Momentum

The metronome bar ticked back and forth for what felt like 100 billion light-years, at least, according to renowned audial physicist Dr. Ivan Barr. Various pitches from keyboards repetitively floated into his clouded yet ever-curious brain. He and his colleagues were running a study under their current research topic, nicknamed “The Laws of Music”. They were experimenting with different instruments in an attempt to find the objective, “perfect” mathematical scale and tuning system for music. Dr. Barr was known for his architectural concert hall designs. His greatest accomplishment? Designing a new anechoic chamber, a room with hollow walls structured to absorb as much sound as possible. This prevented further echoes and electromagnetic waves from occurring within the chamber’s bounds. His edition is for the team to test musical instruments, headphones, and other audio products. He, quite literally, was “the blueprint” in his field of study.

The only noise he dreaded was the bustle of crowds. He preferred a private, secluded life outside of work. To him, the beauty of the natural world exceeded that of beings who abused their power. He was incapable of loving anyone more than his passions. Hence, he was peacefully divorced. His ex-wife had this magnetic energy, but there’s no “perfect” person for an imperfect one. There was one human; however, they both loved more than life itself: their six-year-old daughter, Clara. Like Ivan, music was her identity. She was a young prodigy, encapsulated by striking her bow against her violin’s strings. Her future sounded beautiful until she couldn’t hear it anymore. A year ago, an accident left her deaf. Did years of musical progress account for nothing? She could’ve been a miniature Beethoven, but at her age, she couldn’t yet interpret frequencies. Ivan’s ego died, along with hers.

One year later, he planned to meet up with his longtime friend and former colleague, Dr. Beacon, in their studio to record an episode for their podcast, called “The STEM of Music”. Dr. Beacon would have to be patient, however, because his partner had an obligation to prioritize.

Ivan was in need of some pasture-raised, Grade AA eggs, specifically from a market called ALDI. Although most of his purchases were dedicated to his many experiments, this was simply for omelettes.

He rolled out of the store with his cart, lightly supplied with eggs and a few other essentials. A pair of dark sunglasses hugged his broad temples. His time was too valuable to risk losing to aimless interaction with strangers or even acquaintances. To his misfortune, everybody within a 100-mile radius knew more of him than his existence.

The mastermind had just stepped foot into his car when he felt the low vibrations of his own husky voice from a vehicle driving right past him.

“I’m sorry, but I have some unsolicited advice to give. My daughter, Clara, became deaf from an incident at a concert we went to last month. Sorry, this is a sensitive topic, but uhm, be cautious of where you go and how close you are to the speakers...” His voice echoed from the car next to him. Then a new, high-pitched voice whined, “Damn it! How could I forget?”

He pleaded with himself not to do it. A buzz prolonged as he rolled his window down and leaned through it, “Do you need a quarter?”

A woman with a silver mass of hair bundled into a beehive atop her head was perched behind the wheel. Her hand was stuffed in a coin pouch. “Please, if you will! Oh, thank you!”

She didn’t seem to recognize him, even though his distinct face was plastered on the podcast’s cover, right alongside Beacon’s. He slyly walked up to her and handed her the coin through the window, “Here you are, ma’am.”

“You just made my day.” A lovely, timeless grin was marked by red lips on her mature face.

“Of course, it’s no problem!” He normally would’ve walked away by now. She turned the car off, terminating his recorded voice.

As she slid out of her seat, she toothily smiled, “I hope you have a good rest of your day!”

“Wait! I’m sorry, but I just noticed you were listening to my podcast,” He let out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, yes, I was.” It was clear she had nothing more to say.

His face flushed, and he swallowed, “Oh, uhh, do you like it?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time listening to something I don’t like. However, I find that you are far too critical of Beacon’s theories and unwilling to expand your own,” Her smile refused to shift in the way her tone did. “I suggest that you consider some of your partner’s spiritual perspectives.”

Ivan always had too much action going on in his brain to afford some within his heart, but something was spurring now. His brows furrowed as he asked, “Oh, what are your credentials?”

She placed both hands on her hips naturally, as if she had worn the haughty pose her whole life, “I have a gift.”

Ivan's mouth was stretched open. This perplexed expression was never one he had fixed outside of the laboratory. He thought he had conquered the unknown of human nature and that science was all that had infinite mysteries. “I beg your pardon?”

“With all due respect, Dr. Barr, you and I are not that different. I’m a psychic, one of the best in the city, with an average of three and a half stars on Yelp,” She leaned against her car’s corrugated exterior.

He rolled his eyes and said, “Impressive”.

“It is, actually. Never trust the five-star psychics; they only tell you what you want to hear,” she declared with a smug face.

“I wouldn’t trust any of them,” Ivan snarled, slowly turning his feet away from the wise woman, but lifting his glasses to sit on his head.

She took a step closer to him and raised the part of her face where a brow once was, “You’re still here talking to me, though.”

“You’re right. I am wasting my time,” he gradually backed away.

She squinted, examining him closely, 'Do you want to know how to save your time?’

