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.
At least there’s still breakfast. Perhaps he can begin to rebuild his life from there
Dear Josh,
A story full of emotions. And questions. Feels like part of a larger story. Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Thanks!
A lot kept hidden from us, curious.
The day will look better with a good breakfast inside him. His future, maybe not so much.
Ah, the agony of defeat. But as in the image, the sun also rises. This really gripped me, deft pacing in a few words.
University isn’t for everyone. Now days I think the real world is a better teacher. I hope he finds his way.
His professors had not recognized him when he’d tried and failed to save himself, wistfully shaken their heads. This is an interesting line. Makes me wonder.
I was thinking he’d gone the first week and then dropped out.
Hopefully this breakfast will end with hugs and understanding and a new plan. Beautifully told.
Perhaps it was his father who dreamed of his son at Harvard. A good breakfast first and then the courage to make his own decisions and way in life maybe applauded. Then again, I don’t know his father.