Asymptotes

i

-Holden-

"Oh, Mr. Hawking.  You're much too kind.  To think you, a world renowned physicist, are going to help me with my Scott Theory is amazing.  I'm truly honored."

"Anything for the next me," he replies, or rather the Equalizer system registered on his computer.

I feel myself falling even more in love with Stephen Hawking.  Until I actually fall.

Thump. 

"Shit," I curse under my breath, rubbing my head.  I pull myself up with the frame of the bed and I hit my head again on my blurry nightstand.  "Shit to the second power," I swear for the second time.

I finally manage to stand up without any additional injuries and I grope my nightstand for my spectacles.  I almost tip over the entire piece of furniture before requesting the assistance of my maternal figure.  "Mom! Where are my glasses?" I yell from upstairs. The smell of last day home pancakes waft up the staircase and I hear Anne burst out of her room. Why the hell is she up so early and making so much noise?

I make my way to my closet, trying not to bump into anything. God, where are my glasses?

"Holden, you packed them, remember!" my mom yells back up. I groan loudly but slowly but carefully walk over to the suitcases I have ready for today. I tug out the Ziploc at the top and pull my beloved glasses out. I put them on and suddenly everything falls into place. Finally.

I brush my teeth quickly and change into my same grey sweater and dark jeans that I wear everyday. I resist the urge to fall back onto my bed as I reenter my room for my suitcases.

I try and lift my suitcase from its horizontal position on the ground and it barely lifts an inch off the ground. I look at my arms and think, my lanky arms were not built for this. I try again and I hear Anne running up the stairs again. Not now, not this early in the morning. I widen and brighten my eyes and try to look lively. She sprints into my room and sees my not promising position by the limp suitcase. Anne looks at me with her endless eight year old energy packed in her eyes and says, "On three." And I know right away she means that she's going to attempt to pick the suitcase up with me. I laugh but nevertheless shove my hands under the suitcase as hers are positioned under the handle. "One, two," she starts counting, "three!" she yelps as she uses all her might as do I.

The suitcase makes it halfway off the ground and we keep pushing. It finally stands up straight and Anne looks at me with this sense of pride that she's the only force that could have possibly made the suitcase stand up. It makes me miss Caroline and I ache for her sitting at my cousin's.

"Holden, you do understand that we have to leave for school in ten minutes," my mom screams from downstairs. Crap. This prompts me to calculate the amount of time it will take to do the rest of the necessary tasks. Okay, that gives me one minute for pulling my suitcase down the steps, three minutes for pancakes, one minute for putting on my shoes, two minutes to calm a sobbing Anne, trying to explain to her that I'll be back this weekend, two minutes for checking the house for things I'm bound to forget, and one minute for my goodbye ritual.

"Yeah, I'm good! I'll be right down," I say. It takes the allotted one minute to drag the suitcase down the stairs, one by one with my sister trailing quickly behind. As soon as I step foot onto the wood floor by the front door I drop the handle of the suitcase and rush to eat my pancakes. I pull out a chair and stick a forkful of chocolate pancakes into my mouth. The chocolate chips melt in my mouth and I could swear that I was in heaven right then and there. My mom's mussed ponytail swishes as she moves from the batter bowl and the pan. Anne hops onto her special chair, special being the chair with the two cushions she hogs. She picks up the pancakes with her hands and starts taking bites out of it.