Excerpt: The Beauty of a Grid

Finally able to properly relax, Nicholas glanced over at the package on the counter. He received mail every two point three weeks, and the parcel staring back at him had come only three days after his most recent cell phone bill, upsetting the cycle. He figured that since it was hand delivered, however, it wouldn't count towards the average. With a growing curiosity he picked up the package and sat on his couch to discover what mysteries it contained.

Ripping off the packing tape, Nicholas was greeted with a sea of packing peanuts, causing him to be extremely careful not to make a mess as he reached in to find what they were protecting. Without much effort he found the object and pulled it out. In his hands laid a small wooden box, about five by twelve inches and an inch or two in thickness. It had no seams or edges, and the corners were sanded into smalls curves. Nothing rattled inside the odd box, and Nicholas wagered that it probably weighed about the same as a decent size hardcover book. Upon further inspection he found that one edge housed a tiny and nondescript keyhole.

Curiosity spiking, Nicholas brought the trash can over to the couch and slowly excavated the box of its packing peanuts. When it was completely empty, there was nothing (not even a key) in it besides a small piece of paper waiting at the bottom. Nicholas picked it up and read the messy handwriting.

"Ask your parents about this, kid.
- Uncle Nathan"

Nicholas knew that he had heard of an Uncle Nathan at some point in his life, though for the life of him he couldn't remember where. It most certainly was not one of his immediate uncles, so he concluded it must be someone distant. An uncle of an uncle, or cousin of a grandparent, something obscure Nicholas figured. He didn't consider the fact that he had been adopted at the age of five, leaving a whole slew of other unknown relatives to pick from. None of them knew of his whereabouts or name, let alone home address and apartment number. Even if he had considered the slew of unknown relatives, he remembered nothing of his past family. Though he was given up for adoption at five, old enough to remember, the traumatic nature of the event had caused him to bury all memories to some inaccessible part of his brain. That's how the doctors had desribed it at least; to him it was all just a big blank. He figured a quick call to his parents would quickly and efficiently solve his little mystery of the day.

He retrieved his cellphone from his pants pocket and pressed the speed dial icon for his parents' house on the device's screen. It rang.
And it rang.
And rang.

Eventually there was a series of two loud tones and an automated voice, presumably computer generated, emenated from the speaker.

"We're sorry, but the number you're trying to reach is no longer available." the female computer rattled off with indifference. Confused, Nicholas put his phone down. His parents were comfortable in their finances, so it would be highly unlikely that they were genuinely disconnected. As his mind continued in its failure to come up with a reasonable explanation, worry, an unwelcome visitor, grew in his chest.