He grew more stubborn when someone questioned his abilities. “I’d say I already have time-management skills, thank you,” He spat.

She shook her head firmly, “No, you don’t, but that’s not what I meant. Do you want to travel back in time?”

A thick, blue vein appeared through his forehead, like a miniature river, as he cackled, “I’m afraid that’s impossible, thank you. I’ll be going now.”

She scoffed, “You don’t even know my name.”

He recklessly waved his hands through the air, “Alright, what’s your name, then?”

She smirked in silence for a moment, “Dr. Elisabeth Weir”.

He portrayed his signature expression of facial collapse, looking at her as if she were an ancient artifact, “It can’t be…”

“It is. The same Elisabeth Weir who graduated from Caltech with a PhD in physics and taught at Harvard. One day, a psychic came to me and showed me how to travel back in time. My discoveries challenged all the traditional “laws” of nature. I couldn’t go on with my career knowing that reality defies everything I’d been so dedicated to understanding my whole life. So, I quit teaching. From then on, I would stay silent on the matter. In return, my entire community and even my closest friends ostracized me,” She sighed, with her light, angelic eyes looking down as she reflected. Her eyes flung back toward him, “So, those are my credentials. Something guided me to you, and, if you’d let me, I can help you.”

Ivan was now moving in swift circles between the cars. His hand was gripping the back of his neck, anxiously, while the other rested on his hip. “That’s not possible… I think I need an ice pack or two.”

“We can arrange that.”

He paused, making a foreign sound of frustration. “Do you by chance… have a business card?”

Before Ivan knew it, he was slouching across from Dr. Weir on a futon. Her presence reminded him of an owl. “Isn’t it funny? ‘Futon’ sounds like ‘photon’. Fuuutoooon. Phoootooon. I feel high. I’ve never been high. Is this normal after learning that magic is real?”

“Yes, every client I’ve been guided towards reacts this way for three hours before moving onto the next stage,” Her voice was tranquil as she knitted at her desk.

He finally launched himself upward, sat parallel to her, and pressed his hands together, “Alright, how’s this work, exactly?”

The expert set her needles down accordingly and placed her own Newton’s cradle in front of him, with crystal balls dangling from it. “I will explain how shortly, but first, there is one inevitable condition. You will be sent into the future for the exact amount of time you travel back. You will be completely unaware of anything that has happened after your ability has been granted, called ‘Point Zero’. Once you travel into the past, you are forced to live through it until Point Zero. You’re already aware of chaos theory, so be cautious. Does this make sense?”

“Barely,” Ivan pursed his lips. “So, I take it that calling Beacon and cancelling our session won’t matter?”

“No, I think we’re past that,” She pulled the first sphere from the cradle and released it, causing the sphere from the opposite end to fly at the same rate, and so forth. “So, essentially, your life will look a bit like this. An eternally oscillating pendulum. Until you die.”

“How appealing,” His voice cracked, then he sighed, “Do you give me a potion or something?”

Dr. Weir’s face contorted into a shield, “No, actually, you just watch the pendulums in the room until you enter hypnosis. Then, you are forced to travel back to any moment you desire.”

Ivan shifted his head away from Elisabeth and examined the cluttered space. He came to notice she had more than just Newton’s cradles. There were grandfather clocks, windchime pendulums, metronomes… a menagerie of forms from the same concept. He knew that watching them wasn’t necessary, because that’s not how his brain worked. He shut his eyes and listened to the mixed rhythms coming from the objects. He tapped his foot in a similar rhythm.

“One-two… one-two…” The room sang. Elisabeth was gone, but he didn’t notice. The only thing that mattered in the moment was making harmony. His foot steadily ticked up and down until he imagined that every ticking sound within the room was synchronized. Then, there was no more ticking, and his eyes were forced open by light.

“Daddy!” A doll-sized girl with dark braids sprouted from beneath the grand piano. “Can you play Isn’t She Lovely again?”

Ivan surveyed the room, in shock, then admired his creation. His favorite musical creation. For the first time in the negative time, his mouth curved into a smile, “Only… if you play it on your violin and sing it with me!”

The giddy little girl shrieked as she hopped up the stairs and, within seconds, was back where she called the “orchestra room”. “One month until my birthday!”

Ivan looked in the mirror to find his skin somehow pinker, as if life before existential dread means your flesh hasn’t lost its color yet. He looked back at her, elated, “That’s right, Clara! You’ll be six years old, which means you get something more special this year.”

Her pupils grew in hope, “Is it what I think it is?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

One month later, they sat at the dining table, where colorful and delicious debris remained.

Ivan set a heavy, decorated box on the floor in front of Clara, a significantly smaller mass. “This belonged to my grandfather.”

“This is the last present?” Her smile was already fading.

Ivan reassured her, “You’ll like it, Clara.”

She unwrapped it, slowly, as if building suspense would make the reveal more exciting. She pulled out a dusty, pleated instrument, “An accordion?”

“Try it out!”

