Superposition

Superposition: A fundamental principle of quantum mechanics, stating that a physical system (a wave, a quantum particle) can exist simultaneously in a combination of multiple states or positions, as long as it remains unmeasured and unobserved.

It is a mild evening in autumn. Colourful leaves lie scattered across the lawn below the balcony, under the observing eyes of a man who almost looks like one of the leaves himself, with his red pullover and yellow corduroy trousers. The white hair like a first hint of the approaching winter. The man rests his hand on the railing, carefully, as if afraid it might surrender to his weight and simply give way, him falling down the whole two stories. He wouldn’t blame the wooden railing; it would be about time. How long, 30 years already?

How different everything looks now from when they first moved to Fairlorn Greens, almost 30 years ago, he thinks and remembers the broker’s words that day, how he had told them that the dusty construction site would soon turn into a second Garden Eden. They didn’t believe him back then and neither did the broker, judging by his smile. And yet he was right. Fairlorn Greens has changed. Back in the days, it was a place for those who couldn’t afford the rent in the city anymore. Social housing blocks of four, five, some even six stories, popped up next to each other like the mushrooms that occasionally spread under the beech trees. But over time, when the city centre became less attractive and more hectic, Fairlorn Greens turned into a refuge from crowded streets, stressed people and city noise.

Now, it is one of the better neighbourhoods, with families, electric cars and automatic lawnmowers - which his wife insists are a true sign of progress, of having left all actual sorrows behind. The last of the concrete blocks was torn down a few years ago, replaced by small townhouses and a kindergarten. With the demise of the building blocks also came the view of the mountain range behind them - a view they had almost forgotten existed.

A life he had almost forgotten existed, he thinks, remembering the days he had still been working in one of the mountain cabins over the winter seasons. Every morning, a one-hour hike up to save the money for the cable car. Every evening, a descent from the moonlight mountain plateau to home, through dark conifer forests. He can't say it was happier times back then, surely they weren't, but he wouldn't want to miss them as part of his view, adding a bit of history and appreciation to the almost perfect panorama.

He decides to take a picture, maybe one for the collection on the wall in their hallway, when his attention is drawn to the two neighbour kids. They are playing, running after one another in circles around a small pond that during summer is crowded with dragonflies. He can hear them screaming, it almost sounds angry, in a playful way, when the boy stops and the girl almost runs into him. He raises his hand and the girl takes a step back, lifts hers and the moment the man presses the shutter, their hands meet midair.

"Any news?", his wife asks him when he steps through the balcony door a moment later. Their apartment, other than the outside, has not changed much at all during the last 30 years. The same couch, the same table, the same colours and the same smell. The one thing that has changed is the reclining chair that one of their nephews got them a while back. In dismissal of it, his wife sits in the old armchair just next to it, the one of the pair that had survived. He can’t exactly remember what happened to the other one.

"Aren’t you the one with the news?", he replies, nodding at the newspaper in her hands.

"No news, just Sudoku", she replies. "Besides, I’d rather watch our little stage here than read about, she peers at the page opposite the Sudoku, Vietnam."

"Nothing much", he returns to her question. "The neighbour's kids are playing."

"They better do. Not having it easy lately. Lots of fighting."

"It’s so much more lively with children around, don’t you think?"

"Hm."

For a moment, no one says a word.

"Sounded like someone was screaming, though, didn’t it?"

"They’re children after all, aren’t they? They do these things. Running, screaming, even crying sometimes. You don’t always have to be sad to cry."

"They’re quiet now, that’s for sure."

"You see?"

Another moment of silence. They never had children themselves, never really considered it. There was just too much life and too little money, and the moment they could finally take a breath, time had already removed the question mark. They never resented it. As his mother used to say, there are many ways to happiness. And they certainly found theirs.

"You're sure they're alright?"

"I suppose so. It got cold, so I came in."

"Not as curious in your old days anymore, are you?"

He looks caught, when suddenly his face lights up. "Look", he says, taking out his camera, "I took a picture."

She looks at it, skeptically, as he smiles and asks, "Doesn’t it look like they’re dancing?"

The superposition ends once an observer enters the situation and the possible states collapse into one definite state. It is, therefore, the act of observation rather than the act itself that defines a state and dismisses its alternative realizations.