But even then, Tim was accelerating. Somewhere, in ways mostly invisible, Tim was accelerating. Somehow it started, on an atomic level, a single cell, something misfiring, an electron hitting the wrong synapse, a chemical imbalance slowly putrefying his brain. Even in high school, that reaction must have been building, accelerating, mounting some type of dysfunctional momentum, a force too big for him to control, too unwieldy for him to lift over his head, too heavy for him to set down among his weights on the basement floor.
