold’s vacant house. There, a body lay sprawled on the street. It was an old lady, together with her equally dead dog. The bus had slowed to divert around them. Two other corpses lay across a distant lawn, next to which was a dump truck halfway filled. How could they be treating it this way? Such a disaster was a full emergency complete with lengthy mourning, yet to everyone else it was just an annoying clean up.

  His eyes paused on a very alive homeless man as the bus sped up. He walked with a limp and waved a three-fingered salute as they passed. His scowl was uncanny, and Jason shrunk down his seat until the bus jumped from hitting some obstacle in the street. He grew sick. There were no speed bumps here.

  The rest of the bus ride was a blur. By the time he reached his classroom, Jason was ready for the day to be over. Perhaps there were some interesting schools out there, but this wasn’t one of them. Here, the teachers were more adept at torture than at any form of teaching.

  “Pay attention in class, Bezna!” a deep voice barked from the front, and Jason knew that it could only be his sadistic history teacher, Mr. Flemence.

  If ruining lives required a degree, Flemence would have a PhD. They’d covered in nauseating detail for the last month the Mongol conquest of the world, and more than ever Jason wished to be back in that time. The Mongols at least would have killed him quickly.

  Half of each class was spent reviewing mistakes on the previous days’ homework, with the victim often made to stand while his work was publicly ridiculed. The other half was spent reading verbatim from the textbook, with every third word specially enunciated, as if that made any difference.

  Jason Bezna lifted his head, but withheld a groan. While his homework was often a prime choice for Flemence’s ridicule, he desperately hoped he’d receive a reprieve today. That aspiration was short lived.

  “So, Sleeping Beauty, let’s see what you did.”

  This was an invitation for him to retrieve his homework from his bag, then walk to the front and hand it over.

  A greasy hand ripped it from his fingers, and Jason retreated back to his seat. He canvassed the room and saw five empty seats. There had been no mention of their names, and during morning attendance the missing had been calmly marked “probably dead” instead of tardy.

  Yet just when his hastily finished work was plastered on the projector, a fleeting vision of brown wavy hair and unforgettable piercing eyes grabbed him. The seat diagonal from him was normally occupied by the designated class bully, who often tripped him on his many walks to the front. This stunning sight was most definitely not him. He stole a glance. She caught it and smiled. This wasn’t just any girl. This was the girl.

  She looked exactly like the one from his dream. She had that slight hook to her smile, and the same perfect gleam in her hair, this time in a ponytail. She wore a white sweater, the same jeans, but sneakers instead of the boots. He looked again, and when his eyes met his reflection in her brown irises, he quickly faced forward.

  “What was the birth name,” boomed Flemence, “of the first Great Khan?”

  Jason had clearly written, “Genghis Khan,” but his teacher scanned the classroom for volunteers.

  “That’s wrong,” replied the class brown-noser with a smug look toward Jason. “It was some chick. Her name was—”

  “No it wasn’t,” answered another clear voice near him. It was the girl. “Does it really matter if he can’t remember Temujin?” she continued.

  Jason inched his desk away from hers.

  “And why have you been studying him for the last month? Does it really matter that much? Or are you so stupid that you forgot the rest of the curriculum?”

  She said the last words with a wide smile, and Jason cringed in anticipation of the nuclear explosion.

  “You’re absolutely correct!” was Flemence’s stunning response. There wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice. “I did forget it.”

  “Let’s be honest,” she continued. “All his answers are more or less right. You’re just pissed that you haven’t dated in fifteen years, your cats abandoned you due to the smell, and the biggest love of your life is your left hand.”

  The entire class broke into raucous laughter, and Jason winced in anticipation of this huge man bulldozing through the aisle, desks flying in every direction, then smacking that smile from her with their fifteen-hundr
ed-page history book.

  “You’re absolutely correct!” he instead replied gleefully. “Every bit of that is true. Now let me tell you some funny stories about our principal.”

  Jason leaned forward, unsure whether he was more stunned about his placid response, or that Flemence might actually say something interesting. Instead, he was staring into those all-knowing brown eyes. She moved her desk right in front of his. The screeching of her chair against the tile floor cracked his ears, but no one else seemed to mind or even notice.

