QUANTUM THEORY CABIN KID

1

A child was born deep in the remote. Way out in the outskirts from all interceding presence; human, technological, natural, or otherwise.  Her given name, Qia. With the soft “ch” in the beginning. 

Qia is of no nationality, creed, country, or belief. She had to have parents, however she never met them. She lives in a solid concrete courtyard, where each wall is just high enough — but no ceiling, so that the outdoor elements can be witnessed. A particle shield keeps them out, and synthesises only a range of comfortable temperatures ranging from 60º F to 80º F, incredibly moderate humidity. Perfect if perfection was.

She is never lonely, for she knows no loneliness without something to compare to. Her existence is entirely monk-like. Qia is raised effectively, by no one, secured and nourished by the additional synthetic capabilities or her concrete courtyard. A hard womb of prudent living, exerting small reactions from Qia by occasional intense imagery provided by Earth’s Atmosphere. The sunset, the stars, the clouds. 

It is good as it is.

This courtyard absorbs each of interstellar gifts handed to Earth; ranging from Solar Winds, to UV light, the Rain Cycle, dust and pollen, channeling these chemicals beneath the visible spectrum straight into Qia’s biochemistry. Qia has never cried, nor has she wasted. Concrete on her feet builds a strength in her soles. She feels the temperature change on her skin. Qia never bores, and her attention is equally sustained on the blank concrete wall as it is the stars on a clear evening. No pollution, nor thought of a concept: polluting. Qia is unpolluted by the things that most fill humanity’s incessant thought stream.

Filtered Sunlight leaves her pigment a fading auburn. White hair grows thick from every follicle, not one space vacant — pupils fill the dark grey iris dish presented on a clean tablecloth. She notes the stippled markings all over her body. Reminiscent of the dimples in Evening’s Sky. But she’s never seen herself. She knows only her body. Locomotion and experimentation. Testing limits within the concrete box due to knowing her own movements block to block, line to line, without any concept of measurement.

Laying on her back, she extends a leg upward and blocks out the sun with her foot. Light spills around the perimeter of her digits. Qia locks her leg and cranes it downward toward her point of view until she feels her ankle on her forehead. The resting leg behind all of this draws the foot near her fulcrum and, gently, she places pressure on this grounded foot. Her hips lift upward, arching her back. The cranial located foot holds its position until its toes make contact with the concrete below Qia’s head. The load-bearing leg asserts itself against the ground, propelling her body backward onto the inverted leg, completing a feather-like alien cartwheel.

Gravity applies to the nature burdened by it, beyond Qia’s courtyard. 

2

“Then she’d be able to float at that point right?” I asked him.

“Yes! She can literally walk on water or through walls — molecules won’t apply to her,” Benny responded with a massive confidence. “Her understanding of how things are connected to each other is way different than ours.”

“But she’s standing on the concrete,” which is the point I was stuck on for the last 20 minutes.  

“Yes but that’s her first discovery. In the experiment — you watch the particles go into the slots you shot them into. Slot 1 & Slot 2. As soon as you look away, the particles do whatever they want,” Benny recalled the cartoon they watched on YouTube. 

Benny continued: “People don’t understand this because they get old and get taught limits the entire way up until they just let that be the final say. Fortunately, we’re on the inside track. We know about Quantum Theory early on… we have to be like 20 years ahead of even the scientists that made this video!”

Benny is citing a 9 year old documentary extract called Dr. Quantum Double Slit Experiment. A goateed, balding super hero flies into the first frame: 

“What they taught us in school isn’t really the way it is — and, that our senses are playing tricks on us. You just gotta wonder: what is this reality that we find ourselves in?  

Quantum theory says it’s just waves of information…but do I really believe this? I sure hope so!” The uncertain hero then crashes into a concrete skyscraper. 

19th and 20th century scientists developed the Double Slit experiment over the space of 173 years. 

Thomas Young began in 1801 England with light. To understand the nature of light, he shined it through two closely spaced slits and onto an opaque screen on the opposing side. Young observed that, once the light hit the dual-slits, it divided into new signals upon, causing an interference pattern. 

On the result side of the experiment, the opaque screen exhibited multiple bands of light and dark, with the largest concentration in the middle, proving that light behaves as a wave. 

