âAre you familiar with string theory?â Cliff asked. That wasnât their actual name. Mute knew that. Her name wasnât âMuteâ either. As of about a month and a half ago, her name had been Jessica. Jessica Mattisson. But those old things held no place here in this borrowed world. A world that, like them, had been granted a new title. Its residents all came to know it as Sonder.
Mute looked up, and up further still, at the towering figure she was told held some kind of insight into their cosmically fucked up situation. But Cliff was no scientist in a pristine lab coat. They wore a plain white tee and ripped gray jeans that, surprisingly, made them look more or less normal. With a pair of doc martens and dark, shaggy hair down past their shoulders that were clearly more for aesthetics than practicality. Apparently this guy had been a musician or something. Before, well, everything. And they werenât standing in some lavish white medical lab either but outside in the middle of fuckall nowhere. Trees loomed overhead as if their only purpose was to cruelly remind Mute of the day she first arrived here. She couldâve easily made herself sick forcing away the unwanted memory if she werenât so profoundly distracted by the figure ahead, somehow looming even more menacingly despite their bestâand painfully obviousâefforts not to be.
Mute stopped herself short right as she opened her mouth to answer that no, she hadnât heard of any theories yet besides her own. Instead she shook her head forcefully from side to side, blonde hair swishing back and forth in tandem. She hated having to do that.
Meanwhile, Mute remained a deer in headlights, staring upward at this âCliffâ person even while they sat cross-legged in the grass and she stood up straight in her dirt streaked tennis shoes. A voice in the back of her head berated her with the thought of how dumb she must look right now, what with this slightly awestruck expression across her face.
There it was, she thought, that term for her and them. That label, staring at her head-on. Mistranslated. The word was still relatively new to her and yet already it had latched onto her very existence here, shortening the existential dread of having your own body turn against you into such a sweet, simplified phrase. As far as anyone knew, which really wasnât a lot, Mute and Cliff were the only two cases of mistranslation around. At least among the twenty-something known residents that had been discovered so far.
When this fancy-speaking friend of Cliffâs insisted she meet them, that maybe theyâd have a digestible answer to her mountain of questions, Mute allowed herself that hopeful feeling for a while. Albeit buried under all those not-so-hopeful feelings she pretended werenât also there. A hope that maybe she and them would take one look at each other and itâd be this incredible, indescribable, instantaneous moment of connection. Something along the lines of: âyouâre like me. And Iâm like you. And you may be the only person in this whole entire world who knows exactly what it is Iâm going through.â
Except, in actuality, Cliff hadnât dared look another soul in the eyes since she got here. In fact, they were acting considerably more nervous than she was. Posture slouched over, shoulders hunched, one hand rubbing absently at the back of their neck as if trying to crumple themselves into something smaller, more approachable. Mute thought it a strange look on someone two, arguably three times the height of any regular person. But then, who the hell counted as regular anymore when no two people hailed from the same reality? The fact that they both even spoke the same language was already an impossible stroke of luck. And at least Cliff still counted as human by Sonder standards. A few of the others, even those without mistranslations, were less so.
âRight,â Cliff mumbled, catching the look in Muteâs eyes with a flash of sympathy before deciding to just look down at their own hands instead. They seemed to organize their thoughts for a moment before picking up from what sounded to her like the very, very beginning.
âSo, uh, basically, all string theory proposes is that instead of atoms or molecules being the essential foundation of the universe, theyâre made up of even smaller, wobblier one-dimensional âstrings.â Which kind of makes sense since, at such a small scale, theyâd look a lot like zero-dimensional points.â
Mute wasnât exactly encouraged by their use of words like âbasicallyâ or âkind of,â but while their tone hadnât conveyed much confidence, their intensity certainly showed through. It seemed that the longer she stuck around, regardless of her fading attention toward long-winded lectures, the more Cliff allowed themselves to relax. The shake dissolving from their voice, from their eyes, the tension and the fidgeting eventually slowing to a near stop. Replaced by something Mute only recognized in the voice of her friend Kelsei, whenever she would deep-dive into what her and their other friends generally referred to as ânerdy comic book shit.â Yet always uttered with a surprising amount of affection packed into such a biting sound. Mute wished Kelsei were the one in front of her now. Stuff always made more sense when she was the one explaining it. More often lately she would find herself wondering where the girl may have ended up.
âSo if you can imagine the universe being made of strings,â they gestured outward, Mute momentarily catching her reflection in the jet black polish of their nails. ââŚThen itâs not so hard to picture the multiverse as being like a web, right? Worlds closer in reality being physically closer to each other on the webâŚless similar being farther apartâŚuh, you get itâŚâ
Mute blinked slow. She wondered why she felt now the way she used to in science class, suddenly longing for a desk to drop her head against.
The not-a-scientist positioned their right hand palm-up, meant to represent this multiversal âwebâ they were talking about some stretch of time ago. ââŚthe collapse, orâthe end, or mix-up, change, whatever it is you like to call our situationâŚâ Their remaining hand pinched together tight as if grabbing onto some unseen piece of thread. âIf you were to tug on a web like this one and then let goâŚâ They then tugged the invisible strand sharply upward before releasing its hold, rocking their flat hand around as if shaken by the action of the other. ââkind of like that, the web would bounce back in response. Tossing all the stuff that may have been loose on it randomly elsewhere. Which I guess consisted only of living things and not the worlds themselves. So you, and I, and everyone elseâwe just happened to end up in this location on theâŚâ Cliff paused for air. âHere.â
âThatâs, ah, pretty much itâ they hastily concluded. And just like that, their flow was lost and the old Cliff had returned. Anxious and fidgety. Mute wondered if their mistranslation had made them this way, or if Cliff had always been like this around others. âSorry,â they added for no reason Mute could discern. She shook her head from side to side once again and raised an outward hand in an attempt to say: âdonât be.â Cliff just let out a quiet huff of a laugh that was the weakest sheâd ever heard.
