Drunk

The chatter from the living room seemed to slowly cease, silence seeping into the cracks. They paid rapt attention to the unsaid words, to the expression on Anders’ face, and to the fact that he had his eyes suddenly glued to the door, more determined than it had been all evening.

Anders’ mother had noticed, even though she had chosen to say nothing. She knew her son enough to realize that there was something intense going on in his life, or at least, something that bore the similitude of intensity.

He had never really enjoyed these dinners, but he tried to act like he did. Anders was always the one with the polite smile, the subtle glances as Sophia, the courteous conversation starter, the joker. He played everything by the book, even though deep down, he counted the hours until he could return home.

But tonight, everything was different. He needed to be out of there as fast as possible. His whole being was outside those doors, and no one could keep him in there.

Anders’ mother a