Over 150 years passed before Claus Jönsson revisited the experiment in 1961 Germany with a far smaller particle, the electron. The beam shot a mass of electrons at the double-slit obstruction, under the hypothesis that the opaque screen on the other side would show two steady bands of light where the particles landed.

Jönsson’s hypothesis was proven incorrect, as the electron particles exhibited an identical multi-band pattern to that of Thomas Young’s experiment. It turns out, electrons also act as waves, baffling all scientists. 

But still, the interference pattern appeared once again in the end result. What was causing this interference?

Humanity — or better put, adult humanity — does not accept the unexplainable so readily. 

Instead, they make theories. Two Copenhagen quantum theorists, Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg*, tell us that the measuring of a quantum system – such as shooting electrons, or eventually photons, is enough to breakdown the chaotic nature of the previous centuries’ 

results. 

Our intention changes the particular behavior of our smallest realizations. 

*An American was involved too, popularizing this concept, but as it is said, all wisdom is plagiarised… and usually by Americans.

Not 15 years later, a crew of Italian scientists revamped the experiment — firing off a single electron at a time over the span of an hour. Perhaps the particles were bouncing off of each other in the shotgun style approach of its predecessors! 

We tend to punish and scrutinize objects like objections in the way — that which we stub our toe. To brandish our firmly human response to frustration, the fellows scrutinized one of the slats. They would 100% figure out what the hell was going on at the point of chaos. 

Lo and behold, every particle chose a slit and stuck to it. Monogamy! 

In this teeny tiny realm, nothing is certain unless we are asking it to be. As soon as we intervene, two things cannot be true at once. 

Unless they are not observed.

3

“Humans have to eat though!” I tell Benny. 

How is Qia going to have any footing in the quantum community if we’re cutting out the limitations of our very real realities? I’m fairly certain, no matter how early on we learn about quantum theory, we’re already indoctrinated. 

One of my earliest memories is walking around a hotel pool, somewhere in the South U.S. I had a red Gatorade and dripped it into the pool. The vaporwave warp of Red Dye 40 barely holding its form before dissipating to the chlorinated teal. I dripped it again and leaned in to admire the visual effects. The inspection was too close and I summersaulted into the pool, underqualified for a swim. 

I sank and sank to some muffled shouts. A larger force dragged me against the current he made diving in and returned me to the concrete. Faint images of this, but nothing more memorable than the revelation that I will sink. 

I don’t remember anybody ever telling me that I would sink  — but it seems like that would’ve made no difference. 

Still, Benny insists: “Qia doesn’t know what she cannot do. Nevermind how human photosynthesis doesn’t exist. You can’t prove that it’s impossible. Plus: you don’t need it to be possible, because we’re not even sure about reality!”

“I sank in the pool! —”

“Yeahyeahyeah, without knowing about sinking, you sank in the pool! We all sink in the pool because early in our lives we see movies. Plus our Parents already are tainted with the knowledge that they’ll sink if they go in the water; they don’t want us to drown so they make it known that the water isn’t for standing! 

“Qia will be able to go across the water if she has to because she would have never been shown or told otherwise. I bet, if she saw it fit, she’d be able to walk straight through the wall to the outside world.”

I ponder that for a moment. We are doing impressive thought experiments like the great science guys from Copenhagen: “When she walks out, and it’s raining, she’s going to get an impression of water.”

“She’ll have to make a decision.”

“But all humans that ever existed have to make a decision. They see the water come down and run over their skin. They see it make puddles. An infinite amount of kids over milleniums splashing in the puddles. Do you think one of them ever jumped onto the puddle and broke their foot?”

“That’s a good point. Great point actually — but you gotta realize, we’ve got it in our DNA that we sink. That’s actually probably what made you sink when you were 4”

“I think I was 5”

“You were 4”

“You were there?”

“I think so. I definitely remember hearing about that.”

“Where were you?”

“I feel like I was swimming.”

4

Qia experiences a tension. Something like inspiration, but this creature has no conflict or survival instinct that generates inspiration. She presses against the ground to rise, not so effortless. Qia’s brow folds like a birds’ wings. No name for this within Qia, but she sees these floating entities across her fortress opening. She mimics their locomotion, but has felt much light on those occasions. 

From pressing herself off the ground, she makes a creative movement on her trot across the concrete. Heel first. Then as much of the sole as possible. Rocking into the ball of her foot, until all that meets the solid stone is the tip of a toenail. One after the other as if in performance to the firmament. She makes her way to the opposite wall as heavenly glow slices through the clouds above. She doesn’t name any of this. 

