Void

[10] Eccentricity

Chapter 10 - Eccentricity: The measure of how much an orbit deviates from being circular.

Edmund

I'm surprised Anne has had the strength to keep from biting her nails and pulling out her hair. It has been months since we've submitted our information and credentials to the SSRC. I had very little to no part in the forms and that it's all thanks to Anne we even have a chance. We've heard no reply in return. I wonder how many other applicants are waiting in nervous silence.

The SSRC hasn't spoken out publically since they told the world about the strange offer. And as for details about the trip, there've been none. Anne says that the trip is most likely a publicity stunt and that it should be short and simple. Perhaps there will be cameras and interviews. I haven't been in front of a camera in years. I don't think I've outgrown my stage fright. This should level the playing field because Anne still prefers to view the stars from a distance instead of being among them. I think of how nervous this chance makes us and wonder how we took the leap at all.

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My eyes are scouring the worn bindings of used books that hold that lived-in scent between their yellowed pages. They are precariously stacked in random piles on the worn wooden shelves that form a labyrinth inside the local bookstore. This is one way Anne and I buy our time and maintain the unspoken understanding that if we don't make it through to the SSRC's program, we'll have to decide on different future plans. Perhaps very different paths.

I've drifted into the sci-fi section of the store. Most of the works here look familiar (perhaps many were once part of our library), but I can't say I've read any of them. Unlike April, I was never much of a bookworm. My gaze drifts to the fantasy section a few rows down. I wonder if I'd find a copy of her favorite book tucked among the cluttered piles of literature.

A hard knock against the shelf in front of me causes the books to shudder against the swaying shelf. I don't even have time to react to the fear of being caught underneath an avalanche. Everything settles, luckily, and Anne appears around the corner with a dozen books in hand, and cringing at her already bruising arm.

"Sorry about that." She huffs and a stray crimson strand of hair dances above her hair before relaxing once again in front of her eyes. The books in her arms stack up to her neck. "Did you find something?"

I quickly scour the shelves before grabbing the most intriguing book cover I see. I don't want her to think I was spacing out the whole time we've been here. It's an already bad habit of mine. "Yep."

I follow her to the desk where a tired-looking old woman with wispy white strands of hair accepts our cash. Anne lifts the two bags full of novels as if they were nothing and turns to me. "Where to next?"

"It's only seven. How about we stop for coffee?"

She agrees and we make the short trip across the street to the café. The autumn air carries a chilly breeze that stirs the fallen leaves lining the brick pathways. It seems like summer just started but between the submission forms and Anne's father inviting me over for dinner every week or so, it seemed to slip through my fingers.

Dim lights and quiet indie music greet us as soon as we enter the local hot spot. As it's a weeknight, only a few young people, maybe a few years older than Anne and I, sit among the small tables.

I step up to the barista behind the counter. "I'd like a hot chocolate please." She nods, tapping on the register. I know it's a coffee shop, but I've never liked coffee. Maybe it's the aftertaste.

"Make that two," Anne orders. "With extra whipped cream and your finest maraschino cherry too, please!"

The barista hands us the drinks, piled high with whipped cream. I tell Anne the hot chocolates are on me and as she reluctantly agrees, I pull out my wallet. The muted television in the corner catches my attention.