The Passed Note Issue 5 October 2017 | Page 38

My application was the only thing to come of those thoughts. Comically large, hunched over at a decrepit desktop, ignoring spider webs pooling beneath the clunky desktop computer, my hopes eroded pragmatism, a river against the rock. I could feel my heart dripping onto the application, blood spilling, transforming into ink and essays. Every night that week ended in the hope dancing from the page into my dreams, after I was knocked half-dead striving for something more. What if you tried? On Friday, I mailed my soul to the university. In the interim, I waited. Every day, I made a customary stop to the mailbox, finding it consistently empty.

The routine of checking the mailbox on the way home from school became second nature, and I was taken aback when I found a sharp cornered, manila envelope in the mail. I snatched it, dirty calloused hands immediately wrinkling the paper. Tossing it onto the passenger side chair, it had barely grazed the upholstery before I pulled into the driveway.

My truck looked like a dusty rebel against her clean delivery van. My feet, far too eager, slid out from under me again and again as I screamed her name, scrambling into the house. All I could think was, what if you tried? Good or bad, this was news to be shared. My first thought was to gather our two-person family in the kitchen for the announcement. The envelope and I parted, one flying onto the counter, the other into the fields. Wandering rows of wheat and corn, eventually skirting the vegetable garden and peeking in greenhouses, I lost myself looking for her. The only thing I found was a dog turd stuck to my shoe. Defeated, I returned to the house, wondering if she had been whisked away on some wonderful adventure.