LEARNING
WELL-BEING
THE PRODIGAL SON Short story by Amanda Ljungberg, 11W
I
hadn’t spoken to Jack for some time - his last letter to me would mark sixteen years ago, come Monday. A feeling I once recognised as unease had decayed into something crueler – dread – sitting heavy in the back of my throat. Sat alone in the booth, my thoughts were left simmering for some ten minutes more before the restaurant door ground open and a figure entered. Jack shook my hand and bade me remain seated. His shoes appeared dull and soiled beneath the tablecloth. “It’s great to see you again,” Jack started. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. You were probably worried.” No truth on my part seemed fit, so I lied: yes, I was worried, but didn’t wish to intrude. I recognised nothing in this new version of Jack. Though his sullen eyes betrayed the child I once knew, the wilted man before me bore no emblem of his adolescence. I first met Jack when he was fifteen. At the time I had garnered minor renown due to a screenplay I’d written, and was given the means to turn said screenplay into a feature, whereas Jack had just freshly abandoned his education. In that sense, our collision had a near-perfect design. I had worked with Jack for no more than a year, and after the film’s success, he made off with the money and lived couch-to-couch around the bay. He was propelled by my goodwill and general acclaim, which rang true
12
• Bangkok Patana School