Decision (Team Schmoop)
Charlie Eppes wasn’t the most decisive man on the planet.
He’d argue, however, that it wasn’t something within his control - he simply didn’t have a lot of decisions to make.
Being decisive necessitated having choices; picking one thing over another. You couldn’t be decisive if there was no alternative.
And when it came to Charlie, there weren’t many alternatives he had the luxury of choosing between.
He didn’t choose to be a boy genius. Or an adolescent genius or a man genius, at that.
He didn’t choose what to work on, or when. Ideas would come into his head and it might as well have been that his hands were under the control of a foreign entity as opposed to his conscious mind. All it took was a causal observation from Larry or Alan or a twelve year old kid even, and as his brother’s team liked to say, the lights would be on but there’s plenty of time to go grab some coffee.
He didn’t choose how long he’d spend in the garage, or his office, or any square foot of ground fit for standing, at any given time. Food would be put in front of him, he’d eat it. He wasn’t really fussed about what food though, or that there was any at all, but that wasn’t evidence for his indecisiveness he was sure. If someone cared enough about him to supply him food regularly and without asking for it (and often without thanks), then they cared enough to know what he liked and didn’t like.
He certainly hadn’t chosen to be born after Don and therefore subjected to a life of older sibling torture. Just the same, he didn’t choose to fall for the one girl his brother decided to take to prom. That was just... bad luck, if you believed in that sort of thing.
And no matter what his father said, he definitely didn’t have a choice when it came to devouring the last piece of lemon meringue pie that had (originally) been set aside for his brother. To him, there really was no way around it - either you come on time for dinner and get to have your dessert, or you came late and forfeit claims to said dessert. Don had to be tardy; therefore, the pie was up for grabs.
Simple logic, really, and mathematicians were nothing if not lovers of logic.
As with a lot of other major turning points in his life, he didn’t have much of a say. To be fair, there really was nothing much to say. Princeton offered the best combination of financial aid and academic reputation so Princeton it was. He didn’t choose to be five years under the normal college-going age so along came Mom for the ride. It’s not like he could have stopped her, nor did he particularly want to.
England had been a nice detour off the yellow brick road but CalSci offered him the chance to work in Los Angeles, back to home and family, and be paid for it, so there really wasn’t much to agonize over, especially after things with Susan Berry fizzled out. It didn’t really bother him how many office hours and classes he was supposed to take, it was his job after all, and he got to do what he loved. A few reminders regarding his responsibilities wouldn’t go awry but ultimately, he’d fulfil his duties.
In much the same way, he began working for the FBI. It was simple curiosity that had him looking at the maps Don had brought home and everything just snowballed from there.
Today, however, was different.
Today, he was consciously turning his back on what would be the logical choice, the rational alternatives, and going the other way, quite willingly.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Don for quite possibly the hundredth time, as if tuned in to Charlie’s thoughts.
“Yes, I know,” Charlie readily agreed. But turning to face his brother, he added: “But I want to”.
He didn’t need to see the gratitude in his brother’s eyes to know that it was worth it.
Khatum
He’d argue, however, that it wasn’t something within his control - he simply didn’t have a lot of decisions to make.
Being decisive necessitated having choices; picking one thing over another. You couldn’t be decisive if there was no alternative.
And when it came to Charlie, there weren’t many alternatives he had the luxury of choosing between.
He didn’t choose to be a boy genius. Or an adolescent genius or a man genius, at that.
He didn’t choose what to work on, or when. Ideas would come into his head and it might as well have been that his hands were under the control of a foreign entity as opposed to his conscious mind. All it took was a causal observation from Larry or Alan or a twelve year old kid even, and as his brother’s team liked to say, the lights would be on but there’s plenty of time to go grab some coffee.
He didn’t choose how long he’d spend in the garage, or his office, or any square foot of ground fit for standing, at any given time. Food would be put in front of him, he’d eat it. He wasn’t really fussed about what food though, or that there was any at all, but that wasn’t evidence for his indecisiveness he was sure. If someone cared enough about him to supply him food regularly and without asking for it (and often without thanks), then they cared enough to know what he liked and didn’t like.
He certainly hadn’t chosen to be born after Don and therefore subjected to a life of older sibling torture. Just the same, he didn’t choose to fall for the one girl his brother decided to take to prom. That was just... bad luck, if you believed in that sort of thing.
And no matter what his father said, he definitely didn’t have a choice when it came to devouring the last piece of lemon meringue pie that had (originally) been set aside for his brother. To him, there really was no way around it - either you come on time for dinner and get to have your dessert, or you came late and forfeit claims to said dessert. Don had to be tardy; therefore, the pie was up for grabs.
Simple logic, really, and mathematicians were nothing if not lovers of logic.
As with a lot of other major turning points in his life, he didn’t have much of a say. To be fair, there really was nothing much to say. Princeton offered the best combination of financial aid and academic reputation so Princeton it was. He didn’t choose to be five years under the normal college-going age so along came Mom for the ride. It’s not like he could have stopped her, nor did he particularly want to.
England had been a nice detour off the yellow brick road but CalSci offered him the chance to work in Los Angeles, back to home and family, and be paid for it, so there really wasn’t much to agonize over, especially after things with Susan Berry fizzled out. It didn’t really bother him how many office hours and classes he was supposed to take, it was his job after all, and he got to do what he loved. A few reminders regarding his responsibilities wouldn’t go awry but ultimately, he’d fulfil his duties.
In much the same way, he began working for the FBI. It was simple curiosity that had him looking at the maps Don had brought home and everything just snowballed from there.
Today, however, was different.
Today, he was consciously turning his back on what would be the logical choice, the rational alternatives, and going the other way, quite willingly.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” said Don for quite possibly the hundredth time, as if tuned in to Charlie’s thoughts.
“Yes, I know,” Charlie readily agreed. But turning to face his brother, he added: “But I want to”.
He didn’t need to see the gratitude in his brother’s eyes to know that it was worth it.
Khatum