A Physics Prodigy From Ukraine
31.
The airport was especially crowded today, much to my mother’s frustration.
Spencer handed me a brand new bottle of drugs.
Prozac.
Great.
I was to take one.
“Ryan.”
I looked up at Spencer and he jerked a thumb towards the bathroom
“I’m just going to the bathroom - your mum’s gone to get coffee.”
I nodded and sat down with my suitcase.
I couldn’t remember ever being around so many people.
I downed my Prozac.
Two hours until our flight to Massachusetts.
I pulled my legs underneath me.
Why was mum taking so long?
It was just coffee, right?
And Spencer was gone too.
I looked at my watch.
One hour and forty five minutes.
Where were they?
I took another Prozac.
I had a whole bottle of the stuff.
It was Spencer’s fault for leaving it with me.
I pulled my suitcase in and hunted through the pockets for something interesting.
Mum had packed it.
There was nothing interesting.
Oh. A crossword book.
I flicked through it.
A celebrity crossword book.
However, I knew that Matt Damon starred in Contagion.
But I didn’t have a pen to write it in.
I looked up at the clock in the airport.
One and a half hours until our flight.
I took three pills and stuck the bottle in my pocket.
Probably shouldn’t have anymore.
I felt like my brain was flat lining.
At forty minutes to our flight and twenty two Prozacs into the thirty pill bottle, Spencer reappeared.
I nearly threw my plane ticket at him.
But he wasn’t to know I was vaguely worried about where he’d gone.
He sat down and smiled at me.
“Sorry about that - I was questioned about having Prozac in my bag.”
Ooh, he had more.
I nodded.
I felt a bit sick.
“Did they help?”
What was he… oh, the Prozac.
I nodded uncommittedly.
I had probably taken too many.
Spencer looked around with a frown.
“Where’s your mum?”
I shrugged.
If she didn’t turn up before our flight - we could go back home.
There was a shout over the intercom as we were all warned of the Massachusetts flight in 32 minutes.
I noticed a flutter and mum rushed through a flock of travellers, practically tripping into my arms.
“Oh! Oh! Ryan! I thought you’d disappeared! I got lost!”
She didn’t have coffee, I noticed.
But we did have a 5 hour flight to catch.
I stood up and grabbed my suitcase handle.
I felt a bit dizzy.
Spencer grabbed my arm as I staggered.
“Ryan - are you feeling okay?”
No.
No, I really didn’t.
I was going to throw up.
Mum was shaking her head.
Oh, god, what was it now?
What had I done wrong?
Spencer offered to ‘escort’ me to the bathroom but I had to grip his arm with both hands.
I could barely walk.
Smart move, Ryan, just eat pills like candy, yeah?
Mum wrapped a ‘caring’ arm around me and hissed in my ear.
“Ryan - you’d better not ruin this for yourself. I am not having you mope round the house for the next god knows how long.”
As I have previously said, she was obviously the next Mrs. Motivation.
Spencer pulled me away and guided me towards the toilets.
I had to stop.
I gagged desperately, willing myself not to bring anything up.
People shuffled away and whispered to each other as I dry-wretched in the middle of the airport.
Bird flu.
Swine flu.
Plague.
“Ryan,” Spencer muttered.
I didn’t reply.
I couldn’t.
I pressed trembling fingers to my mouth and pushed him away slightly.
“Spencer,” I gasped, groaning weakly.
He didn’t come closer, and I couldn’t speak, so I pushed the nearly-empty Prozac bottle into his hand.
He frowned at it.
“Ryan!”
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
I was dying here, and that was all he could say.
My knees buckled and I sank to the ground.
Spencer glanced around helplessly.
Mum was running over.
Did she have my suitcase?
My favourite jacket was in there.
And my stripy trousers.
I was watching the whole world from the floor.
All I could see was running feet and suitcase wheels.
There was something pressing on my stomach.
Spencer was asking questions.
He was asking me to look at him.
He was asking me to squeeze his hand.
I couldn’t feel my hand, never mind his.
I couldn’t feel anything.
