I’m still foggy, but I know that at this point, there is only one thing that’ll help me calm down.
“Actually, there is one thing I’d like you to do for me. Could you please deactivate the alarm on the ground floor? I want to go blow off some steam at the gym now that I’m awake.”
I hate these nightmares. I am not one to let a little emotional distress take over my body. I’m not having it. It’s a sign of weakness. Hitting the gym is the only thing I know can get me back on track.
“Very well, sir,” Mr. Gray says, nods and leaves.
I get out of bed and put on my workout shorts and a pair of Nike’s. It is still pitch dark outside, so I have to turn on the lights in the hallways that lead to the gym. Anxiety rushes through my body, but I try to ignore it. I shut the door behind me and turn on the music. Metallica. Nothing else matters…
The room is cold and the air crystal clear. I sit down on the rowing machine and bend my knees. I grab the handle and start to pull it towards me. Then I start rowing. It takes me only a few seconds to find just the right flow. It doesn’t take long before sweat springs from my forehead and immediately, I start to feel calmer. For some reason, the rhythm of the strokes soothes me.
I must look like a lunatic working my ass off at the gym at 4 in the morning. I don’t care. It’s the only way possible for me to shut out the anxiety from the past. I’m not the worrying type. I don’t let things get to me. But at night, I can't control the reminiscences from the past. Then the thoughts creep in on me and force me to relive the real-life nightmare that changed my life in an instant.
I row faster and move into a sprint. Sweat runs down my body and my breathing is strained. Sometimes I’m just so angry at the world. I was just a kid, and I needed my mom. She was sick, and there was no cure for her. But how could she leave me? How could they let her die from me? I needed her.
I pull harder and slam back into the seat every time I finish a stroke. My dad lost it when my mom passed, too. My strong, strict, kind father completely pulled away from the world the second she drew her last breath. He disappeared into his business, our family dynasty, and left me with Ms. Jonson. He turned completely numb. During the funeral, he just sat there with a blank stare. I tried to take his hand to find some comfort. There was none to find. He’d turned into a machine that spent all of his power just to breathe, to exist.
He stayed that way. Ran our business like a machine and left anything related to our family to Ms. Jonson. When on very rare occasions he spoke to me, it was always to reprimand me or correct me. Grooming me to take over. And the day I turned 25, I was appointed CEO of Durst Inc.
The rowing machine beeps as I hit 45 minutes. I let go of the handles and just sit there for a minute while my pulse slows down. Then I grab my towel and wipe the sweat off my head. Another good workout. Actually, it is a necessary measure. Physical exhaustion acts as a prism that breaks all of my tangled-up emotions into little pieces that I can handle.
I pick up my phone and start a text: “Meet me at the office at 07:00 a.m. It’s time we get this thing on the road.” I hit Send, knowing that Tony will wake up by the sound of my text and be ready in time. That’s what I pay him for.
Then I send my dad the same text. He’s an old guy by now and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s up already anyway. I don’t mean to create any drama. It’s just that now is the time. I’ve been postponing this for way too long, and last night’s nightmare spoke for itself. I need peace of mind, and there is only one way to do it. It’s time to undo some old wrongs.
2
EMMA
“Emma Brown!”
Dean Montgomery’s voice echoes between the loudspeakers. It sounds like my name is called out 4 times even though he only reads it once. I straighten my back and start to walk. All I can think about is making it across the stage without falling in front of an audience full of students and their family members. Funny how apparently, I can write a 10,000-word dissertation on behavioral ecology and still doubt my own ability to put one foot in front of the other.
“Concentrate, Em,” I think to myself and force myself to smile. Before I know it, I am standing in front of the Dean, shaking his hand and accepting my hard-earned diploma.
“Well done, Ms. Brown,” the Dean says and holds on to my hand a little longer than I’d expected. “You’ve worked harder than any other student I’ve met. You can change the world if you choose to!”
I don’t know him that well, but he’s a kind man, and an attentive one, too. Among the students, he’s known as a strict man, but one who has your back when you need him to. To me, he’s been my moral anchor during my four years at Boston University. The kind of mentor you need when you don’t have a mother or a father who calls you now and then to see if you’re alright, or who’s there to offer you advice when things are tough.
He squeezes my hand and winks. I press the diploma against my chest and a smile spreads across my face. I did it! A Masters in Wildlife Biology.
Born and raised by a single mother of four, it wasn’t written in the stars that I was to pursue a college education. We were always out of money and growing up in a house full of children means that there were never two minutes of quiet for me to study. But I wanted it so badly. I wanted so badly to make something of myself. Being the first in the family to graduate college is truly a realization of a dream for me, so I did what I had to do to make it through.
“Go on now!” Dean Montgomery wakes me and nods in the direction of the stairs.
What a fool I am! Lost in my thoughts, I fail to notice that Denise is right behind me, waiting for me to move on and make room for her to receive her diploma. Quickly, I wipe away a tear from my eye and start walking. It all must have taken less than a minute, but that minute feels like the biggest milestone in my life.
“I am so proud of you, young lady,” Marc says when I return to my seat and dramatically throws his arms around me. He holds me like that long enough for it to become just a little bit awkward, but hey, he’s the only one here to support me on my graduation day. So I take whatever he has coming for me.
“Thanks, bestie,” I whisper into his Burberry scarf. I’m so thankful to have him in my life. He literally knows everything about me, and still, he is my biggest supporter.
He brushes my hair, then cups my chin and asks me: “Are you okay?”
I know why he asks. What he’s really saying is: “I know your family isn’t here. I am so sorry for you.”
I’m glad he doesn’t say it. I know that this is how it has to be, but it hurts to be the only one here without a proud mother, father, or sister by my side.
“I’m fine, Marc. I’m good.”
Together, we sit down on the wooden benches and applaud the rest of the graduates who one by one cross the stage to receive the physical evidence of their hard work. We sit through an immense number of speeches, all of which offer us words of wisdom about living life, staying motivated, and following your dreams. By the end of the ceremony, my hands are practically aching from clapping so much.
“And now, dear graduates, please stand.” I get up and stand in line with the rest of my class. We’re all dressed in white robes and navy caps. We follow the academic procession, exit the ceremony and it’s over.