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With my head hanging low, I exit the walk-in closet, but as I cross the threshold, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. A backpack. It’s thrown carelessly in the corner beside the door. It’s hidden in plain sight, and I wonder why I’ve never noticed it before.
Bending down, I pick up the old worn backpack. It looks nothing like the clothing and purses that adorn the hangers in my closet. It looks like… me. Urgently, I move to my bed and unzip it, pouring the contents out on my comforter.
Books, papers, folders, and loose pens fall haphazardly onto my bed. This must be my high school backpack. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary sticks out to me, and I start to feel depressed again, but when I start to put all the contents back inside, something slips out of one of the books and lands on the floor at my feet.
My gaze darts to the rectangular laminated Student ID card. I know it’s mine because there is a picture of me on it, and my name is printed across the top right corner, below the words: Bayshore University.
Picking it up, I inspect it further. Written next to my picture is my name, my birthday, and my Student ID number. I realize then that this isn’t my high school backpack. It’s my college one, but if I wasn’t in college, then why do I have a student ID for one? Turning, I sit down on the edge of the mattress.
Flipping the card over there is an address, phone number, and website link.
My eyes dart to the sleek cellular device sitting on my nightstand. Since coming home, I’ve looked at it a handful of times. There’s nothing on it. I’ve looked through it, it contains a few numbers, but that’s it. It’s practically brand new, and I’m doubtful it has ever been used.
Grabbing it, I decide to make a phone call to the University just to make sure that I was attending college there. My fingers shake as I dial the number, my heart beating wildly in my chest. If I was really going to school there, then why am I at home right now? Why didn’t my parents tell me?
Pushing the thoughts away for a moment, I press the green call key, and the sound of the phone ringing fills my ears.
“Bayshore University Admissions, how can I help you?” A woman greets joyfully.
“Hi, yes, I was wondering if you had a student by the name of Harlow Lockwood in attendance there?”
“Hi, and who am I speaking with?”
“Harlow Lockwood.”
“Umm,” she pauses, obviously confused.
“It’s a long story, but I can confirm my date of birth and possible student ID number if that helps any?” The click of fingers on a keyboard fills the speaker of my phone.
“That would be great. Whenever you’re ready.”
I recite the information on the card back to her, and within seconds, she confirms what I had suspected.
“Okay, Harlow, I can confirm that you were a student here. It looks like you’re still enrolled but on a leave of absence. Was there anything else that you wanted to know?”
Leave of absence?
“No, thank you.” I hang up the phone catching the beginning of her wishing me a good day, knowing damn well that won’t be happening.
My hunch was spot on, my parents have been lying to me, and have definitely been hiding stuff. The question is, why? Whatever their reasoning, it had better be good because no longer will I stand by and be made a fool of.
With my ID card in hand, I storm out of the room and down the hall heading toward my father’s study. I need some answers, and I need them now. As I get closer to the door, I notice it’s cracked open, Dad’s voice filtering from within. He’s either on the phone or talking directly to someone. Since I’m barefoot I’m able to creep closer without making a sound, at the door, I peer through the slit into the room.
From what I can see he’s alone, no one else is in the office with him. Thankfully he’s turned toward the window, his back to me.
“I told you that I would meet you tonight at the hotel…”
The person on the other line must say something because a moment later he answers with, “Yes, wait there, naked on the bed, like always, and please next time don’t call my office. Anyone could answer. I have to get back to work, I’ll see you later, baby.”
Blinking, I try to absorb what I just heard. My father is… is he having an affair? It sure sounds that way. I know I should be angry, maybe even sad, but it’s almost like I have no emotion toward it. It’s like… I don’t care. Which is strange, because I should definitely care.
