I wrote about 4 a.m. alarms and orange vests.
When I finished reading, Mr. Anderson was quiet for a long second.
About my dad's empty boots by the door.
About Mom studying drug dosages once and then hauling medical waste now.
About lying to her face when she asked if I had friends.
When I finished reading, Mr. Anderson was quiet for a long second. Then he cleared his throat.
"Yeah. Send that one."
The rejection, if it came, would be mine alone.
I told Mom I was applying to "some schools back East," but I didn't say which.
I couldn't stand the idea of watching her get excited and then having to say, "Never mind."
The rejection, if it came, would be mine alone.
The email arrived on a Tuesday.
I was half-asleep, eating cereal dust.
My phone buzzed.
My hands shook opening it.
Admissions Decision.
My hands shook as I opened it.
"Dear Liam, congratulations…"
I stopped, blinked hard, then read it again.
Full ride.
Grants.
I laughed, then slapped a hand over my mouth.
Work-study.
Housing.
The whole thing.
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I laughed, then slapped a hand over my mouth.
Mom was in the shower.
By the time she came out, I'd printed the letter and folded it.
"It's real."
"All I'll say is it's good news," I told her, handing it over.
She read slowly.