  “I’m Raynee,” she said with her hand outstretched. She had a perky smile.

  Jason looked from side to side, worried what others would think and expecting Flemence’s full wrath.

  “Don’t worry about them,” she said. “I could shove pliers up their noses and they wouldn’t care.”

  “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “Like I said. I’m Raynee,” she answered loudly, her hand still outstretched. He took it. Her skin was the softest he had ever felt.

  “I’m Ja—” he started, but she shushed him.

  “That’s a pretty stupid name you’ve got there. Let’s think of something better. Hmm.” She tapped out loud while Flemence continued talking and the class ignored them. “I’ve got it!” she shrieked over Flemence’s lesson. “I’ll call you Turnip.”

  He shook his head. “Um, not really.”

  “Sorry. Decision’s been made. You’re Turnip now.”

  “Were you? My dream?”

  “Ninety-seven thousand are dead and you still think that was a dream?” she answered and poked his nose with her finger. “I thought you were a smarter turnip.”

  He paused to consider that. How had he been lulled into the same state of ignorance as everyone else?

  “So, that actually happened?”

  “You tell me,” she said, looking up at the ceiling tiles. “You were there, Turnip.”

  “Why am I a turnip, and how are you doing this?” He was beginning to get used to the fact that no one was paying them any attention.

  “Well, am I a girl?”

  He blushed more than slightly. She wasn’t just a girl. She was the absolute perfection of one. “Um, yeah.”

  “Then you’re a turnip,” she said in a pointed voice. “And as for your fellow vegetables here . . . . As I said. That’s not for turnips to know.”

  It occurred to him just then that he had to know more about this girl. It wasn’t simply because she was the only link between his dream and sanity. There was something more real about her than anything he’d ever noticed. Sure, none of this was likely happening and he was bound to wake at any time, but right then he desired nothing other than to be near her.

  “Funny,” she said while he gazed at her. Her eyes were squinting and she seemed to be concentrating on something. “I can’t read you, Turnip.”

  “Can you please just call me Jason.”

  “Nope. You’re not a Jason. You’re a Turnip.”

  “Am I dreaming? Why are you here?”

  She laughed and he nearly fainted when she hooked her lip in a smile again. “I think you’re the only one not dreaming. And I’m here for answers. Ninety-seven thousand turnips are gone. These other brain-dead vegetables don’t care. Would you like some answers?”

  Jason so desperately wanted answers that he had yet to consider the questions.

  “Listen,” she said after looking around for the first time. “You’re not so bad. How about we discuss this over a date?”

  “A date?” His respiratory system was shutting down while his heart jumped on a treadmill.

  “Yeah, a date. Since you’re a boy and I’m a girl and you obviously like me. I believe it’s custom for you to ask me to accompany you somewhere, so I can refuse.”

  “Why would I ask if you’re going to refuse?”

  She snickered, then leaned forward so much that he inched back. “Well, you don’t know that. Do you?”

  Jason puffed up his shoulders while she withheld a laugh. “So, would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  “That’s more like it. All right. It’s a date.”

  She stood to leave and he immediately jumped. “But wait. I haven’t said where—”

  “Go somewhere at seven o’clock,” she replied and then shoved another student’s desk out of her way. “I’ll be there.”

  3

  No sooner had Raynee slid her desk back, did Jason cast a dreamy glance forward and met the outstretched middle finger of its original inhabitant. He shook his head. Was he going crazy? Up front, Flemence had chosen some other unfortunate soul for homework display. The story was over.

  In the hallway, someone shoved him against his locker and Jason was a little bit thankful. Perhaps that was the jolt he needed to wake from this stupor. He spent the rest of the day searching for her through every class, but the only thing he found was normality. There were only the usual uninteresting lessons.

  There was a peculiar physics lesson that day. It covered the four elemental forces: gravity, electromagnetic, strong nuclear, and weak nuclear. The material went quickly over his head, and he couldn’t recall that ever being on the lesson plan. But he hadn’t read the syllabus since the first day of class. And also, there was no Raynee.

