Embers of the Past
By Sarah W.
The town was no more than a prison to Caleb. Surrounded by pines and meandering roads, he had already accepted the fact that there was no leaving his birthplace —but it was not the looming forest or the labyrinthine roads that kept him from leaving, but the deep-seated memories awaiting him at every corner. It was quite a conundrum, he thought to himself, that his mother’s departure had carved a hole in his very existence, yet memories of he lurked in every nook and cranny that he looked in, as if she had not really died but had dispersed the last snippets of her time with him all over the place. For Caleb, her absence yet simultaneous omnipresence triggered what felt like the most painful kind of nostalgia. Well, what more could one more day in the void do?
Caleb had rounded the corner so many times he’d forgotten why he even did so. However, he only remembered his destination—school. The hallways channeled the students around the decades-old complex, and Caleb often thought of the whole affair as a very educational ant farm. His first class was his favorite, English. Caleb’s mother was a prolific writer and an English teacher to the younger grade at the middle school, and he could not think of anyone whose eloquence in the written word could parallel hers. He steeled himself for the pang of regret that would incapacitate him upon catching sight of his mother’s old lectern, the only thing that she had left behind at the school. Caleb sat through the class, reminiscing back to the early days when his mother taught him how to read and write.
It had been a long and arduous journey, but young Caleb could see the writing transform before his eyes as his mother sighed in relief beside him. The black specks tattooed onto the smooth paper started to wriggle and contort until they formed comprehensible words. Caleb had never seen such wonders before, not in this clarity, and it stunned him to finally see words and fully comprehend them. Caleb squealed in joy at his newfound success, embracing his mother tightly. Her warmth enveloped him in the soft embrace, making him feel like the moment was complete and that he was finally satisfied with himself, absolutely overflowing with the childlike joy of times past.
When Caleb’s reverie finally ended and his vision faded back to reality, English class was over. He sat through biology class like any of his other classmates, simply biding his time until a truly interesting class came up or the school day ended. Thankfully, the class ended quickly, and he was to attend a class that would be a fresh change of pace—math. However, he did not expect his austere but amiable teacher to hit him with a review, something that he dreaded. He hated his memory and how unfaithful it could be at times—it was like an old, rusty motor that would sputter, protest, and refuse to cooperate at the worst times. What made it even worse was the memories that resurfaced the moment he picked up his pencil and paper, causing him to screw his eyes shut in hopes of chasing the troublesome sentiments away.
Caleb gripped his forehead as his elbows glanced off of his well-worn wooden writing desk. Pencils rattled and rolled as his dark eyes swam, darting from number