Anchor

Hastily, I rubbed my cheeks and wiped my hot tears away. Everything became blurry and vague. My throat was restricted. I couldn’t breathe. It was like I was underwater, drowning, gasping for air.

I wanted to forget.

I needed to forget.

Someone needed to take my eyes and wipe everything clean: my mind, my memory, my heart. I just wanted that image gone. I don’t care if I live in ignorance as along as everything’s okay.

Caleb never did that.

Caleb is perfect.

I’ve never been the type of person who’d be found drinking at ten in the morning, but today, it only seemed appropriate. Sipping from a mug filled of Mom’s special Cabernet, I quietly sat in the glass enclosed back terrace. It was snowing and I’ve been spending the past hour watching the crisp, white flakes swirl delicately towards the ground. My eye would catch one flake at the icicle rimmed roof and follow it all the way down.

Originally, I’d meant to finish off a scientific journal I’ve been reading but I couldn’t get yesterday off my mind. Like a movie, it kept replaying over and over: Steven Williams, my rant, people leaving, Caleb. And once I realized I read over the same section four times, I decided to give up and try something different. That’s when I reached for the Cabernet.

Swishing around the cherry taste in my mouth, I laid flat on a wicker couch, thinking. I’ve had nervous incidents like this before, in discussions, in speeches, where I would mouth off without thinking. In those moments, my mind would freeze but my mouth would continue running, burning. They usually end somewhat well but this was different. It wasn’t in front of professors I didn’t know or ignorant students who didn’t care. This was in front of people I’ve known for years, who I’ve grown up with, and I don’t think I can reverse it.

I was an ass, a stuck up, condescending, academic, snob.

No wonder people were speechless at the sight of me. They ignored me back then and they hate me now. They all left the diner because of me. Oh, I wished I could go back in time and change all of this but I can’t. I can’t.

“Mom’s special Cabernet?” I turned around to see my dad at the door with a greasy plate in hand. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

I shrugged.

“Well, I guess this is about that outburst yesterday. Right?” My dad said while taking the seat beside me.

I nodded, “How did you know?”

“Your mom and I may be in the lab all day but we do hear the town gossip. We were at Dailies’ Bakery and a young lady couldn’t stop talking about it.”

Embarrassed, I shrunk back. People in the bakery were talking about it? That means everyone was talking about me. It’s inevitable in a small town like this. Anything that happens here gets blown out of proportion; just like the time Carrie decided to get pink highlights. Everyone thought she was going to join a bike gang.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it,” Dad said. “But I want you to know that your mom and I will always support you and your actions.”

I looked at my dad, confused. “Does that mean you like the fact that I yelled at my entire high school class?”

Dad shook his head and hands immediately, “No, no, no. You’re misinterpreted my words.
We don’t approve yelling at people but we understand why you did it.”

“You do?”

“Yes, yes,” muttered dad. “When people attack your research, it’s like they’re attacking you. You put so much time and effort into one subject; it’s like a second child. So I understand why you yelled at them but don’t yell at anyone else. It’s really impolite. If you act like a snob, non-academics will shun you and dislike you. You don’t want that to happen. No, no.”

I watched my dad as he became flustered, thinking of what else to say. His speech was stumbling and his words were incoherent. It was pitiful and a bit funny. My dad has always been the silent one out of my two parents and it was mom who usually did these talks.

Sighing and placing the breakfast plate on my lap, Dad stood up. “Just think about others and be considerate and apologize.”

I picked up my fork and poked the butter soaked sausage. “Thanks dad.”

He nodded, “You’re always welcomed. It’s nice to have you home, Lilly. You should come back more often.”

I merely looked at him.

“Well, your mom and I will be in the lab. Call us if you need anything.” Dad closed the backdoor, leaving me all alone once again. I took a bite of the sausage. The buttery grease slowly slithered down my throat, leaving an unsettling feeling.

I had to apologize to at least fifty people, one of them being Caleb Trask.