She reluctantly pressed the keys while pushing the bellows, folding them into place, then expanding back to the original position. “So, the tickets must have sold out, huh?”

Her favorite band was on tour and would be playing a week later in Bridgeport, which was a half-hour drive from their house. She mentioned the idea of going to the concert for her birthday, to which he insinuated he’d be able to make it happen.

Her father nodded, despairingly, “I’m sorry, sweetie, I know how much you wanted to go.”

The rest of the year, leading up to Point Zero, restored Ivan’s hope. Unlike Elisabeth, he was able to integrate his newfound knowledge about the universe into his studies, even if they were contradictory to what he’d abided by his whole career.

When Point Zero reached only a day away, Ivan felt the vibration of the tiny quartz receiving the electric current within his alarm clock. This was followed up by a less settling vibration: a phone call from Beacon while Clara was having a playdate with his daughter. Clara’s discipline only applied to her academics and seemed to skip every other facet of her life. She left her own trace of trouble everywhere she went. Ivan reached into his pocket and reluctantly answered.

“They were playing on the trampoline when Clara fell from it and hit her head. I took her to the hospital, and they think she has a concussion. I’m so sorry…” A high-strung Beacon explained.

Ivan attempted to control his breathing, “Things happen, don’t worry… I’m on my way to the hospital now.”

“Clara has severe head trauma and, unfortunately, is now hard of hearing. We aren’t sure if she is completely deaf or not. It seems like she’s also experiencing migraines, mild memory loss…” The nurse informed him, while others tried to console him, but Ivan was left in a stupor.

He couldn’t bear to hear the rest of it. What would happen if he decided to go back in time again? Was this an inevitable event? If he was going to travel back in time again, he’d have to do it before Point Zero. How far would he have to travel back to make sure this wouldn’t happen? It felt like, no matter how many discoveries he made, they would always be challenged by a new one.

Clara was unconscious when her father sat by her side. He placed two fingers on the inside of her wrist, shut his eyes, and listened to the rhythm of her slow heartbeat until he was back in the trance.

Take three, his internal voice told him as he found himself back with Clara just the day before.

“Can I have a playdate with Penelope tomorrow? Please! Beacon just got her a trampoline!” A hopeful Clara was leaping across the room, pretending she was launched by the floor beneath her.

“I’m sorry, but you already promised me we’d have our Star Wars movie marathon tonight! Besides, trampolines are dangerous,” He warned her.

She plopped down on the sofa. “Okaaay,” She frowned, but continued dangling her feet.

As Ivan was counting the remaining minutes until Point Zero, he still felt uneasy. He’d gained an intuition similar to Elisabeth’s. He’d come to trust it more than anything deemed “logical”.

He groggily awoke to the violent ring of his phone. He’d arrived one whole year into the future, which he’d have to strategically catch up on.

He answered the phone to hear Tessa’s chipper voice, “Hey, Ivan! Clara just wants to talk to you, if you’re available now!”

His hand slapped his mouth to muffle his gasp. Her ears worked! This was his greatest feat: outsmarting every past version of himself.

They relished memories and music for a while before Clara told him she had good news, “They came out with a new Barbie! Not just any Barbie! A blind Barbie!”

Ivan laughed, “That’s amazing, honey!”

“I know, they never make dolls like me!”

His heart jolted. He knew there was no universe- no elapsed time- in which he would be able to alter an ordained fate. Nevertheless, he pressed his wristwatch against his ear, hummed, then began to click his tongue in harmony with the ticking of the watchhand.

He was, yet again, proven powerless after rewinding time by a decade. Point Zero approached him with a wicked plan. He imagined himself on a lander spacecraft, just having settled on a distant planet after having been in a nearly immortal orbit. Why did it feel like a coma?

Hands were now gently brushing his shoulders.

“Dad?” A worried voice sought his attention.

His eyelids were pried open, then he subtly smiled at the young woman, “Hi, Clara.”

Her wide, grieving eyes weighed down on her freshly teenage face. She sniffled, “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been asleep for a week.”

“You’re old, now, like me,” He grimaced in his hospital bed. An epiphany had touched him the moment he saw this version of her. It was possible that Clara wasn’t going to be burdened this time around, just as long as he missed out on watching her grow up. It remained a mystery, one which normally would’ve driven him to crisis. He regretted every decision, but it no longer mattered.

“Right, seventeen, how old!” She snickered, then felt the moment’s capacity, “Please, it’s too soon…”

“I’m not gonna get any better, baby.” His tears were trickling faster than hers. “Tell your mother to keep up the great work while I’m gone.”

Clara wrapped his hand between hers and covered her face with it.

He wiped her tears with his vanishing hands, “We don’t have the ability to change the past, so don’t lose the ability to change the future, either.”

She nodded, slowly, then reprised their rendition of the Stevie Wonder song, “Isn’t she love-ly? Isn’t she won-der-ful?”

“Isn’t she prec-ious?” He joined in, softly, “Less than one min-ute old!”