Third Class Superhero by Charles Yu Page A

imperfect career, his imperfect penis: gone. Also gone: the history of his interactions, his past collisions, his past. A has finally achieved his major result. He is free from the unceasing pull of gravitational memory.
    10. A is in deep space. The solar wind is at his back, pushing him along at a rate of 0.000000001 m/s.
At this rate, it will take the rest of his life to travel a distance of just over eight feet. B is on a space rock, watching A drift by glacially. Imagine you are B.
    (a) Imagine you are 20m from A. Close enough to see his face. Close enough to know his shape. Close enough to imagine contact.
    (b) You have a rope. If you can throw it just right, you may be able to tie yourself to A, turn his course, affect his trajectory. You will not be able to stop him, but you may be able to make sure that wherever it is he drifts to you end up there as well.

    (c) Assume you are of average strength. Assume you are of above-average compassion, patience, will, and determination.
    (d) If you throw the rope and miss, what happens? If you never throw the rope, what happens?
    (e) Imagine you will spend a period of eighty years within a few meters of this astronaut, a man in an insulated space suit. Imagine it is possible to drift by this man, staring at him, as he makes his way into the infinite ocean of space.
    (f) You will never know any other points, other problems, the mysteries of biochemistry, the magic of literature, the pleasures of topology. You will know only physics.
    (g) You will never know what it feels like inside his suit.
    (h) You will never know why you are on this rock.
    11. INITIAL CONDITIONS
A is on a train traveling due west along the x-axis at a constant velocity of seventy kilometers per hour (70 km/h). He is carrying a suitcase (30kg) and a small bound volume (his thesis; 0.7 kg; 7 years).
    He stands at the rear of the train, looking back at the town of (6,3): a point full of sadness, an origin of vectors, a locus of desire; a point like any other point.

My Last Days As Me
    The new woman is not as good as the old one. Me doesn't like her and neither do I. On her first day, I discover three things about the new woman:

(1) She is too short to play My Mother.
(2) She doesn't smell right.
(3) When she puts on the fat suit, she doesn't look like My Mother—she looks like a woman in a fat suit.
    This causes a number of problems in the Tender Mother-Son Interactions at the end of every episode. For one thing, because she is so short, I have to lean down, really almost crouch, just to put my face near her face for the close-up.
    And when I'm that close, it's hard to concentrate because she smells so weird. If I can't concentrate, I can't make the face for Showing Tenderness. And if I can't make the face for Showing Tenderness, how am I supposed to properly evoke Tinged With Melancholy?
    ***
    As Me. my primary job is to evoke Tinged With Melancholy. as often and as accurately as possible. For example:

    Episode 4.572.011

    â€” DINNER IS REALLY GOOD, MA
FADE IN:
    â€” INT. FAMILY KITCHEN—EARLY EVENING
    ME
Dinner is really good. Ma.
    MA
No. It's not.
    ME
Yes. it is. It's really good. Ma. These beans are really buttery.
    MA
Are they too salty?
    ME
No. they're not too salty.
    MA
Too salty. huh?

    ME
No. not at all. Not too salty.
    MA
Too salty. I know.
    ME
(sudden, disproportionate anger)

No. Ma. they are not too salty. I didn't say that. Why would you say I said that? These beans are buttery. These beans are perfect. These are perfect goddamned beans. They are beautiful and they are not too salty. Why don't you ever listen?
    MA
I'm sorry. You're just being nice to me. They're too salty.
    ME
Oh my God. Ma. I just said. Oh my God. Ma! These beans are buttery. They are not too salty. Don't say sorry. I love these beans. I love them so much. I'm not just saying that. I know they're beans. I know they're just beans. and it might seem silly. but I really love