Push.

She presses against the wall with a palm, using the force from her stippled forearm. Nothing happens, so she applies more. She wants to know if it’s like the ground. She’s never felt such motivation. Her peace is disturbed as the wall remains vigilant, steadily including more force from her core, her buttocks, her thighs, feet sliding before the immense immovability of the concrete looming over her. Why does it matter?

The smallest vibration occurs, and pedals into ripple and the wall swallows her arms up to the shoulder. Qia notices her breath for the first time with its absence. Lurched forward completely, once again on the tippiest of toes, she’s halts all forward momentum at the precise moment where all the sky can see of her is calves.

She hangs there in no-man’s land. Feeling a crowded, miniscule bounce against her everything — making the backs of her calves and her heels feel numb in comparison to the submerged half. She hangs for a moment longer. A curiosity. A question that comes with the sensation of unease. Uncertainty, new, is poisonous as fear. Fear, new, is cause for alarm. What is “alarm” within an impenetrable safety?

She withdraws from wherever that was.

Qia shudders, and her mind reclaims its resting pace of clarity. She admires the raised follicles of her dimpled arms. Something is different here, and another wave of nuanced pleasure crashes seemingly beneath her skin. What is skin?

She resumes her experiment toward the other direction. Heel, sole, toe, nail. Now the next foot: heel, sole, toe, nail. And again: heel, sole, —

5

“Toe, then nail. Then she’d just lift right off!” I threw my arms upward as if they were wrapped around a laundry basket. “She sees the birds, she’d want to fly.”

“She needs a reason to even want to!’ Benny debated. He didn’t account for this game to require this much decisionmaking. Their concept – along with their understanding of the Double Slit experiment – is full of embellishment, plot holes, and contradictions. 


“But she’s gotta be so fucking bored by now! How old is Qia?”

“I dunno – like our age?”

“No way. I feel like she can drive.”

“Why would she, she can walk through walls, she can probably figure out flying! It doesn’t even matter though, she’s ageless — there’s no age if there’s nothing to care about.”

That’s true, I can agree with that. This game is getting a little stale. 

“She hasn’t walked through any walls yet.”

“Well obviously now she can. She kind of did. And she always could, based on Quantum Theory.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna even do any of that — she has no need to do anything else besides look at the Sun.”

“The best inventions are accidental…” Benny paused. “But, I guess you’re right. Maybe she’s in a log cabin now — and nobody needs to know why, we’re not starting over.”

“Fine. But, how does that change anything?”

“I dunno, let’s see.”

6

Qia hangs there in the air — though frightened, she can see all around her. Her arms away from her side — unfathomably weightless, they might as well not even be there. Like her beaked entities but moving up instead of forward. 

She had returned to homeostasis from falling into the wall and resumed her walking experiment. Heel, sole, toe, na— when as soon as the nail scratched concrete, she lost her footing.

Up. 

The pressure to push through the wall deserts Qia as she glides up and away from the concrete slabs. For the first time, she makes no contact with any of the surfaces in this realm. Her complete existence in this space, and now each corner of it brand new, never explored. Something is within every square panel. 

Up.

Not even whisper of a lift, as simulated in her locomotion game, beneath her. She’d never been away from the ground, once again her brow is bird-shaped. A mixture of joy, enrapturement, frustration keep her head bent downward, watching the platform decrease. 

The firmament quietly sneaks up behind her. She finally gazes toward the infinite, uncharted atmosphere. Once an ever-evolving lighting fixture to illuminate her solitude, now an overwhelming and awe-stricking impossibility. She is still, but filled with sudden want to be in control, like when she used to step upon the ground. 

A sensation overtakes that one, causing another question, another curiosity: the wall is hard. What if this is the only way Toward? Qia feels an urge to continue exploring down below. This is everything to Qia, and just as endless as the expanse coming closer and closer. 

She hangs there, 50 ft tall — the clarity all around her, becoming more and more comfortable with this helpless state. If she focuses on her body, the microscopic tickles and bouncing surround all of her. Distrust dissipates. 

Once again, this is all for Qia. 

JULIA FROM THE VILLE

Paul steals, and doesn’t hide it well. They just can’t exact the moment it happens when they scrub the footage.

