CHAPTER 9
ESSAY
Mr. Cromwell greeted his daughter as she entered the kitchen. He was busy marinating chicken wings. Some of their friends were coming over for lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell had agreed to have a mini-reunion once a month with their college friends—and today was their turn to host the said meal.
“Have you finished your essay yet?” he asked, not getting a reply greeting from Caddie.
“Still under construction Dad. Thanks for asking.” Caddie spoke without enthusiasm. Her face rested on her knuckles, and her elbows steady on the counter.
Mr. Cromwell glanced at her.
“The sandwiches are beside you...just in case you feel like eating.”
Caddie nodded. She lazily grabbed one of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches neatly stacked on a light blue, square-shaped plate on her left side.
Just as Caddie was about to take a bite of the sandwich, an authoritative laden voice interrupted her action. “Have you washed your hands before eating that sandwich?” her mom asked, stepping into the kitchen area.
Caddie rolled her eyes, and motioned to place the sandwich back on the plate when her dad spoke in her defense. “Just let her eat what she’s holding Hon. She’s hungry.” He gave Caddie a wink, who replied with a small smile.
“You always look for a loop hole Dear.” Mrs. Cromwell replied, obviously irritated.
“Go to the living room and write your essay dear.” Mr. Cromwell almost whispered to Caddie.
Caddie thanked her dad, and walked out of the kitchen. Reaching the couch, Caddie quickly finished eating her sandwich, and opened the drawer of the wooden side table. She got a 50 leaves notebook, with a picture of the Baby Tazmanian Devil on the cover, and a blue pen. Opening the notebook on a random page, Caddie began to scribble a few words.
A few seconds later, Mrs. Cromwell, still in the kitchen, exclaimed, “Be careful of the pillows honey. They have just been washed.”
“Sure mom.” Caddie shouted back.
After crossing out the initial words she wrote, Caddie leaned hard on the couch’s surface. She had no idea know how to start the essay. Anything revolving around vices and early (or planned) marriages were too common to be the main concept of the essay. She wanted a topic that was ordinary but striking.
The kind that people experience and see around them, but they could not fully understand.
“Hey Haze, need help?” Mr. Cromwell asked as he sat beside Caddie. He was the only one who called her Haze.
“Hmm. I don’t know how to write this requirement Dad.”
“What should you write about honey?”
“Problems teenagers encounter.”
“Well, that’s interesting, but that’s difficult for me to answer. Your generation is way too different than mine.”
Caddie sighed heavily.
“Hmm. By the way, you haven’t narrated how your day went yesterday.”
His question struck Caddie like lightning.
If only I can tell you like it’s something normal Dad. Like it’s something we can talk about on any day. Yesterday was a blast Dad. I don’t know how crazy my feelings may seem, but yesterday was one of the most memorable days of my life—if that makes any sense. And Dad… I’m not entirely sure if I will totally recover from it.
“Hmm. Yesterday…” Caddie stuttered, and began to fidget. She just couldn’t open the topic to her father.
Feeling her daughter becoming tensed, Mr. Cromwell patted her daughter’s back. “Though I don’t know what’s bothering you Haze, I’m sure you’ll get through it. You always do. Me and your mom are always here you know.”
Caddie nodded. She leaner on her father’s shoulder. The restlessness she felt made her teary-eyed.
“Honey! Please come. I need your help here.” Mrs. Cromwell called. She was trying to set-up the big umbrellas in the backyard for the get-together.
Caddie blinked to stop the tears from falling as her father gave her a warm hug. “I’m coming Honey.” Mr. Cromwell replied as soon as he stood.
Caddie breathed deep. Her dad understood how to encourage her. He always says the right words, like he have been through to every little thing she was experiencing. Gathering her will, Caddie found a comfortable writing position—Indian sit—and began to write. The words flowed like a running faucet, as they discussed her topic—discovering one’s goals through a stable identity.
Exhausting every idea she had, Caddie fixed the notebook, and rushed to her room. She grabbed a black hooded jacket, and quickly went downstairs.
Her parents were laughing when she reached the backyard.
“Mom. I’ll be going to the café. Don’t wait for me for lunch.”
“But Caddie. Your aunts and uncles would like to see you.”
“I’ll finish my essay first. Not sure if I can be back in time anyway.”
Mrs. Cromwell sighed. “Okay then. Be careful honey.”
Caddie gave her parents a kiss on the cheek, and headed to the gate.
