As he drones on and on about rational functions, I fight sleep. He circles a hole on his graph. A hole. In the line. I'm confused, thinking that maybe, I'm just more exhausted then I think. Math is black and white, yes or no. There is always an exact answer. No gaping holes.
I copy the equation into my calculator, and trace the line. The blinker disappears, there are no values. There is a hole, infinitely small. Inexplicably, I feel guilty, like I'm the one who has torn a hole in the graph. Not just the graph, it feels as if I've gone ahead to rip a hole in the universe, in everything I thought I knew.
It feels strange, and terrifying, to realize that everything in life, everything you could know, has infinitely smaller details to learn. You couldn't find enough time in your life to read every book in the small library in my town. Every choice you make can turn you in an incredibly different direction. Every person you get to know could change you. There are infinite decisions, things to learn, paths to take. Life is big. Life is daunting. Life is infinite. And I feel as lost as the small tear in the graph at (2,2).
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