Gemotions

"So, you just… left?" Sarah asked, her voice tight, to her sister, who was on the phone. Her fingers were drumming a rapid, erratic beat on the table. She stared at the photographs scattered across the dining room table – photos of her graduation, her first publication, awards – each one featuring Dr. Ramirez, her advisor, always smiling. He had been a constant presence, a guiding light. Then, poof, gone.

Her sister's tone, on the phone, was breezy and matter-of-fact. "He said he was tired of grading papers."

Sarah didn't respond. She hung up the phone. She picked up the phone again, though. She wanted to call the university, to demand to know why she wasn’t informed. What was she? A junior employee, of no relevance? The thought made her want to scream.

She started furiously scrubbing at the table, a task she had never bothered with before, her movements jerky and aggressive. The image of his empty office, the stark contrast of his absence to her own efforts, filled her mind.