Folksinging and its Effects on Quantum Physics -Part I

It was 1962. Dreadful Albert had been left out in the sun again, like a bad apricot. He was only 17, but he'd been in love with Mary Sue McGinty for over 65 years, and now, his own personal Nirvana had exploded into the late summer sacrifice, leaving him with a man sized hunger, and an informative swagger.

Few people liked Dreadful Albert, and skinny Stanley Sumberville was certainly no exception. Stanley had spent months on his Science Fair entry, an electron scanning microscope powered by nine AAA batteries, and a hamster. Stanley's microscope could magnify to the infinite, which was not only unprecedented, but completely impossible.

"Yo, Stanley!" shouted Dreadful Albert, but Stanley was pretending he didn't hear him, "hey, how's it going, buddy?"

It was too late, of course. Large groups of three inch tall shadow warriors descended listlessly through Stanley's overactive imagination, plodding through his consciousness with the grace of a dejected football team after a particularly embarrassing loss, and bruising the turf clinging to his tired mind.

"You going to that big party tonight?" asked Dreadful Albert, putting his arm around poor Stanley's shoulder.

"What big party?" asked Stanley, who was never invited to anything.

"There's a big party in the cornfield by Stagger's," Dreadful Albert intoned, wheezing just a bit, "and I hear Mary Sue broke up with that loser."

"Loser?" laughed Stanley nervously. Mark Bowens was the captain of the football team, the three time fencing champion, and had taken Stanley's lunch every day from third grade until last year, when Stanley started bringing onions every day, and slathering them in mayonnaise, saurkraut and mustard.

"Yeah, the guy's a loser, allright," said Dreadful Albert, thinking of that time he saw him kissing Mary Sue right in front of her parent's house!

"So you gonna make a play for her?" giggled Stanley, knowing full well just how far fetched the scenario really was.

"I don't know," said Dreadful Albert, hesitantly. He had the feeling Stanley was making fun of him, and he took a moment to admire Stanley's strange bravery, before going back to feeling hurt, angry, and just a little bit violent.

"So what'cha doin' now?" asked Dreadful Albert, unaware of the menacing grin on his face.

"Uh, nothing," said Stanley, twitching slightly, "I've gotta pick up some stuff for my mom, and then I've got a lot of work to do..."

"Oh yeah, you're working on some kind of telescope, or something, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, no, well kind of, I mean, it's a microscope..."

"So you like seeing stars, do you?" chuckled Dreadful Albert, slapping him on the back almost hard enough to bring some.

"Stars, well yes, but..."

The two made their way to Preissgood, which was a clever name for a store, if you were as uncreative as George Preiss, who'd said since he was a child he should have a store by that name, and Dreadful Albert had a ball making fun of Stanley as he bought sewing needles, lace doilies, and yarn.

"Why don't you go over to Dell's and get a couple of chocolate shakes for us?" asked Stanley, suddenly. There was no way in Hell he was going to get nylon stockings and tampons with Dreadful Albert along. Stanley would've paid much more than the two dollars he was putting in Dreadful Albert's sweaty hand to avoid that humiliation.

"Nah, I don't feel like ice cream, but I'll take the two bucks," laughed Dreadful Albert, snatching the bills away, and wadding them into his pocket.

"Hey look at that guy!" shouted Dreadful Albert, suddenly, "hey, I think he's comin' in here!"

A scruffy young man, wearing scraggly clothes made his unkempt way to the counter, demanded cigarettes, and threw two dimes on the counter, where they bounced, and jangled to a stop.

"You need a haircut," taunted Dreadful Albert, making scissors motions with the same grubby hand that had appropriated Stanley's money for the week. Why had he given him two dollars? He had forgotten what time period he lived in again.

Was Stanley from the future? No. He was from the past, of course, having been born some seventeen years, six months and two days earlier, to an obsessive, overprotective woman and her little slave of a husband, who had slipped away in the night like marshmallows on baked yams.

It was a tasty story, reasoned Stanley, as the scruffy young man showed Dreadful Albert his middle finger, and smiled from ear to ear.

For no reason Stanley could understand, Dreadful Albert let it go. He didn't even look mad. That was good, very good.

"You can take your vulgarity somewhere else, young man," said Mr. Vincent, who worked the day shift, and probably wasn't paid much for it.

The scruffy young man said nothing, disappearing into the amber light of the late afternoon.

Dreadful Albert followed him outside, and Stanley thought he'd be able to get the sensitive items for his mother's disgusting shopping list after all, but just as he made his way to the counter, Dreadful Albert was back in the store, staring at the box of Tampons like he'd finally been given a reason to live.

He didn't say anything about it, much to Stanley's surprise, and simply bought a football with Stanley's two dollars.

He walked alongside Stanley, as they walked the catatonic streets back to Stanley's house, looking far away, and thumping the football into his free hand as he walked.

Stanley was surprised Dreadful Albert was capable of doing both at once. This was precisely the type of thinking that kept getting Stanley into trouble, but would he learn? Not today.