This Book Does Not Exist by Mike Schneider Read Free Book Online Page B

another. This is your first experience with loss, correct?”
    “My- My grandpa when I was little, but I can’t remember…”
    “You haven’t dealt with death.”
    I shake my head no.
    “People die, Mike. Every person does. And before they do they live. Like you, this man grew up, and he fell in love with a woman. Sure, he didn’t go to college and he worked at the steel mill while you have a degree and ‘ambition’ – however you want to define that word – but generally speaking, we all follow this same kind of trajectory in life. You start as part of a family, you grow out of it, you form your own family… This man married the first woman he really, truly loved. He fathered two children, both of whom grew up to love other people’s children. The boy chose to marry the first young woman he fell in love with. These two men did things differently than you have so far – or at least more quickly.
    “Those are the headlines. But in between are smaller peaks and valleys, some obstacles overcome and some hurdles that can’t be cleared. The parents were almost separated after the father started drinking heavily to deal with his ailing back. The boy and his wife had been trying to conceive a child for months. It wasn’t working. There was coldness. There was stress.
    “And now this plane crash.
    “Both men had to see their wives, whom they loved very much, die. But not just die. They had to see them killed, with the knowledge that they could do nothing to save them. Even worse – and it is even worse, you don’t know this, but it is – the parents had to see their child killed in the very same manner.
    “Sometimes things end badly. This is life.
    “You could be lying in much the same position they are, except on your parents’ porch,” he continues, “but you chose to kill the pilot. Even given the state you’re in, with the dark thoughts you’ve circled throughout your life, you did what it took to keep yourself alive. This should not be lost on you.
    “You did well killing the pilot,” he adds. “Killing isn’t good per se, but ‘good’ isn’t what this is always about.”
    Geppetto looks at me, and I look back at him. “How do you know so much about me?” I ask.
    “Oh, I could deduce most of it from what I found online. But come on, let’s get you out of here. You have things to consider, people to find.”
    He walks out of the house.
    I go with him, chased by a tornado of questions.
    By the time I get outside, Geppetto is already at the bottom of the driveway. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. He selects one and carefully inserts it into the air, as if into an invisible keyhole. He turns the key and mimes the opening of a door. Incredibly, an actual door appears as he does. He opens it all the way. On the other side of the threshold, I can see the inside of the building in East Cleveland.
    Geppetto has re-opened the Door . He has given me a passageway back to where I came from.
    I approach the Door but stop in front of him. My lips quiver as I say, “I need to find Naomi.”
    “She’s here,” he says. “We’ll help you.”
    And with that Geppetto ushers me back through the Door . I pivot to ask him questions, but there isn’t time – I’m already back inside the building, and the Door has been shut behind me.
    I grab the handle and twist. Nothing. I fight. The Door refuses to come unhinged.
    I let go and stand still while my mind runs.

PURSUIT OF AN EXPLANATION
     

 
 
    In time, I make my way outside.
    My car is where I left it. As when I arrived, the sun has not quite set. According to the clock on my phone, time stopped after I went through the Door , as if wherever it took me wasn’t only separate from East Cleveland but also disconnected from the chronology of the universe. Does a place like that exist? In books and movies and paintings and music it does. But that’s art. There’s no science behind it. Theories in quantum mechanics concerning parallel universes