Atlas

Six

Atlas

On Saturday mornings, the first thing he always did after breakfast was call Adrian. This Saturday was no different. He had stayed in bed last night till 6 am, finishing up a book his professor had asked them to read a month ago.

His eyes finally shut at 6, and when he woke up, it was 10. A good five hours of sleep. That was rare.

"Atlas!" Adrian nearly screamed on the phone. "How are you?"

"Deaf from you screaming." Atlas groaned. "What's up?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's a beautiful day."

"Why do you sound so stressed?"

"Cuz, um, Stella just dropped by." He said really fast.

"Oh right, I forgot you were having a baby with her."

"Your jokes aren't funny."

"Wasn't a joke."

Atlas ran a hand through his hair. It was growing and he would need a haircut soon. But there were more important issues at hand.

"When's the baby coming?"

"Next month."

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah." Adrian sounded more stressed than Atlas had ever heard him. 

"Um... you ready?"

"I don't know. I went shopping a week ago... I got...stuff."

"Like?"

"Baby clothes and a crib."

"That's nice."

"I'm just scared I'll break the baby. And you can't undo that shit man."

"Adrian you'll be fine."

"I hope so." He sighed. "Listen man, I need to take Stella to the hospital."

"Can't she go herself? Did she lose her legs too?"

"No, Atlas." He said sternly. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye."

Atlas cut the call and placed the phone on the coffee table. He grabbed the nearest book. The Complete Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson.

He groaned. He really hated medieval poems, but his essay was due by the end of next week and he had to get started. He debated on whether he should take a shower now or later and stuck to later.

He went to his room to get a notebook and his reading glasses. They were dark brown and framed his face pretty well. Adrian had chosen them for him a few years ago.

There was really no use complaining – but that didn't mean he couldn't be bitter about it. This was worse than the homework they gave at the orphanage.

But every now and then, he would come across a sentence or a line that he loved, and it would make him believe that becoming a literature major wasn't such a bad idea.

At around 12, when he had just made a cup of coffee to take a small break, his doorbell rang.

He frowned. Nobody ever rang except the landlord, or the water-meter guy.

He ran a hand through his hair and got up to answer the door.

It was his neighbor, who right now, was holding an oven-tray in her hand. She smiled at him awkwardly.

"Do you mind if I borrow your oven?"

His eyebrows drew together. "Uh... why?"

"Oh, mine isn't working." She said. She looked down at the partially made casserole. "I figured out too late."