Infinity Minus One
by Austin DeMarco
"You know what they say about the universe?" Mary sits on the edge of my bed, stares out the window.
"That it's infinite. And since an infinite space contains an infinite number of points, it must by definition have an infinite number of centers." She chuckles. "The egotists were right."
I fold my arms, don't move from my spot by the door. "Not anymore."
The chuckle stops. "Right."
The silence that follows grates on me. I have to say something. "Do you remember Mrs. Appelbaum?" Our third grade teacher.
"Yes. Do you remember rocket pops?"
I don't. I glance at the paper taped to my wall. It's too far away to read.
"It's silly." Mary speaks before I can come up with something good to say. "The way we circle back to familiar things."
"Not very." The familiar is comforting. When everything else goes to hell, the familiar keeps us sane.
Mary continues to stare out the window. "Do you remember Pokemon cards?"
I do. Barely. "Coney Island?"
She doesn't respond. That one wasn't fair. Coney had been the first to disappear. Neither of us was ever going to forget that.