All I wanted was a quiet life full of yearning. A life full of desire. A life that slowly burns. In a family full of mathematicians, I was constantly referred to as the ‘dreamer’. I preferred to read books and go on walks rather than solve complicated math problems. I just could never get worked up about adding numbers and moving them around like my parents did. Even my brother said he wanted to work in finance when he grew up.
I have never found math to be appealing though this year, math was my first class of the day so I could get it out of the way. Then I was free to dream the rest of the school day away. I had managed to finish my science credits early so as a senior, my only demanding class was Calculus. My teacher was always telling me I was good at math whether I liked it or not.
I pretended to agree with her simply because I liked her, but I was planning to take little to no math when I got to college. All I wanted to do was camp and paint. And occasionally write stories to go along with my paintings. Math had nothing to do with the rest of my life. Everything was going according to plan until the day my father showed up in my bedroom with a pink slip in his hand. We were moving. To the country. Just like I had always wanted.