A Single Nuke Can Ruin Your Entire Day

Dearest Rachel –

I know we never got into the show (which is weird, considering how many shows we did get into), but I do feel like I could’ve benefited from binge watching Rick and Morty at some point. I’m pretty sure that Rick would’ve had an answer for the problem I encountered in my dream last night.

Then again, considering what little I know about Doc Sanchez, would he even care?

I don’t know how I knew where I was was, but I was fairly confident that I had slid into another dimension’s version of Dearborn, Michigan. You know, one of the nicer yet older suburbs. I probably thought of it because that was where my mom’s childhood took place. Anyway…

I appeared to have landed (and I really don’t know how all those people in sci-if shows – Rick and Morty; Quinn, Wade, Dr. Arturo and Rembrandt; and all the various Stargate divisions – manage to land on their feet wherever they wind up. I’m pretty darn sure I’d land rather painfully on my backside) In the town square, which I don’t even think Dearborn has. Maybe I’m basing it off of downtown Franklin, Tennessee.

Regardless – and this should come as no surprise – the people walking around all looked kind of like they were out of the uncanny valley. Like those battery people from the 90s Duracell commercials.

Duracel Plastic Family & Creepy Parrot - YouTube
Yeah, something like these. Unsettling, even without taking into account what I’m about to mention next.

Only, instead of batteries in their backs, they had a little box on the front, like a fanny pack, but with a digital readout counting down. And this being both sci-fi and a dream, I just knew that each of them was a walking nuclear bomb.

Now there was one other thing that I haven’t told you about, mostly because again, dream, but it was at this point that I realized I also had the ability to stop time. Which was good, because there were a lot of ‘people’ walking around that I had to defuse. So I theoretically had an infinite amount of time to deal with this, I still had to figure out:

  • How to disable each of the devices,
  • How to get out of the dimension quickly enough once I had restarted time, and
  • How to seal off that dimension once I landed in another one, juuust in case I hadn’t succeeded.

Because, as the old line goes, a single nuke can ruin your entire multiverse. Or day. Whatever, it’s a bad time.

I never figured out how to disable the bombs, let alone how to get out of there safely. My alarm went off before I could figure out just about anything. Yeah, it’s Sunday, and I’m working the booth, so it’s that one day a week where I set an alarm. My life’s topsy-turvy like that. But you already knew that.

I have to confess, once I was awake, I found myself wondering what I would do with that kind of power or ability. Would I go skipping through dimensions, looking for one in which you were still around? Would I be able to extract you from that dimension, or would the web of friendships that you already have there keep you from leaving? Knowing you, it would probably be the latter, and I would feel it wasn’t my right to even intrude. Heck, would you even know me? There must be some dimension were you went to WIU and never left home, for instance. A few of the others might’ve had you here, but I expect the three of us would still be together – it wouldn’t be right to interfere with a perfectly happy family. Especially, not my own.

Maybe – assuming that a dimension-hopping device would also allow me to travel within the same dimension but backward and forward in time – I could go to back before the accident. Maybe I could come to you on a December night like a Christmas ghost a la Charles Dickens, and read you some of these letters.

Would you be more careful about belly-flopping down that hill? Would you still be here once I returned to my own time? Would I remember these past six months without you, or would I suddenly have a collection of vivid memories of being with you? Or would I somehow have both, in a weird quantum state of memory? What would the house look like? Would you be more amenable to bringing Jan over, so we can actually organize the place, and get things done? Would any of my own character development – assuming you could call it that – still be a part of me?

It’s like the grandfather paradox in reverse.

I have to admit, I would be willing to risk it. But of course, that sort of thing is the stuff of science fiction, not reality. There is no Dr. Rick Sanchez, no Dr. Emmett Brown, no…Doctor, even (not that the doctor would be particularly concerned about us, as people die all the time throughout all his – her? – travels. Unless we get particularly close to him, we’d be of little concern in the grand scheme of things, really. “Good men don’t need rules,” he once said, in a roundabout way of acknowledging he wasn’t particularly good. Granted, it was more a case of him warning that he wasn’t exactly nice, despite trying to be ‘good,’ but still). I’ll not get a chance to try and find out.

Anyway, this is starting to away from me. I might as well send this off, submitting it for your approval (as another sci-fi show might have put it). I’ll let you make of it what you will, and leave the conjectures to the real sci-fi writers.

Take care of yourself, honey. Love you.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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