The morning times over the past week had also given me an opportunity to think about how I was going to help make that happen. Or more specifically, what my job was and how I was going to do it. Because if I succeeded, then maybe I’d be able go back to Houston earlier than planned.
I was a little bit closer than I had been.
Grabbing some coffee from the team dining room, while also managing to balance a slice of toast on top of it, I made my way downstairs. After punching my code in, I used my free arm to push my office door open and finally dropped my bag.
I really need a wheelie case.
I scanned around the detritus. It was amazing to me how quickly I’d managed to make my new office resemble my old lab in Houston, but I guess piles of books and paper scattered about could make anywhere look familiar. I’d long come to the conclusion that while I probably should tidy up, it was never going to happen.
I was messy, and I’d made peace with it.
The books I’d been working through were spread across the metal desks at the end, and all were still open on the pages I’d been reading when I’d left every night over the past week; with subjects ranging from my usual aerodynamics or physics literature to – gasp – sports. I’d branched out because I figured if I could understand how teams and individuals got to the top of their game, I might be closer to figuring out how I could use my background to help them.
It would come as no surprise that it wasn’t immediately obvious.
Turns out when something isn’t rocket science, it’s really hard.
I’d spent over half my life studying astrodynamics, engineering, astrophysics, and space. My most recent task had been working on a jet propulsion program at N.A.S.A, which in no way had anything to do with baseball – unless you counted objects moving through the air, something else Penn Shepherd seemed to think qualified me for this made up job I didn’t ask for.
Still, I wasn’t a person who liked to fail, so made up job or not, I was going to do my best to succeed.
I’d had a couple of ideas, but none of them had anything to do with my profession.
I sipped my coffee, then sat back and finished my toast as I stared at the wall – the white wall I hadn’t realized was covered in writable paint, and now in my scrawl.
On one side I’d scribbled a formula for movement based on Newton’s Second Law.
I’d mostly written it for something to do.
The other side was a list, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the list was probably the answer to success.
As I leaned further back, I spotted a large box on my desk. Very large; I’m not entirely sure how I hadn’t seen it when I walked in, large.
A pink Post-it had been stuck on the top, and I reached to grab it. At this point my heart thumped hard and then flickered, before sending mini ripples to my belly as I picked it up and recognized the handwriting.
In case you need them. x
Grabbing a pair of scissors, I scored along the tape at the top, opened it up, and brushed away the packing peanuts.
Holy shit.
I had to bite down hard on my lip to stop the smile emerging.
It was there, I could feel it… but I definitely didn’t want to acknowledge it.
He must have robbed Costco for this.
Staring back at me were boxes and boxesand boxesof LifeSavers. Mint ones, fruit flavored ones, variety bags of mixed flavors. I stood back and gawked at them, wondering what had possessed him to send these, then as I slowly removed a couple off the top layer, it became clear that the majority of them were cherry flavored.
There were easily a thousand bright red rolls.
Jupiter’s favorite.
Before I could stop it, an onslaught of cherry flavored memories slapped me upside the head;
his demands to kiss me whenever I had them, because he loved the taste of them on my tongue.
And then what else his tongue would do.
