The Logic of My Heart

What was a turbaned boy doing in Mt. Washington Park in Maryland anyhow
        on a mountain ridge where my daughter who was seven and I went to fly
        a kite and why should I fall in love with him?

Under his turban his long hair was twirled up into a bun and perhaps that reminded
        me of my own foreignness in this time and place but also it seemed to me
        the it was destined that our paths would cross and if it was destined then it
        was meant which means this meeting was a telos accomplishing itself which
        means that all western science falls except quantum physics which does not
        make enough sense to be either true or false.

So far so good.

I saw him first with his little brother by the swings and our eyes met and I smiled
        and he smiled very faintly so that one would hardly notice as we walked by
        on the way to the hillside where it was more or less open except for discreetly
        placed very large trees which might be avoided and while Harbunchen and
        his brother watched from a distance I ran which I was able to do in those
        days and pulled the kite aloft and let out the string and was having a
        wonderful time but then remembered that this was for my daughter.

Still so far so good.

So I said to her do you want to hold the string and she said yes so I said be very
        careful not to let go and she nodded and I repeated it for emphasis and she
        nodded impatient that I would explain a simple thing a second time and I handed her         the string and she let go.

Not still so good.

Harbunchen along with the little brother he pulled along after him came up to us
        and like old friends sharing a loss we all stared at the kite as it settled into
        a tall oak.

I felt that I had know him before perhaps in India some lives previously.

Why not?

An entanglement of photons from quasar 0957+51A,B separated by a galaxy
        found each other light years later after a number of miles that is too
        big for me to grasp even though I have been practicing with big numbers
        from the time that Kayetta Sinks and I played played what is bigger than
        zillions of zillions after we tired of roller skating in the basement and
        playing show and tell in the forbidden woods.

I have always managed with numbers like “5” as in Harbunchen was about 5 feet
        tall or “ll” as in “Harbunchen was about eleven years old” or even “90”
        as in “Harbunchen probably weighed about 90 pounds” but numbers more
        than zillions were so big and dangerous that one had to tame them like lions
        with the inescapable whips of words which demanded respect which was
        the point of our game and why we made up names like quadramazillion
        and dolorofillion and manchikappillion and even larger numbers than that
        all of which as you can see were based on the root word “illion” which has
        the precise meaning of “a really big number” all by itself

So if those photons did it after traveling quadramizillion miles in manchikappillion
        years why not Harbunchen and I after a much more countable number of
        times and places?

They wanted to know where the bathroom was and my daughter too had to pee so
        we went together to find the needed facilities and Harbunchen as we walked
        slipped his hand into mine like we were father and son and perhaps we were
        and my daughter took my other hand to protect her claim in the matter
        leaving Harbunchen's brother with only his brother's hand which he took
        as something familiar and comforting if not exciting and we ventured forth
        as single and ancient entity which felt like coming home but when we found
        the needed building we had to split up in obedience to society's conventions
        as my daughter was now too big to join us in the “mens” room.

In the men's room Harbunchen's little brother hurried to a stall and Harbunchen and
        I went to the huge old porcelain urinals standing against a wall arm in arm
        in those innocent times as tall as Harbunchen and so wide you could not
        possibly miss and with a gentle maize of little cracks running through the
        glistening white enamel much as the lines one finds in drying mud or very
        old paintings and we watched each other pee.

Perhaps it was because he was uncircumcised or maybe he was just a bit aroused
        but for whatever reason he peed a spray like when you turn the nozzle
        of a hose away from the hard single stream in order to introduce a softness
        that will not harm the flowers or vegetables that you are watering.

We then heard noises of gas and diarrhea from the stall and I asked Harbunchen's
        brother if he was all right and he whimpered that he was OK and Harbunchen
        said his brother had been sick but when after a while he came out of the stall
        he looked relieved and I realized why there was this urgency to get to the
        bathroom or at least the reason for one of the urgencies.

We left the men's room and found my daughter already anxiously waiting for us
        and briefly we stood together looking and sky and at the kite hanging
        in the oak.

It was time to separate as we could find no excuse for continuing to be together and
        could not claim relations from so many lives ago and even though I was
        sad thinking I shall never see him again I also embraced the contradictory
        proposition that this was the first step in the dorifillion mile journey toward
        a re-encountering.

I wonder where Harbunchen is now and how many illions of tears there be before
        we meet again.

Either he is dead or he is alive

If he is dead he is not alive.

If he is alive he is not dead...

Unless he is in Schroedinger's box.

So I have decided to keep him there.

I stand before that box.

He is both alive and dead.

Logic as we know it comes to an end as does western civilization when we delve
        deeply enough.

So far so good.

All that is left is to open the box.

But then opening the box seems strangely like letting go of the string and I have
        after all learned something about that.

This is the logic of my heart.

I could not handle less happiness than this possibility of his being alive,

I could not endure more grief than this possibility that he might be dead,

Therefore I must not open the box.

This syllogism is both sound and valid.

Unshakable.

I leave his two states entangled as he and I are entangled though a galaxy might
        separate us.

On a green hillside perhaps in another time and space we will fly another kite and

I will look pleadingly into his eyes that he should love me as so few do on
        this foreign shore and he will admire the slender grace of my limbs and my
        little brother will cling to me and Harbunchen's daughter who will look
        like Kayetta will let loose of the kite string and we will all have to pee.