He knows the old man is waiting for him downstairs, on this, the first shameful day of his retreat.
It’s not hard to guess what he will say.
The recriminations, the guilt.
You dreamed about Harvard since you were in third grade.
And the worst of all, What the hell happened?
He thinks about this as he sits on the bed.
Why exactly had he stopped going to classes?
His professors had not recognized him when he’d tried and failed to save himself, wistfully shaken their heads.
One had even chuckled.
The smells of breakfast waft up the stairs.