The Theory of Everything (25 page)

Music was memory. I think that's why Dad liked making tapes and I liked listening to them. Without leaving my seat or traveling to another universe, I could go somewhere else as often as I wanted, a little world that existed for Dad and me alone. The tape started off happy, like I knew it would. I listened to the lyrics, decoding messages that weren't so secret, but ones I hadn't heard in a long time, if ever.

Dad loved me and wanted to be with me. He stayed away to protect me. He believed all worlds belonged to us and that when he felt something, I felt it, too. Because we were a part of each other. Tears rolled down my face, partially because of the messages but also because I missed him. I paused the tape and opened the letter.

Sophie,

If you're reading this letter, you're looking for answers. It's good to have questions, because life would be boring without them, so I'll attempt to answer a few.

On your mother: She made me leave, but she was right. She couldn't protect you from what I couldn't control, and it was her job to keep you safe. She's suffered enough. Forgive her.

On traveling: I was afraid what was happening to me could happen to you. So instead of wallowing, I went to work to find a connection between physics and what I was experiencing. When I came upon my inspiration—you—everything fell into place. Love was the answer. Because love is everything.

The words poured over me and into me, filling holes I didn't know were there.

Traveling can be difficult, but it's also a beautiful reminder that we're never alone, that there are people, places and pandas beyond our imaginations. Especially your assigned panda. Know that it's okay to be your own person and follow your own path, no matter where it takes you.

I bent my knees and hugged them to my chest. Keep going, Dad. Keep going.

When you're ready to stop traveling—probably when you're old enough to have a boyfriend or just tired of being gone all the time—employ the Sophie Effect. It's what makes you travel, but it's also what could make it stop. It hasn't worked for me yet, but maybe, with enough love, it will work for you. Until we meet again, put your hand over your heart . . .

I pressed my palm to my heart like the national anthem was playing.

. . . and I'll do the same. That way we'll always be together, whichever universe we're in.

Love,

Dad

I pressed Play and listened to the rest of the tape, letting it wash over me.

The Cure sang about having a moment and never wanting it to end.

Thee Headcoatees should have sung “have love, won't travel.”

Joy Division knew what they were talking about. Love will tear you apart, literally.

“The Passenger” by Iggy Pop was perfect for train listening but also a great metaphor for life.
La, la, la, la, la-la-la-la.

People can say whatever they want about U2, but their early stuff was amazing, like this song. I think it was written for Dad and me.

New Order was also there, the sound of science, comparing love to nature, to longevity.

It was the perfect mix. And in true Dad fashion, the last song left a mark, especially the chorus. It said something I needed to hear, like a song that had always been with me whether I knew it or not. Like he'd always been with me, whether I knew it or not. Thanks for letting Morrissey deliver the message, Dad.

“I am human and I need to be loved. Just like everybody else does.”

Tears rolled down my face and dropped in my lap. I wiped them away, but they kept coming, so I let them. And then I closed my eyes, leaned back and put my hand over my heart, feeling it move with the oscillating guitar, pounding in sync with the drumbeat.

|||||||||||

“Evening, night owl.”

I opened my eyes and saw Walt sitting in the row across from me, legs stretched out, leaning against the window. That row had always been empty. And since everyone else was asleep, no one else noticed. I climbed over Finny, and Walt moved his legs so I could sit next to him.

“What's new?” he said.

“As if you didn't know,” I said, taking off my headphones and wiping my eyes on my sleeve. And then I took the tape out of the Walkman and waved it at him.

“Aw, you heart me! You made me a mixtape.”

“Dad made
me
a mixtape,” I said. “It's called
Love.
”

“How is it? Is Walt and the Pandas on it?”

“No,” I said, but I would have loved that. “It came with a letter, though.”

“How many stars would you give it, like two or like five with a chocolate mint under your pillow?”

“I'd give it a hundred stars,” I said, looking out the window. “This is what I came for.”

“I know,” he said, patting my hand.

“He mentioned you,” I said.

“Little ol' me?”

“Not by name, but he said my assigned panda. I assume that's you?”

“Correct. I couldn't tell you until you knew for sure, but everyone who travels gets a panda,” Walt said. “It's part of the deal—protection, guidance and all that.”

“So other people travel, too?”

“Sure,” Walt said. “But not just anyone can travel. You know that. And if you don't, keep reading your dad's book.”

“Were you my dad's panda?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “But I've heard about your dad. He sounds like an amazing guy.”

“He is,” I said, feeling
Love
in my pocket.

I pushed a button to lean my seat back but forgot we weren't on a plane.

“Is there any way I can stop traveling but hang on to you?”

Walt smiled. “I'm flattered, but you know I have to leave at some point anyway.”

“So is this a preemptive breakup?”

“Not at all,” he said. “But no matter what you do, my work here will be done, eventually. Probably sooner than we think.”

The night was dark, and the train was quiet except for the two of us.

“I like having you around,” I said, remembering when I didn't. Remembering how I asked him not to sneak up on me or do bad football victory dances.

“I like being around,” Walt said. “Chances are, my next client won't be half as fun as you are. But, hey—we'll always have Havencrest.”

“Maybe I should put
that
on a T-shirt,” I said.

He munched on a packet of peanut butter crackers he found in the seat in front of him.

“I still haven't proven the Sophie Effect, you know,” I said.

“But you're closer,” Walt said. “Would you like another hint?”

“Always,” I said. “I'm going to miss your advice. You eating my egg rolls. Pointing out markers along the way.”

“You're starting to see the markers yourself,” Walt said.

I sat up in my chair. “I am?”

“You're graduating,” he said. “Get the robe ready.”

I saw the fur on his face glisten, like it was wet.

“Wait, are those tears?” I said.

“No way,” he said. “Pandas don't get emotional. Emo, maybe, but never emotional.”

