Cracks in Anchors

My mother used to tell me I was an impulsive child - if I wanted something I would go get it, period. She used to joke about the one time I had a little kid crush on my next door neighbor, a little girl about a year younger who naturally hated me. She would tell me I always tried to impress her; with shiny new toys I thought she’d like(which she didn’t) and pink bows I thought would look nice in her hair(which probably would have but I never once saw her wear them). She would just take them with a groan, stuffing them in her dress pocket and focusing her attention back to the book in her lap. Then she would go back inside a few minutes later, and one time I swore I saw her throw the bow of the day into the garbage. And it hurt, sure, I was seven and thought I was a manly-man, I thought I could change the world and protect any damsel in distress. But my willpower wasn’t crushed by her constant refusal and lack of interest, I think that was the only mistake she made; thinking showing no interest in me would deter me. So I changed my tactics and would sneak the bows into the flowerpots of her house where her mom would find them, stuff them between the pages of her book when she wasn’t looking, drop them in her pockets like I was an expert pick-pocket. One time I even went into her room when her mother invited me and my family over; I slipped out when everyone was watching the Football game and tucked a blue and yellow bow under her lace pillow. I still don’t know if she ever found that one.

Wouldn’t it be funny if she didn’t though - like memories that were made but never remembered? Words that were created but never said, thoughts that were left in the back of your brain, never reaching the forefront to actually be thought about.

Then as time passed and we grew older and everything changed, I would sometimes peer through my white curtains to see hers’ wide open. I could tell you the color of the room; pink with white strips. I could tell you the layout; her bed in the middle and a computer desk to the right. I could tell you the pictures that lined the back wall; old boy bands and group photos of her and her friends. And I could tell you what she did on weekends; invite friends over to gossip and sometimes I would see her out of the corner of my eye, pointing to my room and laughing with her friends. I still don’t know if they were making fun of me or talking about how good looking I was. I like to tell myself it was the second.

But there’s one moment I remember the most from those long ago days; one moment where I swore I was going to get caught and confined to my room until I turned ninety. It was a Thursday night and I just finished some type of homework - I was a junior and she was a sophomore - and I was fooling around with papers on my desk when I just so happened to let my eyes wander out the window and into the adjacent one. Her pastel pink curtains were open - like they usually were - and I could see her silhouette against the wall. I watched for a few seconds until I saw her - all naked parts of her - fill the window and I couldn’t help but stare. I looked over her exposed chest - small, yes, but the first set of boobs I’d ever seen - her rounded and frumpy backside and her barely visible stomach. I sucked in a breath and once I knew what I was actually seeing, I slammed the curtains closed and dropped my head to the desk. That was when my crush ended - really. After years of fighting for her attention I had finally seen what I wanted, and after that crushing reality dawned on me I didn’t care about her attention anymore.

And the worst part is that I don’t even remember her name.



After my escapade with Sullivan, I found myself content with the rest of the day - with sitting in a plastic chair and teaching kids sentence structure and conjunction. I was even content with the occasional smart asses, the kids who thought they were funny but were hanging their heads in shame when I schooled them with my well-defined wit. Which I heard was pretty good, if I do say so myself. Anyway, it was nearing the end of the day and I couldn’t help but stare at the clock and pray that the date Jolene wanted to drag me to would get canceled. I wasn’t one for fancy diners and even fancier food that didn’t really fill me, that made me go home and scarf down whatever leftovers I found in the fridge. But Jolene liked it, and anything to keep her hanging on, to keep her believing my lie, I had to do. Because I couldn’t lose her, not now, not when she was paying half the bills and my car insurance.

Okay, sue me, I was sort of using her to pave my own way, but I couldn’t help it.

The last class of the day rolled out in one gigantic yelp and I sighed, rubbing at my eyes and leaning back in my chair. I checked my phone that stood still on the top of my desk, looking for a message that said Jolene wasn’t up to going out tonight. But no message of the sorts came and I had to get up and stuff the papers that needed to be graded into my suitcase and throw on my jacket and lock the classroom and shove past scrambling students. Just as I was about to cross the threshold from hell to heaven, a rough voice pulled me back and a hand wrung itself around my elbow.

“Harry, I need to talk to you.”

Fuck. It was my boss, or the principle, who stood behind me with a cross expression sprawled across his ugly face. I nodded and followed him into his office; black and white and bland, like himself.

“What do you need to talk to me about, sir?” I sat down and pulled my suitcase onto my lap.

“Oh, I just wanted to say that you’re doing a good job, the kids seem to like you and I’ve heard no complaints yet. That’s all I wanted - you can go.” I was so close to asking him why he needed me to come to his office to tell me that, why he needed to make me go home three minutes later than I planned on and why he seemed so pissed when he first stopped me. But then again that’s how he always looked - he was a perfect example of an old, fat assed - grumpy boss. So I let it go and shook his hand and jogged out to my car, backing out and driving down to my apartment. And when I got there, boy, was I in for a shock.

Jolene was screaming, a clump of hair in her hands and tears dripping down her face. I dropped the suitcase and went up to her, pulling her into an embrace like any caring husband-to-be would do, and asked her what was wrong. Which was a mistake.

“I heard that you haven’t even booked a venue for the wedding!”

Ah shit, I thought, and backed away slightly, knowing the onslaught of anger that would greet me at any moment.

“You’re so stupid Harry!”

“Why did I even agree to marry you!”

“Why did you do this to me?”

“Do you like, hate me, is that why?”

“Harry, answer me!”

“It’s been months Harry, don’t you want this wedding to happen soon?”

No, not really, I kept thinking as she screamed at me, hands pushing against my chest occasionally.

“Fuck you Harry, go live with Louis for awhile, I need time to think, alone.”

And I didn’t complain, I was happy to go wait it out with my best friend for however long she needed to calm down. Truthfully, in the back of my mind, I hoped she’d just call off the whole thing and break up with me right then. It would make me feel less guilty, it would lift the weight and burden of caring off my shoulders. But she didn’t, she just threw a suitcase she packed for me into my chest and pushed me out the door and told me once again to fuck off.

I was happy to.



When I arrived at Louis’s, all disheveled and still in my work clothes, he knew something was up. I told him after I threw my tie to the ground and placed my blazer on the back of the couch, throwing my briefcase onto the coffee table and thinking that I really didn’t want to grade papers tonight. So instead, like any responsible adult would do, I pushed it to the side and instead sat down on the couch and turned on the Football game. Louis sat down besides me and the interrogation began.

“What happened?” He put his feet up on the table and I soon followed.

“She found out I haven’t been looking up venues.” Louis already knew about the way I felt about everything. He knew I didn’t want to get married to her and he knew I’d been lying about everything wedding-wise and he knew I didn’t love her anymore but I used to. So he didn’t lecture me, he didn’t shake his head and say I was a horrible person, he just nodded and laughed to himself.

“Shit, Harry, it’s been months and she only found out now. How?” I shook my head, I had no clue and still don’t.

“Don’t know, she just started screaming at me when I got home.” I turned to Louis when a commercial switched on. “Can I crash at your place for a bit?”

“Yeah man, no problem. It’ll be fun, fuck Jolene.”

Right, fuck Jolene, it was time to do what I did when I was younger; it was time to go after what I really wanted.