I couldn’t see.
I swore.
I couldn’t hear myself.
Spencer handed me a brand new bottle of drugs.
Prozac.
Great.
I was to take one.
“Ryan.”
I looked up at Spencer and he jerked a thumb towards the bathroom
“I’m just going to the bathroom - your mum’s gone to get coffee.”
I nodded and sat down with my suitcase.
I couldn’t remember ever being around so many people.
I downed my Prozac.
Two hours until our flight to Massachusetts.
I pulled my legs underneath me.
Why was mum taking so long?
It was just coffee, right?
And Spencer was gone too.
I looked at my watch.
One hour and forty five minutes.
Where were they?
I took another Prozac.
I had a whole bottle of the stuff.
It was Spencer’s fault for leaving it with me.
I pulled my suitcase in and hunted through the pockets for something interesting.
Mum had packed it.
There was nothing interesting.
Oh. A crossword book.
I flicked through it.
A celebrity crossword book.
However, I knew that Matt Damon starred in Contagion.
But I didn’t have a pen to write it in.
I looked up at the clock in the airport.
One and a half hours until our flight.
I took three pills and stuck the bottle in my pocket.
Probably shouldn’t have anymore.
I felt like my brain was flat lining.
At forty minutes to our flight and twenty two Prozacs into the thirty pill bottle, Spencer reappeared.
I nearly threw my plane ticket at him.
But he wasn’t to know I was vaguely worried about where he’d gone.
He sat down and smiled at me.
“Sorry about that - I was questioned about having Prozac in my bag.”
Ooh, he had more.
I nodded.
I felt a bit sick.
“Did they help?”
What was he… oh, the Prozac.
I nodded uncommittedly.
I had probably taken too many.
Spencer looked around with a frown.
“Where’s your mum?”
I shrugged.
If she didn’t turn up before our flight - we could go back home.
There was a shout over the intercom as we were all warned of the Massachusetts flight in 32 minutes.
I noticed a flutter and mum rushed through a flock of travellers, practically tripping into my arms.
“Oh! Oh! Ryan! I thought you’d disappeared! I got lost!”
She didn’t have coffee, I noticed.
But we did have a 5 hour flight to catch.
I stood up and grabbed my suitcase handle.
I felt a bit dizzy.
Spencer grabbed my arm as I staggered.
“Ryan - are you feeling okay?”
No.
No, I really didn’t.
I was going to throw up.
Mum was shaking her head.
Oh, god, what was it now?
What had I done wrong?
Spencer offered to ‘escort’ me to the bathroom but I had to grip his arm with both hands.
I could barely walk.
Smart move, Ryan, just eat pills like candy, yeah?
Mum wrapped a ‘caring’ arm around me and hissed in my ear.
“Ryan - you’d better not ruin this for yourself. I am not having you mope round the house for the next god knows how long.”
As I have previously said, she was obviously the next Mrs. Motivation.
Spencer pulled me away and guided me towards the toilets.
I had to stop.
I gagged desperately, willing myself not to bring anything up.
People shuffled away and whispered to each other as I dry-wretched in the middle of the airport.
Bird flu.
Swine flu.
Plague.
“Ryan,” Spencer muttered.
I didn’t reply.
I couldn’t.
I pressed trembling fingers to my mouth and pushed him away slightly.
“Spencer,” I gasped, groaning weakly.
He didn’t come closer, and I couldn’t speak, so I pushed the nearly-empty Prozac bottle into his hand.
He frowned at it.
“Ryan!”
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
I was dying here, and that was all he could say.
My knees buckled and I sank to the ground.
Spencer glanced around helplessly.
Mum was running over.
Did she have my suitcase?
My favourite jacket was in there.
And my stripy trousers.
I was watching the whole world from the floor.
All I could see was running feet and suitcase wheels.
There was something pressing on my stomach.
Spencer was asking questions.
He was asking me to look at him.
He was asking me to squeeze his hand.
I couldn’t feel my hand, never mind his.
I couldn’t feel anything.
I couldn’t see.
I swore.
I couldn’t hear myself.