Walt put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“Be at home here,” he said, pointing to his heart. “Especially when you get a glimpse of another world.”

“So what, I travel when I'm nervous?”

Walt smiled. He liked to make me figure everything out myself, so I thought about it. I never traveled when I was hanging out with Finny, laughing. Or curled up on my bed, reading a book. I didn't travel when Mom and I made dinner together or when I went for a walk. That had to mean something. It was well documented that stress caused rational people to do crazy things. Was it insane to think it caused me to pop between universes?

“No matter what happens, don't be a stranger, okay?” I said.

I felt the tears coming, but Walt slayed them with his sarcasm.

“Always strange, but never a stranger,” he said, hopping up and wiggling his butt in the aisle. And then he blew me a kiss.

“See you soon, princess,” he said. And then he disappeared.

“See you soon,” I said to the lunch ladies and baby black bears, to The Cure, the flying books, to all of them. They weren't gone yet, but I had a feeling they would be soon. And then I picked up my phone and said hello to my new world, texting Drew. Counting down the hours, letting him know I'd be there soon.

|||||||||||

I crawled across Finny again, but this time it woke him up.

“Whoa!” he said, startled. “Did you travel? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” I said. I wasn't in the mood to talk about Walt. “Go back to sleep.”

And then I noticed Dad's book open across his chest.

“Dad's tape came with a letter.”

Finny sat up, stretched his arms and turned on the overhead light.

“I can sleep when I'm dead,” he said. And then he reached in his bag and pulled two chocolate bars out of it. “Spill it.”

I handed him the letter so he could read it himself. It was better to let Dad do the talking.

And I distracted myself with grooming, running a comb through my bangs, making them as straight as Cleopatra's. I found my Strike-A-Rose lip gloss and a piece of gum, both of which totally improved my mouth. My clothes were wrinkled, but I was saved by a tiny deodorant and a sample of pineapple hand lotion, both of which made me feel better.

“Wow,” Finny said, folding the letter back up and handing it to me. “My dad has never said anything this nice to me.”

“Maybe leaving gives you perspective,” I said, even though I would have given anything to have traded a letter for an actual father.

“So does staying,” Finny said. “I hope he's right about the gaps.”

“Me too,” I said, remembering I still had work to do. And then Finny did part of the work for me.

“You know how you're always listening to those tapes?” he asked.

“Yeah . . .”

“Someone thought you might want to move into a new century.”

“I told you,” I said. “I love analog.”

“Just think about a playlist as the modern version of the mixtape,” he said, handing me his iPod. It was already open to a playlist called
Welcome to Today.

“You made this for me?” I said.

“I put it together, but someone else named it and dictated the songs,” he said.

“Peyton?” I said, since she was the only other person who had been with him.

“Way better than that,” he said. “Drew.”

My heart beat faster, the thought of him, thinking of me.

“That was the secret,” Finny said. “While you were off with Walt, we were planning a total Sophie Get Happy attack.”

“But how—”

“Drew has good taste,” Finny said. “I just read off some of the bands I had, and he instantly knew which songs he wanted to use. He likes those old bands you like, but he's also into the new stuff. And we both thought you might like the sound of the future.”

I looked at the playlist. It was full of bands I didn't know, like Noah and the Whale and The Shins, but there was also a song by Sonic Youth. Kim Gordon, bringing me home.

“He's a keeper,” Finny said.

“Drew wasn't mad that I didn't tell him you were with me?”

“He was at first,” Finny said. “But I explained it to him.”

I laughed. “I would have loved to have heard that,” I said, and then it hit me. “Wait, what
did
you tell him?”

“Nothing you don't already know,” Finny said. “I didn't tell him about your dad or anything. I also didn't tell him I was gay—I'm hoping he figured that out—but I let him know that you and I are best friends.”

“That's all you said?”

“That, and that I will always know you better than he will,” Finny said, grinning. “I told him I'm the guy you'll call in the middle of the night when some other guy decides he doesn't like you anymore. I'm the guy who buys you chocolate to make you feel better, the one your mom calls when she's worried, and the one you call when you have nightmares.”

“I've never done that,” I said, but he was on a roll.

“I'm the guy who picks up the pieces, keeps you going and inspires you. Because you inspire me,” Finny said, grabbing my hand. “Look, I'm not worried about you liking anyone more than me because we're friends. Best friends. And you will always like me as much as you like yourself.”

Friendship, summed up in a monologue.

“I adore you, you know that?” I said, not a bit surprised at the words coming out of my mouth.

“I know,” he said. “I adore you, too, which is why I helped him. If anything's going to start closing those gaps, this should do it.”

“You're already doing it,” I said, giving him the biggest hug imaginable. “Thanks, Finn.”

I took out my headphones to listen, but then I decided instead of being in my own little world, I wanted to bring Finny into it.

“Do you have your dual-headphone adapter?”

“Sure,” he said, getting it out of his bag. “You want to share?”

“Of course!” I said. “But only if you'll dance with me.”

Our car was relatively empty, so Finny and I spread out in the aisle, headphones reaching, iPod between us. Finny hit Play and the first song came on. It sounded like it came from the eighties but was new. I moved my head from side to side as Finny tapped his toes. As the music continued, we bounced up and down, arms flying as much as they could in the aisle. Outside it was pitch-black, like we were driving through the middle of the earth, but inside I felt bright, like light was bursting out of every cell.

When the chorus came, Finny grabbed my hand and tried to spin me. Headphone cords tangling, we fell down in the aisle, laughing, probably waking everyone else up, but I didn't care. One boy had made me a playlist. And the other one was dancing with me, just like he had from the beginning. No judgment, no fear. If that wasn't love, I didn't know what was. Which made me realize: I needed to make someone else a tape.