Time by Penny Reid, now you can read online.
1
Intro to Modern Astrophysics
*Mona*
I didn’t know enough about spiders.
For example, what did they do during the winter when flies were scarce? Did they sleep/hibernate like bears? And what’s the deal with hibernation? How does one get in on that action? Sleeping for long periods, as though time doesn’t exist. Then again—
“Time doesn’t exist.”
“What?”
In the fuzzy distortion of my peripheral vision, I saw Lisa turn toward me. She’d been sitting at her square kitchen table, working on her laptop since I’d meh-ed all her suggestions for leaving the apartment today. I think she was relieved.
I sat in her living room, somewhat reclined on a big, brown leather couch that was too large for the space. It wasn’t that the room was small, the couch was just too big, messing up the feng shui. Lisa had filled her apartment with fancy and colossal Williams Sonoma monstrosities, whereas what she really needed was some Ikea in her life.
My elbow bent, my cheek pressed against the underside of my forearm, I peered at the window.
“Time doesn’t exist,” I repeated, watching the spider in the corner of the glass pane as it did nothing. It wasn’t dead, the web was too new, but it was completely motionless. “I need to read more about spiders.”
“What does time have to do with spiders?” My sister’s tone was uncharacteristically gentle, almost wary. I hypothesized that my bursting into tears with the smallest amount of provocation over the last three days had made her cautious. Poor Lisa. She’d invited me to stay not knowing I’d transformed from not a crier to a crier.
At first, she’d insisted we go out and, at first, I’d been happy for the distraction. However, no matter where we went, disaster struck. Abram’s voice singing “Hold a Grudge” in the restaurant and at the movie theater. A poster of Abram and Redburn’s album cover at L stations and street corners. A young woman wearing a Redburn T-shirt. He was everywhere and yet nowhere—no calls, no emails, no attempt at contact—and the combination made everything worse.
I figured, at least in Lisa’s apartment I would be safe from the onslaught of Abram propaganda.
“I’m thinking about exploring the viability of human hibernation,” I said through a yawn. If it was good enough for bears, need I say more?
“I don’t think spiders hibernate.” The sound of Lisa’s chair lightly scraping against the tile drew my attention away from the spider. My sister stood, stretched, and her slippered feet made scuffing sounds as she walked. It was past 11:00 AM and we were still in our pajamas. “Do you want tea? Or coffee?”
“They should.” Everyone should hibernate. “Why haven’t humans investigated hibernation as an alternative to living through nonexistent time?”
“Mona. Do you want tea?” Lisa’s tone wasn’t impatient, but it wasn’t patient either. Again, I didn’t blame her. I’d been crying early and often, and I hadn’t yet fully explained why. I couldn’t, because every time I tried, I cried.
Which had me wondering, which came first: the try or the cry? A paradox.
“Yes to tea, please.”