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I felt like Oppenheimer’s daughter, like the lover of a plutonium bomb. As the coverage continued, I’d hear my name once and a while. It was an odd feeling, being infamous. My image was clouded with misunderstanding.
Jason, at least, I expected to understand me. Instead, he looked at me as if I was a puzzle that shouldn’t be solved and told me he was too busy to help me fall asleep anymore. It came at the worst time, as I had gotten childish nightmares that made me shiver.
I would’ve called out for my mother, but she was just a jumble of neutrons and quarks and charges and whatever else made matter. So was Jason. So was I. So was Billy.
Maybe I could’ve turned to God, but there was no way I could believe in such a thing.

Lights flicker from the opposite loft, in this room the heat pipes just cough

As I was driving, I didn’t know why Bob Dylan came on the radio, but I remembered how Billy liked him. And when those cryptic lyrics came out to touch me, I felt only sound waves and remorse, both of which make no sense. Gamma, UV, sound…what where these things? Science class told me they have no mass. Then how the hell do they exist? How could that be true? The only waves I understood were those in my hair and those licking the shore. Those were tangible, I could touch them. But I couldn’t feel a sound wave
Remorse was even harder to rationalize. How I was feeling it I didn’t understand…remorse wasn’t made of atoms. I couldn’t place grief on a scale and tally up the grams. Yet, there were complacent explanations for the twisting in my stomach and the tears I held back. Biting my lip and cutting a turn, I had images of Billy and the thousands dead flash before my eyes.
I damn near crashed.
None of this made any sense.
I let out a sigh and let my mind go crazy trying to comprehend things it should have never thought about in the first place. It toyed with religion and the meaning of life, then dropped that all to focus on the absurdity of life itself. How we came to be will be a mystery to me, and how I am able to speak inside my head without making a sound makes no sense at all.
I didn’t notice that I had ran a red light.
Billy once told me something about the world I found almost poetic. Atoms are recycled. That means that I’m breathing Shakespeare, because his atoms were released back into the world when he died. There is King Richard, Judy Garland, Robert Frost, Mary Magdalene and more were part of the wind that just hit me. And as I inhaled, I could feel Billy’s jumpy electrons dance on my tongue.

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