Centaurus is in big broad letters over a modestly arched midwestern bridge (there’s not much highway to cross, four lanes+ ramps). Paul has not seen enough outside of Ohio to know if this is an Ohio thing. The population funnelling food desert is labeled just the same as a spontaneous truck stop exit on the 71. Outer space words Centaurus and Andromeda signify an incoming collage of dopamine triggers. The towering parking lights presiding over the empty spaces. 

Paul’s not going to the Mall. 

Heading the opposite direction, each restaurant’s attention to detail rises. Inspired folks give in to the convenient location of an old strip’s skeleton. Everything given a bricky bistro facelift. 

Even the Tire place has a patio. 

Paul rolls through another brand new round-about. Muscle memory minds the curve. His eyes fix on the man made pond next to his workplace’s parking lot. Does it do anything? He’s looked at it hundreds of times; it might be serving its purpose. 

———

In tears: “I’ll be fine. I’ve just been exhausted. There’s a lot going on with my friend and I haven’t really been sleeping. Using a bit, yeah — it’s mostly just getting to be”

Paul doesn’t plan on getting to bed.

“We just see you sleeping til 6 AM. Then you leave,” Jeanie perplexes. “This morning the TV has a hand sized glitch in it. We’re looking through the footage, there’s nothing really that we can see besides you being here so late.”

“I don’t know.” Paul knows. Jeanie knows. Paul knows Jeanie has a dead boyfriend who’s a bit like Paul.  

———

Another emptied, ineffectual energy drink tossed into the back seat. Paul makes sure to throw back 200 mg down before even getting there. The server’s area is three computers, a soda machine, a ton of plastic cups, and the manager-on-duty’s office. Most of the cup space is taken up by the time night shift comes through. 

The servers are already in the chatty head space. All veterans of the turn-and-burn experience. You arrive tired-eyed and indifferent. A gear clicks in their heads after stumbling over the first table greeting — then it’s off to the races, punishing the POS screen, talking to themselves and each other. Cursing, moving quickly. 

Paul feels like this is more and more relatable the older he gets, being a 90s kid. Either everyone has worked a service gig off and on throughout their lives, or the service industry is extremely limited to the people Paul has gotten to know over the years. 

“Paulie!” Festival Mike calls Paul pulling a bar key out of his wristband. “You good bro?”

“I am good — what’s up with you, Mikey?”

“Nat shit, you want to be on early?”

“Lemme hit a cigarette real quick then I’ll let you go.” Paul is always able to smoke cigarettes super fast. In fact, everyone here can smoke the fastest cigarettes. It is always a ‘quick ciggie.’

“Don’t they get mad at you for cutting up their shirts?” Mike is probably going to say yes.

“I like how it looks. It’s still the uniform,” Paul shrugs. “I did it before asking and don’t have enough to pay for another two shirts. It’s genius.”

Mike looks over the cut hem of Paul’s work uniform mildly. Shrugs also.

Paul returns to the negotiation.

“I’ll even leave you one on the bin for when you leave.” 

Mike, easily bought as a shape of camaraderie: “Alright, bet,” and leans back over to a sole person to see what they’re watching on their phone. 

———

Paul’s not grabbing a cigarette. Paul doesn’t do a lot of what folks expect him to do. Folks like Mike cheers it on. Mike is a fun guy.

He grabs the denim he just took off and heads out the door he just entered through. There are three massive panel windows that look out over the path Paul takes toward the dumpsters the team smokes near. He fumbles around with items stored lonely in the inside pocket that he usually procures effortlessly. He fumbles until passing the third window and unsheathes the hand with no prize. 

Julia, Brock, or David?

Julia. 

PROTEGE: TRAINING WHEELS CITY

She’s a high-energy lady. Tiny and rapid transfer ideas; switches back and forth between personal and business. Quits cigarettes on Sundays. Different-looking (different in a cool way, not in a like, you know–) people create urgency in her to find out if they’re ‘known.’ If already ‘known,’ she breezes over to me (I feel special) and embellishes her nerves.

How is the cool way to talk to them, I don’t wanna be like BLah!”

My role is protege. I assume that’s what they’re doing to me, I am chosen. I was invited to a beach party transplanted below the gutted industrial buildings awaiting their very own Transplants and refurbishing for the exodus.