Companionable silence was apparently not an option around this guy. âSo, youâreâŚum, voice? Was what mistranslated?â They asked with more punctuation than was necessary, half flinching as if she might execute them on the spot for asking such a silly question. What Mute really thought right then was: âfinally! The one other topic Iâve been wanting to discuss with you this whole damn time.â She smiled and nodded even more fervently, wavy strands of hair falling into her eyes as she did, flattening them back into place as she tried to maintain what ounce of composure hadnât yet melted away. Cliff beamed in light of her response as Mute took in a short breath of air and began to speak aloud. âI assume yours has to do with yourâŚâ she trailed off, the words stirring inside her throat and yet refusing to emit the sounds.
Cliff blinked down at her, completely clueless as to what was just said. So much for that. In lieu of words, Mute embraced Cliffâs habit of gesturing, positioning a palm flat over the top of her head. Height. Next, she pointed a finger directly at them, with a sharpness that was much more accusatory than inquisitive. Thankfully, the message got through this time. âMm, yeah,â they confirmed her statement with a sigh. âIâveâŚalso thought a lot about that lately. But, uh, to be real with you, this part is so, so much dumber sounding.â A curious half-smile formed across Muteâs face at that, taking a single step forward in what hopefully came across as a request to keep going. Cliff gladly followed in her lead and leaned in a bit further. âWell, same principle. Except, if your universe is made of string, and apparently everyone elseâs is too, then maybe mine was made from, I donât know like a⌠yarn, or something.â They actually laughed at themselves then, half amused and part shameful, hiding half their face as they spoke. âOh wow, no, saying it out loud is⌠that really doesnât make any sense, does it.â
âNone of this makes any sense!â Mute wanted to shout. She wanted to smash that embarrassed, self-conscious part of them with a hammer. She wanted to look them in the eyes and say, âyes that does sound very dumb.â Hell, what she really wanted to tell this needlessly tortured soul was âIf, like you say, there exists a universe out there for anythingâliterally anything imaginableâthen maybe your idea isnât as dumb as you think.â
Mute didnât say any of that out loud. Instead, and perhaps unsurprisingly for her, her speech tumbled out before her brain got the chance to think it. She sounded out her next words slow and deliberate, hoping Cliff could read the intentions on her lips rather than having to play another whole game of charades about it. And to this complete and total stranger who would perhaps understand, Mute confessed her deepest fear.
âIâm scared Iâll forget the sound of my own voice,â she told them all too honestly. Actually it took a couple of tries for Cliff to understand what she was trying to enunciate, but once they hadâ âGod, I miss chairs,â they abruptly blurted out. âAnd cups and forks and soap, headphones, my glassesââ their list spiraled into a frustrated grunt that almost couldâve been a swear if Cliff had it in them to do so. But although sheâd hardly gotten to know them, already she highly doubted it. And against her better judgment, Mute laughed with them. A bright, noiseless laugh that lit up like the sun through a rainstorm. The subject of her amusement only realizing it once theyâd peeked out from behind the hiding place in their arms, taken aback by her innate ability to rip the heaviness right out of the air. âYouâoh, come on,â They cracked, possessed by the silent girlâs infectious spirit. âThis is funny to you?â
The light soon faded from her eyes, then her smile. It had been an unbearably long time since sheâd spoken with anyone like this. Opened up like this. Not since home. Not since Becky. Mute only wanted to think about her right now. What she might be doing. Where she may have ended up. What world in all this universe is deserving enough of my best friend? She thought. And yet, despite this matter being on her mind constantly, it somehow hit different this time. She didnât feel hot or angry or particularly vicious. There was no longer an urge to destroy the first thing in sight. There was only a hollowed out pit in her stomach where the anger had been, followed by this stinging sensation behind her eyes. Mute fought back against the memory for a second time throughout this conversation alone. Now it was her turn to avoid making eye contact, infuriated by the impossibly soft sympathy Cliff offered as they attempted to comfort her in their own way. With distraction.
âWhatâs something you miss?â They prompted innocently, ignorantly.
Too late.
All at once that day came flooding back.
She thought about trees and friends and opening her mouth to speak. The ghosts of sunlight in her eyes and cold pool tile against her back, which were maybe here to haunt her forever.
Mute crumbled fully into this stranger she met for the first time today, staining the white fabric of their tee with makeup she still bothered putting on for a friend who wasnât even there anymore. Cliff, a bit stunned at first by this unapologetic show of trust, froze still as a statue, neglecting to breathe. A few drawn-out seconds passed before they shifted to reciprocate the hug as best they could with all the caution of somebody navigating a minefield. There it was at last. The incredible, indescribable, instantaneous moment of connection sheâd envisioned. Well, this wasnât exactly the way she pictured it, sobbing quietly into someone elseâs shirt, but the sentiment came to her all the same. âYouâre like me. And Iâm like you. And you may be the only person in this whole entire world who knows exactly what it is Iâm going through.â
All of a sudden her questions didnât seem to matter much anymore. Mute no longer wanted any half-baked answer as to how she got here, how any of them got here. Screw the strings. Jessica just desperately, violently wanted to go home.