right? And the mystery is magical, fascinating. So many people want—need—absolutes. They want proof. Does God exist or not? Are ghosts real or imagined? Is there an afterlife, or nothingness? But—and I say this as a devout scientist committed to the search for truth in all things—the answers don’t always matter. They’re not the What.
Mad Matter: The What?
Dr. Winters: “The What” is a phrase I use as shorthand for “what it’s all about.” The point of everything. My, your, our raison d’être—our reason for existing at all.
Mad Matter: So what’s your What?
Dr. Winters: Whitman’s “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer.” You know the poem?
Mad Matter: No.
Dr. Winters: At its heart, it’s a poem about ditching the scene. The noise. Being a brand. All that bullshit. This is my favorite part, the end:
… I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
That moment—of remembering what matters and not having to telegraph it to the whole world so you can get your daily ego boost—that’s my What. I hope I can figure out what dark matter is in my lifetime. But the journey, the conversation I’m having with the universe, the stars, the fabric of existence—that’s enough for me.
Mad Matter: I couldn’t help but notice that in your Whitman poem, he, too, sought silence.
Dr. Winters: That’s where the magic happens.
20
Mae
ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit
Earth Date: 25 October
Earth Time (EST): 17:43
I have been kidnapped by a Zen master who wears sky-blue nail polish.
I wish that did not make me a little happy.
I wish we were going farther than just across the Charles River.
I wish we were going as far away from my sister as possible. Preferably entirely different planetary systems.
No.
I just wish she were here with us. Wanted to be with us. Instead she’s off who knows where, with who knows who.
“I’m only coming out because it’s Uncle Tony’s poker night and it’s impossible to study with a bunch of drunk Italians in the kitchen,” I say. “Just so you know.”
“Noted.”
Ben steadies me as the train swerves, the driver taking the curve a bit too fast, if you ask me, and I grip the metal pole in the center of the car tighter. Halloween’s next week, and people are wearing costumes. We are traveling with a ghost, a sexy maid, and one of the Ninja Turtles.
Humans are strange.
I look up at Ben. “What kind of name is Dharma Bums, anyway?”
“Stole it from a Kerouac book. Didn’t actually like the book, but it’s a cool name. Dharma means truth in Sanskrit.”
“So we’re going to … a religious thing? I thought you were a self-respecting atheist.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m a card-carrying atheist, don’t worry. We just sit. Talk. Get food after. It’s nice.”
“My dad tried to get me to meditate once, and it was a failed mission.”
He laughs. “Isn’t everything, first time around?”
And the way he looks at me, I know we’re not talking about meditation. Ben is like the sediment he studies in geophysics. Many layers.
I decide that now is a good time to inspect my shoes. Boots. I have boots now. Warm ones with fuzz inside. Very strange. I miss flip-flops, but these are good practice for my space suit.
“How’s Hannah?” he asks.
“Why? Did Nate say something?”
It’s only been two days since we hatched our plan at Castaways, with phase one being me throwing her pills down the toilet (again) and her breaking the ISS.
I don’t want Ben to only see Hannah as this messed-up science fair project. I want him to see the real her, the non-addict her. The one who sings and dances in the kitchen and does cartwheels on the beach and laughs so hard at dumb shows that she cries.
“No. Why?”
“Nothing. She’s … really great. Usually.”
“I know. I can tell.”
“How?”
His eyes find mine. “Because you are.”
He’s really too much.
I shake my head. “Nate and I had this plan. To … fix her. I don’t think it will work.” He smiles a little. “What?”
“Well, that was your first mistake, Mae. You can’t fix anyone.”
“Everything can be fixed. I just have to work the problem.”
“No problem to work, Commander.” He leans closer. “She’s not broken. No one is. She just has to figure that out.”
I stare at him. Ben smiles, makes a little explosion sound as he flares his fingers. “Dharma Bomb.”
He doesn’t get it.
“Maybe you should change your major to philosophy,” I snap.
“Not nearly enough homework. I couldn’t take myself seriously.”
“This is serious. What’s happening with Hannah. You