Read Online An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes by Randy Ribay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randy Ribay
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rustling the surrounding trees and grass. She draws warmth from Archie’s body. The blanket beneath them tickles the band of exposed skin below the hem of her sweatshirt. She rolls onto her side still holding Archie’s hand.
Mari closes her eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll fall in.”
“I won’t let you,” he says.
Mari leans in to kiss him, but her lips only find air. She opens her eyes and sees that she’s alone.
Above, the sky starts to turn. The stars rotate, anchored to the Northern Star, accelerating with each second. It’s as if the Earth is a globe spun by a child.
Mari panics. She reaches out only to remember that nobody is there. She flattens her back against the ground. Stretches her arms out to her sides and grips fistfuls of grass.
It’s no use. She’s slipping.
She feels the centrifugal force pulling her into space. Her body rises from the ground, just barely at first, but then higher and higher. The grass she holds rips from out of the ground, soil crumbling from the nests of tiny roots. She opens her hands. The grass clumps fall. Loose green blades flutter downward.
Mari closes her eyes. She feels her body ascending, floating upward and outward. She opens her eyes. The sky is now spinning so quickly that the stars have become white streaks of concentric circles.
Mari wakes. The world is still. Still dark. Still raining.
Still lonely.
Dante
Endless Rows of Lonely Men
Friday
The homeless guy drops a few sweaty, crumpled dollar bills in front of Dante. He then digs into his pocket and lets a handful of coins clatter onto the counter next to the cash.
“How much was it again?” the man asks, his voice raw.
Dante scoops up the money and returns it to the man. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I got you.”
The man smiles at Dante, his teeth crooked and yellow. “Thank you, young man.”
He steps aside to wait for his food, and it’s not long before Dante returns with a bag stuffed full of fried chicken. The man thanks Dante again and then heads back into the night.
Dante checks the clock. Just a few minutes left before he can lock up. But then he still has to wipe down the tables, put up the chairs, and mop the floor.
He yawns. Rolls his shoulders. Adjusts the notorious McCluck’s hat that sits upon his head. It is notorious because the hat is in the shape of a foam chicken, complete with a comb dangling from each side of the beak. The dangling combs look like a pair of red testicles to everyone except, apparently, the person who designed the hat.
Dante is hoping that was the last customer of the night when three guys he recognizes from school walk in. Each wears loafers without socks, a different shade of khaki shorts, and some variation of a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealing evenly tanned forearms and shiny watches. Their hair is all mussed in an artificial way and they wear sunglasses despite the fact that it’s nighttime.
One of the guys approaches the register and flashes a smile, revealing perfect white teeth indicative of privilege and date rape. He reeks of alcohol. “Gimme a number seven with a diet Coke, bro. Hey, nice balls.”
The guy reaches up and flicks one of the combs. It sways back and forth. His friends crack up. Dante sighs. Even though he’s got at least one foot and a hundred pounds on the biggest guy of the group, Dante feels insignificant.
And he wonders at the fact that they haven’t recognized him from school yet. It’s not like there are that many linebacker-sized black guys lumbering through the hallways. In fact, there’s just one. Probably too drunk, he figures.
“Would you like to Cluck-Up your order for only seventy-nine cents more?” Dante asks because he has to.
“What?”
“You know, upgrade to the next size.”
The guy looks above Dante, considers the menu board as if it holds the answer. “Yeah, sure.”
Dante punches the order into the register. “For here or to go?”
The guy holds his credit card out
Mari closes her eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll fall in.”
“I won’t let you,” he says.
Mari leans in to kiss him, but her lips only find air. She opens her eyes and sees that she’s alone.
Above, the sky starts to turn. The stars rotate, anchored to the Northern Star, accelerating with each second. It’s as if the Earth is a globe spun by a child.
Mari panics. She reaches out only to remember that nobody is there. She flattens her back against the ground. Stretches her arms out to her sides and grips fistfuls of grass.
It’s no use. She’s slipping.
She feels the centrifugal force pulling her into space. Her body rises from the ground, just barely at first, but then higher and higher. The grass she holds rips from out of the ground, soil crumbling from the nests of tiny roots. She opens her hands. The grass clumps fall. Loose green blades flutter downward.
Mari closes her eyes. She feels her body ascending, floating upward and outward. She opens her eyes. The sky is now spinning so quickly that the stars have become white streaks of concentric circles.
Mari wakes. The world is still. Still dark. Still raining.
Still lonely.
Dante
Endless Rows of Lonely Men
Friday
The homeless guy drops a few sweaty, crumpled dollar bills in front of Dante. He then digs into his pocket and lets a handful of coins clatter onto the counter next to the cash.
“How much was it again?” the man asks, his voice raw.
Dante scoops up the money and returns it to the man. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I got you.”
The man smiles at Dante, his teeth crooked and yellow. “Thank you, young man.”
He steps aside to wait for his food, and it’s not long before Dante returns with a bag stuffed full of fried chicken. The man thanks Dante again and then heads back into the night.
Dante checks the clock. Just a few minutes left before he can lock up. But then he still has to wipe down the tables, put up the chairs, and mop the floor.
He yawns. Rolls his shoulders. Adjusts the notorious McCluck’s hat that sits upon his head. It is notorious because the hat is in the shape of a foam chicken, complete with a comb dangling from each side of the beak. The dangling combs look like a pair of red testicles to everyone except, apparently, the person who designed the hat.
Dante is hoping that was the last customer of the night when three guys he recognizes from school walk in. Each wears loafers without socks, a different shade of khaki shorts, and some variation of a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealing evenly tanned forearms and shiny watches. Their hair is all mussed in an artificial way and they wear sunglasses despite the fact that it’s nighttime.
One of the guys approaches the register and flashes a smile, revealing perfect white teeth indicative of privilege and date rape. He reeks of alcohol. “Gimme a number seven with a diet Coke, bro. Hey, nice balls.”
The guy reaches up and flicks one of the combs. It sways back and forth. His friends crack up. Dante sighs. Even though he’s got at least one foot and a hundred pounds on the biggest guy of the group, Dante feels insignificant.
And he wonders at the fact that they haven’t recognized him from school yet. It’s not like there are that many linebacker-sized black guys lumbering through the hallways. In fact, there’s just one. Probably too drunk, he figures.
“Would you like to Cluck-Up your order for only seventy-nine cents more?” Dante asks because he has to.
“What?”
“You know, upgrade to the next size.”
The guy looks above Dante, considers the menu board as if it holds the answer. “Yeah, sure.”
Dante punches the order into the register. “For here or to go?”
The guy holds his credit card out
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