division by zero (Elora 1)

Elora had a calculator that could divide by zero. When she pressed equal she held her breath. The answer was always the same.

When she pressed equal she made a wish. Usually the same one every time. But once in a blue moon she wished she existed as an infinite quantity of Eloras in an infinite number of universes. Like a competition, so she could pick a few she liked best and focus on those.

They'd met in Brooklyn, at a bar with a potentially ironic nautical theme and nothing on tap. He'd gone to great lengths to win her over, gesticulating wildly as they leaned against the fake oak bar, with a lifeboat looming overhead and no less than 20 life preservers at the ready.

At the pivotal moment of his argument, making the case to take her home, he'd actually said: "In layman's terms, there are a very large, perhaps infinite, number of universes. Everything that could possibly happen or have happened in our universe, but doesn't or hasn't, actually happens in other universes."

Looking back, the fact that in some universes it must have worked out between them didn't grant comfort so much as spotlight that in this shitty hole of a universe, the real universe, their meeting had marked the beginning of a tremendous downturn in Elora's life.

"If you want to kiss me," she said, cutting him off midway through some further explanation, "sing karaoke."

This had unsettled him and at first he'd refused, stammering, still gesticulating wildly. Finally he'd chosen Roberta Flack and sung it all off key, the tonic vacillating between 3 or 4 incompatible notes.

Aware that that wasn't working he'd added Wyclef Jean ad libs, little one-time one-times, singing that like he was black and sending the patrons of the bar scattering to the lavs or far corners of the bar, scrambling to dodge a tidal wave of cultural insult that could drive a stake through the hot heart of Saturday night, pinning them drenched and screaming to their Monday desks.

Whatever her wish the answer was always the same. But the problem with infinity is that it's useless when what you want is to stand on solid ground, or to be nothing so that none of this has ever happened.

He'd returned to the bar shoulders slumped, a Poseidon who'd lost his trident and with it the respect of all sea creatures. But he'd seemed so vulnerable that she'd kissed him anyway.

With her expectations lowered his apartment and manner in bed weren't nearly as bad as feared. Anyway this city wasn't a buyer's market, you had to find fixer-upper men and hope you could make do with a little paint and spackle.

You could see the clock tower from his bedroom and after an hour or so she even fell asleep, which generally did not happen in these situations. In the morning he made her pancakes, pouring the batter expertly and timing them such that they inflated and never sank, as if puffed constantly by little jets of air.