  When he returned home, his father was in the same spot he had left him, staring at his tablet. Supposedly he worked as a computer programmer, though Jason had never witnessed him use a keyboard.

  “Good evening, son.” This was the same thing he uttered every day. “How was your day?”

  “It sucked—” he started. “Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I met a girl. We’re going out in a few hours.”

  He had no idea why he was telling his father this. Jason wasn’t even sure if it was true.

  “Well, that’s very nice.” His father didn’t even look up.

  “Don’t get her pregnant!” his mother yelled from the other room.

  “What the hell, Ma!” he shouted back, but she didn’t respond. He found her in his room. Circling his bed were five piles of bedding, each nearly as tall as he. Every single one was neatly folded. She had just finished the last pile. Jason shook his head and walked out.

  “Is Mom going crazy or something?” he asked his father. “I feel like I’m living in a yurt with all her damned blankets.”

  “That’s very nice,” answered his father.

  Jason groaned and plopped himself in front of the television. He glanced at his backpack, with a full night of homework, then kicked up his feet and clicked the remote. Anything to get his mind away from the recent events was welcome. To his disappointment, the news appeared.

  “Millions are dead in New York City after category six hurricane Sa’ira devastated the city and the surrounding region.”

  He flipped the channel forward, since he didn’t care for far-fetched disaster movies. Immediately another calamity appeared. This one seemed to be Moscow, with that funky-looking church and backward letters. People were running and screaming while fires emerged from everywhere. Was some lame movie appearing on the news channels?

  “Ma! What’s with the news?” he shouted.

  “World disaster,” his mother said calmly. “Hurricane in New York. Buildings toppled like dominoes. Some deadly disease in Alaska from mosquitoes. One hundred-thirty degrees in Australia, and Beijing is negative forty.”

  Jason shook his head. “But isn’t it winter in Australia and summer in Beijing?”

  “I don’t know,” his mother said from the other room. “All this science stuff is too complicated, so I just stopped paying attention.”

  “It’s all very nice,” added his father.

  He flipped the channel back to New York City, but now there was a blurb about some new waffle house. They spent several minutes extolling the waffles, then moved on to the weather. When they started a section on “This date in Mongol history,” he turned it off.

  Hurriedly he turned to his computer and confirmed everything his mother had said. Th
ere were more disasters. Unbelievable things were happening all over the world. Millions were dying in calamities far worse than a lightning storm, but without much fuss. In fact, the largest headline had something to do with physics.

  Jason shut his laptop then squeezed his head with both arms. The entire world was collapsing, and all anyone cared about were waffles and physics.

  His parents were no help now. They were as brain dead as the rest, but there was Raynee. It seemed no coincidence that everything started when she arrived. What exactly was she anyway, and why did he cease caring the instant he recalled those fiery eyes?

  There was no escaping this. His only hope for sanity was to meet her. Jason’s entire conception of world order now depended on a date. Yet what would she do to him if he chose the location poorly? If what happened in the air wasn’t a dream, then she was just toying with him. She could do very bad things.

  His mother entered the living room. “Um, Mom,” he said with trepidation. “Where’s a good place for a date?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. It would be cheating.”

  Jason didn’t know what to make of that. Yet after some thought, he decided that this merited a conservative approach. They would meet for dinner. An attractive Italian restaurant was only a bicycle ride away. Though old enough to drive, he owned neither license nor car. The answer to both questions, of course, had been “That would be nice.” Since she was meeting him there, a bicycle would have to do.

  He arrived with five minutes to spare, and half expected to find a table and wait for her to magically appear at seven on the dot. To his surprise, she was already seated by the window. She wore a simple black dress, with her back nearly bare and her front mostly clad up to her neck. How did she know he would choose this restaurant?

  A waiter in a tuxedo caught him at the entrance. Jason canvassed the dimly lit room, decorated with Tuscan sunsets and bottles of Brunello. A single rose and short candle adorned each table. Jason wore jeans and a black hoodie. He smiled, but the waiter didn’t.

  After an anxious few seconds, the waiter fixed his tie then pointed toward Raynee. Her attention was engrossed in the menu, and she didn’t notice him approach until he sat across from her.