Since I started at Columbia University I’ve only met great lecturers, and even in a place like this Professor Miles stands out.
His voice surfs assured on the background of busy pencils scribbling notes, on the attentive silence of a full classroom.
I am sitting in the first row, without taking notes, and when the class ends I don’t move. My defiance burns against Arthur Miles aplomb as he throws glances at me, his eyes ironic but attentive.
We’ve established a ritual. After each one of his physics lectures I walk up to him and ask for a meeting. Everyone else meets him during his regular office hours, but not I. I go to his office right after each lecture, and raise all sorts of objections. I love these one to one discussions, and I know Miles does too. I suspect there’s some gossip going on about my ways, but how important can this be?
Miles lets me in his office, and asks, “What is it this time, Iris?”
My coat and backpack are balled on my lap and I reply, without taking the time to make myself comfortable, “Your description of time arrow didn’t sound very convincing.”
Arthur Miles smiles, his brows arched.
I am unsure about how to articulate my thoughts, and noticing my inner struggle he nods encouragingly and says, “I’m listening.”
I place my jacket and backpack on the side, shift on the chair and smile.
“Don’t you think that all events simultaneously co-exist in an infinite plane, and that I am not only here, leading this life, but also elsewhere, in a different time zone, leading another life?” I start.
Professor Miles rounds his eyes, I cannot tell if in true or simulated surprise.
I lean forward and ask, “Do you know what I mean?”
“Not exactly,” he replies.
“Don’t you think we can simultaneously exist in different times and places? Isn’t this what you once told us about the electrons orbiting around the nuclei of atoms? Electrons are in certain positions with a high probability and in other positions with a probability which is low, but not zero. So why can’t it be the same for humans?” I continue.
“Do you believe you have an alter ego elsewhere at this very moment?” Miles laughs.
“I do. But when I say ‘this moment’ I am not talking about year 2016, I am talking about any moment belonging to the plane of time and space that defines me. I can be ‘Iris the Norwegian Warrior’ in year 1850, and ‘Iris the Galaxy Explorer’ in year 2200,” I explain.
“What you’re telling me is that if we were to browse some Norwegian archives from 1850 we’d find your name?” Miles laughs again.
“Focus on the concept, not on the specific example. If the probability of ‘Iris the Norwegian Warrior’ is low, but not zero, a shift in the events might cause my name to appear in those archives. The lower the probability, the greater the shift in the events required for me to be ‘Iris the Norwegian Warrior’,” I reply with seriousness.
“And how does this shift happen?” Miles asks.
“Well, my plane of probabilities is linked to other planes of probabilities which can influence it,” I say.
Miles studies my expression in silence, and I sense a sudden turmoil whirl within him.
“How does my plane of probabilities influence yours?” he asks, unleashing forgotten memories.
“Once upon a time you and I travelled to a place of death to find something of infinite value. There was a large metal door, but I hesitated in front of it, swaying between awe, fear and desire. You stood beside me and took my hand, and for that one instant I felt safe. Do you remember?” I ask.
Arthur Miles cannot speak.
“Do you remember?” I ask again.
“You had this same dream?” Arthur Miles whispers.
“This same dream…yes. Was it a dream, Arthur?” I say.