“But you can’t redraw a whole universe!” I say. “I mean, I know you’re a good drawer—and I admit that you’re much better than me—but … a whole universe? Really?!”
“Sure!” says Terry. “Universes aren’t quite as complicated as you might think. You just start with a big bang, a bit of space, a few trillion suns, a couple of billion planets, a bunch of moons, a black hole or two, and take it from there.”
“But what about your sore hand?” I say.
“It’s not sore any more!” says Terry. “When Professor Stupido un-invented bites and bruises it got better instantly!”
“Well, that’s great,” I say, “but he also un-invented pens and pencils.”
“That doesn’t matter,” says Terry. “I’ve got a spooncil!”
“What’s a spooncil?”
“It’s half spoon and half pencil!” says Terry. “I made it myself. Check out the ad!”
“Wow, that’s brilliant!” I say. “But how come you’ve still got it? Didn’t Professor Stupido un-invent spooncils as well?”
“It’s the only one of its kind,” says Terry, “which is maybe why he couldn’t un-invent it—he didn’t know it existed. Well, that and the fact that I keep it hidden up my nose.”
“You keep it hidden up your nose?” I say. “Why?”
“For emergencies, of course,” says Terry, “just like this one. The only problem is that it’s quite far up. Can you help me get it out?”
“No way!” I say. “I’m not putting my finger up your nose!”
“But the fate of the whole entire universe depends on it!”
“I DON’T CARE!” I say. “I’m still not putting my finger up your nose!”
“Never mind,” says Terry. “I think I feel a sneeze coming on.”
“Excellent!”
Terry tilts his head back. “Ah … ah … ah…”
I cover my face. Terry’s sneezes can be pretty messy.
“Nah … sorry,” says Terry. “False alarm.”
“That’s a pity,” I say.
“No, wait,” says Terry, “here it comes again.”
“Thank goodness!” I say.
“Ah … ah … ah…”
“Nah,” says Terry. “Another false alarm.”
“Oh well,” I say. “I guess we’re just going to have to float around in nothingness forever.”
“Andy?” says Terry.
“What?” I say. “Is your sneeze coming back?”
“No, I just wanted to say that if I have to float around in nothingness for the rest of my life there’s no one I’d rather do it with than … AH-CHOO!”
“Oh gross, Terry!” I say. “You sneezed right in my face! That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever done!”
“I don’t think so,” says Terry. “I’d say it’s more like the third-grossest.”
I think for a moment. “Yeah,” I say, “you’re probably right.”
“Sorry about that, Andy,” says Terry, “but at least I got my spooncil out!”
“Before you start redrawing the universe,” I say, “do you think you could possibly draw me a handkerchief?”
“Sure, there you go,” says Terry. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get started…”
As I watch, Terry draws stars, planets and moons …
UFOs, black holes, comets, meteorites, supernovas, red dwarfs, terrifying aliens and hideous monsters that I thought only existed in science fiction comics.
“Yikes!” I say.
“Calm down, Andy,” says Terry, “it’s just a razor-toothed, Venusian blood-sucking worm-man!”
“I know,” I say, “but do you really have to draw it?”
“Yes,” he says, “I have to draw everything back exactly the way it was before!”
Terry draws the entire Milky Way Galaxy, including the sun and the moon and all the planets: Mars, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, Neptune, Uranus and the most important one of all—Earth!
“YAY! Earth!” I say. “Can we go there right now?”
“Not so fast, Andy,” says Terry. “I have to draw all the stuff on it first.”
“Well, hurry up!” I say. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really missing gravity … plus I also need to go to the bathroom.”
Terry draws everything on the Earth’s surface, including the oceans, the mountains, the deserts, the forests, the savannas and the swamps.
He draws all the roads and buildings, including houses, hospitals, sporting stadiums, schools, shops and roadside stalls.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” I say. “Can I do some?”
“Thanks for the offer, Andy,” says Terry, “but it’s probably better if you let me do it. In fact, promise me that you won’t draw anything.”
“Okay,” I say, “I promise.”
Terry starts drawing all the animals on Earth.
“Don’t bother drawing all the rabbits,” I say. “Two will be enough.”
“Why?” says Terry.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Just keep drawing. I’ll tell you about the rabbits later.”
It doesn’t take long before Terry has got everything almost back to normal, including the forest, our tree and our treehouse—all 39 levels!