The Adventures of Abernathy Franklin

“Good lord! Guess that Abby is having a rough go at learning the ropes.” I thought to myself as I set aside the well composed letter. Being fairly new to this interdimensional travel myself, I felt awful for both the Abby who sunk the truck and Bernie, who’s lovely home appears to be a vacation destination of sorts for other Abernathy’s. If I’m honest tho, I mainly felt relieved for myself. Strange and unusual tho it was for me to accidentally discover that I could will myself into other realities, at least no one broke into my house to either give me a heart attack or to destroy any of my belongings. For being a new kid at this game, at least I’ve not ruffled any feathers yet.

I looked about my surroundings. Still no sign of the Abernathy, or Bernie, who actually belonged in this dimension with her lovely lake house, which I now absolutely must see from the water. If it is as spectacular a sight as this poor amateur but articulate Abby who wrote that beautiful letter says it is, I simply must find time for a canoe ride with my easel and paints. Maybe I could give the painting to Bernie. A bit of a consolation gift of sorts, or an olive branch. If her home is a hotspot for adventuring Abernathy’s, a peace offering for my own use of her estate might not be the worst idea. Of course, I would have to find her first.

Seeing no sign of another living soul, and having no thoughts of what else to do, I decided to take a stroll through the grounds and get a bit of fresh air. Perhaps somewhere along the lake edge, someone will have left a canoe conveniently stocked with canvas, brushes and an assortment of oil paints. Not likely, of course, but fanciful cheery daydreams do tend to enhance my enjoyment of light exercise, so daydream about art I did. I was following a narrow walking path through a small patch of trees when I spotted who I presumed Bernie on a bench near the water’s edge. She was snacking on a bagel, casually tossing bits of it to a few floating ducks and she appeared in general good spirits. I thought it would be safe to approach and engage, and did so.

“Good morning, Bernie! I hope you don’t mind my paying your dimension a visit, I’ve heard such wonderful things…”

“Ha! Nah, nah nah! I don’t belong here either, friend. Just dropping in for a quiet snack. Bernie always has the best bagels! Gets them at some local family bakery, I think. You seen her around?”

“Oh, uh..no, I haven’t, but I’m glad to see she must be welcoming to her other selves, seeing how many of us evidently visit. Have you known, umm, known Bernie for long?”

“You know, I’ve never actually met her, but I stop in here pretty regular. She travels a lot, this version of us, she’s a writer. Goes off to book signings and publicity whatevers all over the globe. I think some of her books are movies? Convenient for us, anyway, like a timeshare kinda, right?” She bit off another chunk of bagel.

“So Bernie, the Abernathy that owns this house, she knows other versions of her just stop in like its a free air BNB, doesn’t she?”

“She might. She might not. Ha, I haven’t met her, so I haven’t asked. ”

During our amiable exchange, I took in details her appearance, as is becoming my custom to do when I meet another version of myself. As I say, I’m not very experienced at this type of travel and have only met a handful of other me’s. Still, I feel its sensible to mentally note features that might help me distinguish among other versions of myself. Continuing to meet my infinite selves might get confusing otherwise. This version of me, I have to say, is the most easily distinguishable that I have ever met. She was fit, but not in an overly muscular sort of way and the black cami style tank top she was wearing revealed innumerable scattered tattoos of varying styles and colors. I got a good look at her arm band tattoo, featuring an Egyptian anhk with blue and gold bands emanating from it and filed the image away in my brain for future identification. Although, the longer I stood in her presence, the more I was picking up that she had a very distinct energy about her that may be enough to identify her should we meet in the future.

“Well other me” she said tossing the remainder of her bagel to the water foul at the edge of the lake and standing up. “I go by Franki, Franki with an i that is, known to other us’es by my bodacious body art and charming demeanor.” Franki made a half bow half curtsey sort of maneuver from which she stood up straight again and stuck out her hand.

I took her hand and shook it, “So far I’m still just Abby, pleasure to meet you, Franki with an i. So you’re not the one who left the letter then.” I said, wondering just how many of us might be coming and going about this particular iteration of reality.

“What letter?” She said absently as she used her pinky finger to dig a bit of bagel from her back teeth.

“On the kitchen counter? You must have seen it when you got your bagel, from another one of us to Bernie. About the fishing shack and the truck that broke thru the ice and sank?”

Franki shrugged, clearly oblivious to the entire story. “I only pop in when the weather is good, not big on winter weather. But that must be what the insurance guy came about.” She nodded her head in the direction of the house as if to indicate where this “insurance guy” was.

“There’s someone in the house? I didn’t see anyone.”

“Huh. Guess he musta left. Gettin’ to be lunchtime soon, though.” Franki pointed her right index finger perpendicular to her left wrist as if checking a tiny sun dial. “The bagels are great, but what’s say we root around the cupboards for something a little more substantial?” And without waiting for my response, she slapped me on the back and made towards the house. I confess, I still didn’t have any better ideas of what to do with myself in this dimension, and so I followed.

