General Relativity (18/?)
anonymous
April 28 2010, 05:37:16 UTC
XVIII. The Solution of the Problem of Gravitation on the Basis of the General Principle of Relativity
Two months passed like this: a lesson in astronomy every Tuesday and sometimes on Friday, the two desks nudged edge-to-edge in an empty classroom, and a stuffed whale that traversed from Matthew’s bookshelf to the top of his television set, and then to Kiku’s bathroom sink, and then to a perch on their shared computer desk. “He is a very happy little whale,” Kiku commented more than once, a subtle smile curving his mouth.
Matthew had to agree.
And Matthew, too-he was happy.
The realization didn’t occur to him right away. In fact, it kind of slunk in through the back door and started living in the kitchen, making itself scarce whenever Matthew actively considered his own state of mind. But one day, reorganizing Dr. Bonnefoy’s collection of smutty Greek novels so that they looked at least semi-respectable, Matthew paused to smile at his reflection in the office window. It wasn’t the smile that tipped him off, or the way it wouldn’t exactly go away once he’d done it.
It was why he’d smiled.
“It’s Tuesday,” he said to the window.
Then, for clarity’s sake, he added, “You’re pathetic.” It wasn’t like his life had changed all that much. The biggest problems were still tagging along on Matthew’s heels, including but not limited to how badly he wanted to have sex with his astronomy and physics teacher. To make matters worse, Matthew had to acknowledge that truth every single time he sat across from Mr. Jones, watching him light up as he explained galaxies and formulas and the first telescope he’d ever broken on accident.
(Matthew still dreamt about the universe, only now he could give it names: pulsars, supernovas, binary systems. He dreamt about Mr. Jones’ sweat cooling under his fingers and mapping out all the knobs of his spine, and how he might arch up into Matthew’s touch, how he might sigh. And every morning, Matthew woke up to reality; it was cold on his bare toes.)
Two months passed like this: a lesson in astronomy every Tuesday and sometimes on Friday, the two desks nudged edge-to-edge in an empty classroom, and a stuffed whale that traversed from Matthew’s bookshelf to the top of his television set, and then to Kiku’s bathroom sink, and then to a perch on their shared computer desk. “He is a very happy little whale,” Kiku commented more than once, a subtle smile curving his mouth.
Matthew had to agree.
And Matthew, too-he was happy.
The realization didn’t occur to him right away. In fact, it kind of slunk in through the back door and started living in the kitchen, making itself scarce whenever Matthew actively considered his own state of mind. But one day, reorganizing Dr. Bonnefoy’s collection of smutty Greek novels so that they looked at least semi-respectable, Matthew paused to smile at his reflection in the office window. It wasn’t the smile that tipped him off, or the way it wouldn’t exactly go away once he’d done it.
It was why he’d smiled.
“It’s Tuesday,” he said to the window.
Then, for clarity’s sake, he added, “You’re pathetic.” It wasn’t like his life had changed all that much. The biggest problems were still tagging along on Matthew’s heels, including but not limited to how badly he wanted to have sex with his astronomy and physics teacher. To make matters worse, Matthew had to acknowledge that truth every single time he sat across from Mr. Jones, watching him light up as he explained galaxies and formulas and the first telescope he’d ever broken on accident.
(Matthew still dreamt about the universe, only now he could give it names: pulsars, supernovas, binary systems. He dreamt about Mr. Jones’ sweat cooling under his fingers and mapping out all the knobs of his spine, and how he might arch up into Matthew’s touch, how he might sigh. And every morning, Matthew woke up to reality; it was cold on his bare toes.)
Still. Somehow.
He was happy.
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