They’re always working on getting the highways are getting wider here. I always said it was a Training Wheels City. If you can’t do it here, you really weren’t helped at all by your folks. I pretty much didn’t make it here. I was helped by my folks. But then I got a lot more help. Enough to where I can go out and chokehold a new opportunity like being cool peoples’ protege.

I feel compelled to give the right answer. Hindsight, I dunno if she were actually asking me how to talk to cool people. I think she literally talks to cool people all day. But I don’t know that. Because maybe she is testing me to see how effective I am at talking to cool people. I always talk to them, since I have been cool. Maybe she needs my input since I see her getting notably less sneaky about refilling beers from the tap; since it’s her Transplanted Beach Party and she’s no longer going behind the tap trailers to hide that she’s smoking the final cigs before she quits on Sunday.

I admire her… even if she doesn’t actually admire me. I’ll live in the headspace where she does admire me though. She said something about too bad I don’t drink because I would — .

No kill. It doesn’t hit me in anyway. I’m salivating more over her cigarettes and hiding for no reason. That’s cool. I love the quit every Sunday thing, that’s fun. She is savant. Every time she wonders into the dark where the gutted buildings await their refurbishing, I move steadily in the opposite direction over the tiny playground stones they used to emulate sand.

I feel relief from the thousandth bathroom break I’ve taken to make room for more soda waters. So many soda waters. I think about how I quit smoking like a year ago a couple days earlier. Lotta people say that’s cool. I agree, plus it smells and it’s always getting more expensive and–.

Don’t you think it kinda fucks us over a little if you don’t smoke? We could probably make even more leighway as protege if we smoked. She offered us smokes and its like, you quit so if you smoked one for work then it wouldn’t matter. You’d go back to not smoking, and your car still won’t stink and honestly, cigs don’t even fuckin’–

I remember there’s powdered caffeine in my pocket in the form of one of those Crystal Light packets, just some brand of energy drink. I toss that into the porta potty hole reminiscing super-quick about cocaine. I think about how I’m an alcoholic-addict hanging out at this Transplant Beach Party where I could relapse but I’m not gonna obviously because I make it look cool and also because I have so much work to do here as the protege.

If I use, there’s no way I can protege. I’m very new in recovery, but I am newer in protege. This is what I fixate on:

This is cool. And dangerous. This is dangerous that I do these things, but it is cool that I can.

So long as I ask for that permission like, ‘can I do this?’ I’m pretty sure that is the loophole God gives to artists or socialites. I’m not choosing this, I’m an artist. I’ve been cool too, and cool with no drink no drugs for way long — long like more than a year. PLUS I’m no longer people who almost couldn’t cut it in Training Wheels CityNow I am the protege of the Transplant Beach Party Lady.

I sanitize my hands and exit casually.

‘Dude…’ I’m thinking: with cool people I know how they want to be talked to. I can answer her, even if she wasn’t really an ask maybe it is. I have an answer. So, when I am the cool person in question, somebody coming up to me should say they like that I am where they also are and why I should know them. They never seem to do that, they talk about a lot of stuff but it’s never short and sweet. Could this be because I have never been the cool person in question? I do see how it might be true seeing as I never have been treated exactly how a really high-level, high-priority cool person gets treated: the right way; the way I know how to talk to cool people. But there’s no proof of me not being cool. I’m just telling you it’s undocumented when — not if I became cool.

So, I tell her –to tell the ‘known’ guy, I said “Say: Hey wassup. I’m Transplanted Beach Party Lady & I’m really happy you’re here. This is my Transplanted Beach Party.”

She looks, tilts her head slightly forward to highlight one raised eyebrow and smiles a handshake into my stomach. It’s absolutely perfect. I am the protege. This is gonna be huge for our relationship. She wonders off, maybe toward a famous person.

I gotta pee.

All social interactions are a + b = c. One of my earliest cool art friends in high school said that. I wonder quite a bit if that’s actually a nail on the head moment. It was really cool; I know that.

Being cool will make it so people consider how they might most-effectively strike up a conversation with you. I think. Well, I know, now; having had an awakening and traversing these early tests to be protege to the Transplanted Beach Party Lady. She’s cooler than even she’s letting on, maybe that’s just a bit of what I can plan on learning from her as I absorb the ‘vibe.’