Franki took no time in setting about her mission, reaching into cupboards and the fridge, pulling out this and that. She really must visit this lake house dimension “pretty regular,” as she put it, as she seemed impressively familiar with where things were in this kitchen. She appeared to be gearing up to fix herself a sandwich, when came the sound of a timid fist knocking on an interior door somewhere nearby and voice issued “Mr. Pennywagon?”

Franki looked up briefly from spreading mayonnaise, but seemed otherwise undaunted in her task. As I was evidently the only one of us inclined to adhere to civic duties and social cues, I followed the sound around the staircase and looked down a long hallway. Standing partially bent with her ear to the door was yet another Abernathy Franklin. “Mr. Pennywagon, are you alright?” Then she spotted me and her eyes got wide and she straightened up.

“What are you doing here?!” she whisper screamed as she moved away from the door. I walked down the hall to meet her and, sensing she didn’t want whoever Mr. Pennywagon was to overhear, lowered my own volume.

“Hello, nice to meet you. You must be Bernie? You can call me Abby. Lovely home you have here.” I reached out a hand of introduction, which was promptly and unceremoniously slapped away.

“You can’t be here right now! What if he comes out of the bathroom, I’m supposed to say you’re my twin?!” Bernie shooed me further away from the door and back toward the kitchen.

“Ah, yes, that must be your insurance guy about the ice shack. Is there a problem?” Bernie’s expression changed from annoyance to uncertain concern.

“I’m not sure…He’s….been in there a while.”

“Ah, well. I mean that is awkward, but I suppose when nature calls…”

“Nature calls in an insurance client’s home and you help yourself to half an hour in the bathroom?”

“Half an hour?” I tried to put all the agreement I could in my tone, not just to be polite, mind you, I did think that sort of use of a client’s personal bathroom was a bit out of bounds.

“I don’t know it feels like half an hour. What if he’s dead in there?! Had a heart attack or something?!” This Bernie version of myself was evidently a bit more tightly wound than the average Abernathy Franklin. Though, given the circumstances, who could blame her.

“Maybe you should check on him.” I suggested.

She threw her hands up in clear annoyance and then back down to slap her thighs, “And what if he’s not dead in there and I just walked in on him…ya know..doin whatever… That’ll go a long way to getting my claim approved!”

“Hmm…” I pondered thoughtfully, “bit of a Schrodinger’s cat situation.”

“What?!”

“Erwin Schrodinger. Quantum physicist, I think he was a physicist, had that famous thought experiment involving cats. You put one in box with poison or some isotope that is degrading or melting or something of that nature that will release the poison, and you don’t know if the cat is dead or alive while the box remains closed, so theoretically, the cat is both alive and dead simultaneously.”

“There’s an undead cat in the bathroom? That’s kinda cool” Franki joined the party in the hall, hands full of what appeared to be a two tiered turkey on pumpernickel, positively bursting with lettuce and provolone. Or was it Swiss?

“What the hell are you doing?!” Bernie continued her strained whisper shouting, but was now directing her ire at Franki.

“Hey! Look who’s home! How ya doin? I’m Franki.”

“Will you keep your voice down?! How am I supposed to explain three of me to Mr. Pennywagon?!” Bernie gestured down the hallway fiercely.

“Insurance dude’s name is Pennywagon?!” Franki snickered and took a huge bite of her masterpiece. “Sucks for him,” she continued with her mouth full. “He’s got a cat in there?”

“Oh, ah,” I interjected” We were discussing Schrodinger’s cat, it’s a quantum physics thought experiment…”

“Mmmm,” Franki swallowed. “Open the box and you kill the cat.”

“Essentially, yes. Which is why Bernie isn’t sure she should open the bathroom door.”

“Cuz you might kill Pennywagon’s cat?”

“There is no god damned cat!!!” Bernie forgot her volume for a moment, then remembered quickly and waved her hands wildly at myself and Franki in an effort to drive us into the kitchen.

Intending of course, to be of help, I brought Franki up to speed. “It appears Pennywagon, the insurance man, has been in the bathroom for an extended period of time and does not respond to knocking. We were discussing whether or not to open the door to see if he’s dead.”

Bernie let out a sigh and put her hands to her face. Franki, about to indulge in another bite of sandwich, paused with her mouth open, then closed it and titled her head. “Hmmm….” She suddenly had a curious twinkle in her eye, as if she were having a thought unfit for present company.

“What?” Bernie asked looking up between her hands.

“What if he’s like….ya know…,” She gestured with her sandwich filled hands in the southerly direction of her person, which in the moment only served to perplex both myself and Bernie. Our blank stares seemed to amuse Franki, and her eye gleamed again indicating that she decided against propriety “You know...” She did a sort of shimmy with her hips “havin a wayward thought.” I rather think that if her hands had not been occupied with that colossal sandwich, she might have used one to make a far more rude gesture.

I snorted out a short laugh, but stifled it almost immediately and cleared my throat. “Sorry” I said in Bernie’s direction. This Franki with an i may be crass and unpolished, but I couldn’t help liking her a little. Still, it didn’t seem the time to encourage further juvenile humor, for Bernie’s sake at least.

