Unwasted by Sacha Z. Scoblic

Author:Sacha Z. Scoblic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Citadel Press
Published: 2011-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

Number 5 on the Sacha Fantasy Relapse Pass: Parallel Universe

The theory of parallel universes says that every possible possibility is a real reality on some other plane of existence. Also known as the multiverse or many-worlds theory, the idea is that there are no absolutes in quantum mechanics; every predictable outcome corresponds to an alternate universe. Imagine throwing dice across a craps table. Maybe you’re laughing, sipping champagne, and watching the little cubes float over the green felt on the table. The dice land. But the dice land thirty-six different times in thirty-six different combinations (from snake eyes to double sixes) in thirty-six different universes. But how predictable are you? Are you laughing in all thirty-six universes? That might depend on which combinations the dice have been landing. And, in turn, you might be throwing back a shot of whiskey, rather than clinking champagne glasses. As the possibilities are endless, so, too, are the universes.

And, somewhere out there, in some faraway universe, I am not an alcoholic. My fantasy, then, is to download my consciousness from this universe into the body of the nonalcoholic me living in another universe:

I wake up next to Peter in a hotel room in what I think is Tokyo. Our bed is perched next to a series of dramatic windows overlooking the city.

“Good morning,” says Peter. “I’m omniscient. Welcome to the Thirty Nonillion, Eight Hundred Sextillion, and Three Universe!”

“I’m sorry, did you just say you were—”

“Omniscient, yes. Welcome!” says Peter. “What would you like to know about this universe? I can tell you anything. Would you like to know about quasars, local real estate, or beetles, for example? Or maybe the secrets of the universe, the question of life, the alpha and the omega—”

“I get it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You literally know it all.”

“Did I mention you can drink as much as you like without guilt, fear, or consequence in this universe?” asks Peter gently.

“Why are we still talking?” I respond as I take in the surroundings. Our room is vast. Overhead, there is a skylight. The floor is a rich, dark wood. Sliding glass doors lead to a terrace with an infinity plunge pool and a Zen garden. To my left, a rice-paper wall slides open to reveal a room dotted with pillows—some large, some small, in silks, cottons, lamb’s wool. I’ve always wanted a pillow room, I think to myself.

“Peter,” I ask, “how did we get so rich?”

“Well,” he begins with a warm smile, “first, your books sold so well, and then you did that supermodeling stint. Shall we toast to your success with a mimosa?”

As Omniscient Peter pops open the bottle of champagne, he explains that I have become an important writer in this universe. Apparently, having spent my life sober, I have been prolific.

“Is that an Emmy?” I ask, pointing at a statuette in the corner and sipping my mimosa.

“Oh, yes!” exclaims Peter. “We just flew in from Hollywood. You won that for your work on the new HBO series—”

“Can I have another mimosa?” I ask.

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