Read Online The God Particle by Richard Cox - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Cox
Tags: Fiction
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stand there and ask him to forgive her? Did she expect him to get down on his bruised knees and propose like nothing happened? To pretend he didn’t hear her fucking another man, that he didn’t hear her begging for it? He had been ready to
marry
her, for Christ’s sake. He had been twenty-four hours from asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.
Goddamn her.
He draws his elbows close and this time works his hands beneath them, pressing against the bed. Then he pushes upward, ignoring petals of pain in his left shoulder, and scoots his ass backward until he is in a mostly upright position.
This Herculean effort requires a five-minute recess. His skin is slick with sweat. Any minute now the doctor is going to barge into the room, the doctor or a nurse or his overprotective mother, and they’re going to secure him to the bed with restraints.
But he can’t stay here. He has to figure out if he can walk or not, if he can get around on his own, because there is no way he can remain in this Zurich hospital for a few more weeks. The VP job is virtually his, after all. He was hired for it, groomed to assume the position after Jim Mannheim finished his planned two-year stint. But Steve also knows the finicky advisory board will pass him over in an instant if he can’t step in for Mannheim immediately. With the import auto parts business suffering through a devastating slump, the officers of Automotive Excellence see the downturn as a golden opportunity to grab market share from less-robust competitors. They’ll cheer Steve on if he comes back gradually, returning to form over a span of months. They’ll hold parties in his honor and speak fondly about his dedication and fortitude. But before all that they’ll give the VP job to someone else. They’ll do it because the health of the company comes before the health of the individual. Were he on the advisory board, Steve would do the same thing to someone else.
Now upright, he pushes with his hands, lifting his legs, and slides them toward the side of the bed. The pain registers in bright bolts. His feet dangle in the abyss between the mattress and the floor. To reach a standing position from here he must succumb to gravity, must allow himself to fall, and somehow this is unimaginable. He might as well step off a cliff. He might as well jump from the third story window of a Zurich apartment building.
And there goes the VP job. His well-charted life drifting off course.
Rather than simply standing, perhaps he could sort of slide off the bed, gradually transfer his weight to his legs and feet, spread the debt of pain over several seconds instead of assuming it all at once.
Or perhaps he could sort of float to the ground. Levitate off the bed and then orient himself into an upright position, standing but really not, because his feet wouldn’t actually be touching the floor.
No contact with the floor means no strain on his legs and feet. A lot less pain.
The only real problem would be propelling himself. Initially he could just push away from the bed, of course, but he can’t simply hover across the middle of the hospital room. No, he’ll need to work his way along the wall in order to gain enough purchase to drive himself forward. And then push against the wall as he opens the door, since he’ll have no friction against the ground to hold himself in place.
And yes, it’s a crazy idea, trying to move across the room without touching the floor. But in this moment he can somehow imagine it, can visualize the proper set of circumstances to induce such a thing to happen.
Really, it’s all a matter of perspective.
So now. His feet. Still dangling over the edge of the bed. He grabs the sheet, the cover of the mattress, and begins to push himself forward.
The levitation effect isn’t as strong as he would have hoped. His feet don’t seem to be maintaining the proper elevation. Perhaps if he pushes harder, moves faster, he’ll gain enough lift to—
He slides
marry
her, for Christ’s sake. He had been twenty-four hours from asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.
Goddamn her.
He draws his elbows close and this time works his hands beneath them, pressing against the bed. Then he pushes upward, ignoring petals of pain in his left shoulder, and scoots his ass backward until he is in a mostly upright position.
This Herculean effort requires a five-minute recess. His skin is slick with sweat. Any minute now the doctor is going to barge into the room, the doctor or a nurse or his overprotective mother, and they’re going to secure him to the bed with restraints.
But he can’t stay here. He has to figure out if he can walk or not, if he can get around on his own, because there is no way he can remain in this Zurich hospital for a few more weeks. The VP job is virtually his, after all. He was hired for it, groomed to assume the position after Jim Mannheim finished his planned two-year stint. But Steve also knows the finicky advisory board will pass him over in an instant if he can’t step in for Mannheim immediately. With the import auto parts business suffering through a devastating slump, the officers of Automotive Excellence see the downturn as a golden opportunity to grab market share from less-robust competitors. They’ll cheer Steve on if he comes back gradually, returning to form over a span of months. They’ll hold parties in his honor and speak fondly about his dedication and fortitude. But before all that they’ll give the VP job to someone else. They’ll do it because the health of the company comes before the health of the individual. Were he on the advisory board, Steve would do the same thing to someone else.
Now upright, he pushes with his hands, lifting his legs, and slides them toward the side of the bed. The pain registers in bright bolts. His feet dangle in the abyss between the mattress and the floor. To reach a standing position from here he must succumb to gravity, must allow himself to fall, and somehow this is unimaginable. He might as well step off a cliff. He might as well jump from the third story window of a Zurich apartment building.
And there goes the VP job. His well-charted life drifting off course.
Rather than simply standing, perhaps he could sort of slide off the bed, gradually transfer his weight to his legs and feet, spread the debt of pain over several seconds instead of assuming it all at once.
Or perhaps he could sort of float to the ground. Levitate off the bed and then orient himself into an upright position, standing but really not, because his feet wouldn’t actually be touching the floor.
No contact with the floor means no strain on his legs and feet. A lot less pain.
The only real problem would be propelling himself. Initially he could just push away from the bed, of course, but he can’t simply hover across the middle of the hospital room. No, he’ll need to work his way along the wall in order to gain enough purchase to drive himself forward. And then push against the wall as he opens the door, since he’ll have no friction against the ground to hold himself in place.
And yes, it’s a crazy idea, trying to move across the room without touching the floor. But in this moment he can somehow imagine it, can visualize the proper set of circumstances to induce such a thing to happen.
Really, it’s all a matter of perspective.
So now. His feet. Still dangling over the edge of the bed. He grabs the sheet, the cover of the mattress, and begins to push himself forward.
The levitation effect isn’t as strong as he would have hoped. His feet don’t seem to be maintaining the proper elevation. Perhaps if he pushes harder, moves faster, he’ll gain enough lift to—
He slides
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