Earlier today — this same Saturday before Transplanted Beach Party Lady said she’ll quit cigs–Transplanted Beach Party Lady was telling me how before the pandy she was an introvert. Once we were let back outside, she promised a local celebrity/regular a free beverage for every time he introduced her to a new person (cool person or otherwise).

She told me, “I used to not value this place. But if you want to do anything here, you need to get uncomfortable… There’s a ton of cool people here.

The most simple, most obvious shit sometimes, ya know? Most days in my many careers, short-lived due to the same fireable offense, I knew Training Wheels City was a nobody, nowhere type of spot. Was Uncool. They don’t do anything here. And the artists here aren’t like the community of artists in Going Fast No Hands or the scene in Doing Tricks. tried to develop the scene. I go to art. But I found nobody’s cool enough to vibe with my art. So I just hung out with people who were actually cool and did my art. We stuck together, sometimes two or three or all four of us. We waited for folks to get cool or see what we were doing was cool, but they never figured it out.

I ended up doing quite a bit of art on my own. Nobody ever saw.

I walk out and get another soda, I don’t see her so I just do a cool, standing still kinda sway dance just away from the dance floor.

Dancing alone is often a toss up whether ‘cool’ or not. Depends on the ‘vibe.’

Transplanted Beach Party Lady grabbed me, needing me to pour one of the acts a drink! He insisted he didn’t need that, that his Ryder being fulfilled was enough, but Transplant Beach Party Lady is way cool — thus vetoing the Artists’ initial cool behavior in not needing anything.

I felt special for knowing how to mix this Rum and Coke, though I’ve frowned upon such a simple everyday drink historically; today this is for a really cool reason. I am the protege. She sees something in me, and I am pulling through. I guess can see how the people before me stumbled at this work. It’s high pressure to be on point. Maintaining the behavior, the ‘vibe.’ Plus, if you’re me, and in this you basically get to be me, you are also working all the angles to not smoke cigs — though it may always look cool and serve a greater purpose for the whole, an impact to career and opportunity and honestly you see your Boys’ smoke one or two after we’ve played a show…it’s like, you kicked the actual stuff what is smoking a cigarette even really gonna –

I am so addict. And right now, we need to be addicted to protege-type endeavors. And we are.

I am vibing to the music. Transplanted Beach Party Lady comes up to me – I always can see her coming up to me she’s got this gigantic puffer jacket on but the rest of her is so small, it’s charming and cute and she makes it work in a cool way, I admire that — she comes up to me and says, “Wassup, you just vibin here?” I tell her yeah and that I’m taking notes.

She notes a couple more ‘known’ folks. I actually do think I’ve heard of them before… though I’m actually not sure what she said just now in general. But they’re cool, assuming I’ve heard of them. Or not.

I imagine I’ve seen most of these people. Like, I know their faces from them coming into my work or they’re around my side of town (it’s just a different ‘vibe,’ it’s ‘chill’) but I don’t know their names or what they look like or if I’ve ever seen them. That’s cool though, I look forward to meeting them.

…Again.

I have seen quite a few of these faces around a kitchen table with a plate at 4 AM somewhere just outside of downtown in my early 20’s. I look so healthy now that I’m different-looking. They probably don’t recognize. Or maybe they’ve since stopped ending up in those types of places and they do recognize so they don’t wanna flirt with disaster which is cool, I get it. But they got the wrong idea, I’m cool now also. Just not in the way we expected to be. Nor in the way that they expect us to be!

Transplanted Beach Party Lady’s husband comes stands by her for a time and I feel like I shouldn’t go over there. It’s cool, I’m literally here to protege. And I’m doing it really well, so there’s no weird thing worth thinking about. She maybe does this all the time and that lightly drives him a little nuts but he maybe knows he’s being silly and she’s just zoomin’ around and networking and it has nothing to do with me. Besides protege-type work, which earlier she said she was talking about the nice conversation we had way earlier on this Saturday the day before she’s gonna quit cigarettes again… I wonder if that’ll make her feel less cool. I quit all kinds of crap recently, and by default that has to be cool.

I am still here. You Stayed Longer Than You Planned to Stay, Why Are You Still Here?

I saw the husband floating back toward the bar (as an opening to approach again) and thanked Transplant Beach Party Lady for everything. She hugs me and insists that if I keep coming back to her world like she does to mine, all kinds of things will start happening.

Are they cool things? I hope that they may be cool things.