Gift from the Parallel Universe

Gift from the Parallel Universe

When my son Gene was four years old I started telling him a nightly
bedtime story. Eventually, the nightly stories merged into one long
continuing story and came to be called "chapters." The continuing story
was loosely based on my memories of movies like "King Kong," radio
series like "I Love a Mystery" and sundry comic strips.

The heroes were Smiling Jack, the daredevil pilot; the Professor, an
intrepid explorer; Slim, a weapons expert; and Og, a prehistoric man
they found in their travels. There were at least half a dozen villains,
but the chief one was the mysterious Mr. X, whom nobody had ever seen,
and his henchman, the sinister Chang.

Every now and then in our house, as in all houses, something would
disappear. It might be one of Gene's toys, or a receipt for something
and of course my socks were always getting lost. When all of our
searches failed, Gene and I knew what had happened to the missing
object. The mysterious Mr. X had made off with it. In time, when
something vanished, we'd just look at each other and say, "X
again."

Gene finally got too old and sophisticated for bedtime "chapters" and
moved on to science-fiction. In the evenings, we'd watch "Star Trek"
together. The explanation for missing things then also became more
sophisticated. They'd passed into the parallel universe, the universe
almost but not quite like ours, in which there was another Captain
Kirk, Mister Spock and Dr. McCoy, almost but not quite like the
originals on the star ship Enterprise.

My wife kept a file folder of coupons which she cut out from the
newspapers every day. One day it was missing from the desk drawer where
she kept it. We looked all over the house. "It's got to be somewhere,"
she said. But it wasn't anywhere. It wasn't in any dresser drawer or
any closet or on top of the mantle where sometimes lost objects turned
up. We looked in both our cars on the chance it had been left in one.
But nothing.

Finally, I told her, "It must have gone into the parallel
universe."

"Do you think the parallel universe Mom stole it?" asked Gene.

"No two universes, maybe the one by the washing machines the socks
disappear through. I don't think we'll ever get it back/ Those coupons
are being used in the other universe's Raley's.

By the time Gene became a teenager we no longer watched Star Trek
together. Or anything else. He started going out every night. We knew
he and his friends drank beer and we suspected they smoked pot. His
grades went down and we found he was cutting classes.

One night we received a call from the sheriff. Gene's car (the one of
ours he used) had been stopped by a deputy. He had two of his friends
with him and there were bottles of beer in the car. I drove to the
place I'd been directed to. The deputy was nice about it. He said he'd
let them off with a warning. I drove the two other boys home and then
Gene.

We laid down some rules. Gene could have the car only to drive to
school and back. He couldn't go off to wherever he'd been going at
night. He was to stop cutting classes. And no more beer or anything
else.

He responded by being resentful. He'd come home from school and stay
in his room, behind a closed door, for the rest of the day, coming out
only for his supper. He listened continuously to his rock tapes, played
as loudly as he dared.

But he did stop cutting classes. He was in his senior year and at
mid-term was failing five of his six courses. As the end of the term
neared, he seemed to have pulled up his grades to a passing able and
would be able to graduate.

Then one afternoon we heard a loud commotion behind his closed door.
We ran into his room. His things were thrown all around. Books,
clothes, magazines were scattered everywhere. "What's the matter?" I
asked.

"Someone's stolen my tapes. I can't find them anywhere."

"They can't be stolen. You're the only one who's ever in here."

"Oh, yeah. You think I don't know you're always snooping in my
room?"

"We don't snoop in your room," my wife said.

"Sure. I bet you took them. I know you hate my music."

"We wouldn't take your tapes."

"Then where the hell are they? They couldn't walk out by
themselves."

"Are you sure you looked everywhere?" my wife asked.

"I've looked every damned place I could think of. They're gone. Go
ahead and look for yourself. I'm getting out of here." He brushed by us
and we heard the front door slam.

"What a mess," I said.

"I bet they're hidden somewhere among his clothes," said my wife
Together, we started picking things up and putting them away. It took
over an hour but eventually everything was back in place. But no
tapes.

We searched the house, just as we'd done years before with my wife's
coupon folder. I found some things of my own I hadn't seen in years.
But still no tapes. I had to conclude they were gone. I didn't know how
but they were no longer in the house.

Gene returned later that day. We told him we'd looked everywhere but
had no luck. "You can buy new tapes, can't you?" I asked. "We'll
advance you your allowance."

"No, there were tapes I can't replace," he said, as of I was
intolerably ignorant. "I'll never be able to get them again." He
slammed back into his room. My wife and I looked at each other and
shrugged. What could we do?

The next day when I came in from the garage after work I noticed an
object next to the washing machine. It was a cardboard box and in it
were Gene's tapes. Next to the box was one of my missing socks.

We gave Gene his box of tapes. He managed to retain his usual sullen
look but I could see that he was happy to get them back. My wife kept
asking him if he was sure he hadn't brought them into the laundry room
for some reason.

"No, why would I do that?"

Was there a trace of hesitation in his voice? I couldn't tell. "Then
there's only one explanation," I said. I looked at Gene and I could see
by his eyes that he knew what I meant.

"Nah, Dad, that's kid's stuff."

"What about my sock?"

Gene shook his head and took his box of tapes back into his room. In a
few minutes we could hear the rock music playing.

Gene did graduate that June and in the fall he started at our
community college. Gradually, he became our son again. I wondered how
that other Gene in the parallel universe was doing and wished him well.
I wondered if I'd ever get any of my socks back again.

The End.

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