Bernie, apparently having had about as much as she could stand, straightened her back and squared her shoulders, and took in a deep breath. “Fuck it.” She marched down the hall, pounded on the bathroom door and shouted, “Mr. Pennywagon?!”

Franki and I moved around the stairs to peer down the hall and stood rooted to the spot while Bernie poked her head inside the room, then stepped in. I walked down the hall instinctively out of curiosity while Franki lagged behind for another bite of sandwhich and called, “Is he dead?”

I reached the bathroom door and found Bernie was standing in the middle of the otherwise empty bathroom, which I must say was surprisingly spacious for a guest bathroom. Or…what’s the proper name for a main floor bathroom if it has a shower but not a tub? I never remember.

“He’s not even in here!” Bernie snapped, thrusting her hands on her hips like an angry mother waiting for an explanation from her troublemaking brood.

“Huh, how do you like that?” Franki mused, bringing up the rear and taking another bite her sandwich. I was about to explain that I had not used the bathroom and shamelessly indicate Franki as the door shutting culprit, but a disembodied male voice sounded elsewhere in the house and quieted our group promptly.

“Miss Franklin? Hello?”

“Pennywagon!” Bernie scurried around and behind Franki and I, haphazardly shoving us into the shower and pulling the curtain violently shut. “Miss Franklin, I’ve finished with my photos.” Pennywagon’s voice drew nearer, “I just have a few..Ah! There you are.”

“Yes! Yes, sorry.” Bernie spurted in outside voice. “Just ….freshening up.”

“Miss Franklin, I just have some paperwork here for you to sign and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, thank you, very good, shall we go out to the kitchen?”

“And…speaking of freshing up…Do you mind if I use your restroom just quick, while you’re looking these over?” The sound of papers exchanging hands was all that could be heard in the pregnant pause that ensued.

Franki and I looked at one another. My expression said “This is a potentially problematic situation, what do we do?” While Franki’s expression said, “Ha, well this is a funny little turn of events isn’t it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Bernie began to stutter. “Yes, yes, of course, I’ll ah…just be out in the kitchen signing these.” We heard the door close and I braced myself for the inevitable discomfort of what we were about to overhear.

As Pennywagon…eh…took care of his business, I looked over at Franki, who was slowly biting yet again into her sandwich. Our eyes met and I shook my head incredulously as if to say “Are you serious right now?” Franki shrugged her shoulders deeply and raised her eyebrows as if to say “What? Just cuz he has to use the toilet I have to stop eating my sandwich?” I rolled my eyes and put a finger to my lips as if to respond, “Very well, if you must, just do it quietly.” This bodily expression conversation was sufficiently engaging so as to prevent me from picking out the tune that Pennywagon whistled while he made water. Thankfully, that was all he did.

The toilet flushed and we breathed a silent sigh of relief as the door opened and the lights went out. I paused for him to walk further down the hall, then remarked in undertones to Franki, “Ugh! He didn’t even wash his hands.”

“Ha, better tell Bernie to wash hers in case she used his pen to sign then.”

We remained in statu quo, Franki finishing her sandwich while I strained to hear whether Pennywagon had taken his leave yet. Suddenly, the shower curtain was thrown open, eliciting a gasp of shock from me and a jovial “Hey-o! There she is!” from Franki.

“He’s gone.” Bernie said wearily, backing up and waving us out of the shower.

We made our way out into the hall again and Franki, hands now empty of the food stuffs, said “So, bonkers mini adventure like that sure gets you workin up an appetite, who’s up for a bite? I know this bangin little spot at a nebula outpost…”

“Out.” Bernie said putting up a hand to silence Franki. “Both of you. Out of my house. Now.” She pointed to the front door.

“Yeah, That’s fair.” said Franki nonchalantly. I was beginning to wonder if this tattooed eating machine version of me also had some kind of social disorder or impairment that made her immune to human awkwardness.

“Terribly sorry about all this,” I began as we made our way to the front door. “I do hope that we might get a chance to meet again. I would love to hear about your writing..”

“Out! Get out! Get out, get out, get out! Out!” Bernie slammed the door the moment we crossed the threshold onto the front porch, definitively stamping out my opportunity to smooth things over. It would appear my interdimensional travel streak of unruffled feathers was at an end.

“Well, how bout you then?” Franki asked, still blissfully unperturbed. “Grab a bite? Ooh! I also know this awesome underground cafe on Venus, it’s run by reptilians, but they’re totally the chill reptilians.” She raised her arm and moved her hand in a circular motion out in front of her, and a glowing green portal appeared. This Franki with an i was obviously far more advanced that myself in this reality hopping. And, Again, I didn’t have any better ideas of what to do with myself, so I said, “Sure, why not? I do feel a bit hungry after all that.”

“After you,” Franki bowed and motioned for me to step through the portal like she was a high class bellhop holding open the door to a fancy building. I laughed as I stepped through the portal with Franki close behind. As she guided me to our destination, I made another mental note to myself to write a sincere apology letter to Bernie for all the additional trouble. She really did have a lovely home.