I hadn’t heard from Ann for weeks.  Was she blissfully involved with that Glen guy?  Was she miserable?  I didn’t know.  And I couldn’t ask Ms. DeAngela, because she’d stopped coming to the eye.

At school, Mr. Haas confirmed it:  I was going to pass chemistry.  I had crammed and gotten my barely passing grades on the last few tests, a series of excruciating, tense things.  I had proven myself, risen in the ranks from “failing” to simply “poor.”  I was getting my “D” and elated.  I could stay in WHY, keep my credits, and graduate with the rest of my class.

The following week I heard from Hampshire College.  They regretted to inform me they were passing on my application.  Forget the radio and the clubs.  It was too little, too late.  So, maybe I wouldn’t go to school at all.  Maybe I’d take a year off.  Work during the day.  Do stand-up at night.  Get an apartment with Mike.  Maybe he could get me a job at UC’s bowling alley.  In secret, I had actually prepared an application to UC but was saving it for that moment when I’d have absolutely no other options.  But I figured why jinx myself by actually sending it in?  

Everything I had done up to now was focused on a single goal:  to escape.  Escape Cincinnati.  Escape Wyoming, my family.  Prove I could go somewhere else and live and survive and start over.  And when I started over – wherever it was – I would get it right this time.  I’d have a good attitude and be a good student and athletic and be an enthusiastic, all-hands-on-deck, not-so-obnoxious joiner right from the get go.  I would go to New York or Boston and no one would know me.  And I would work hard and get A’s right off the bat.  And no one would ever, ever know what a loser I had been in this previous life.  

But I couldn’t do it here.  There was too much history, too many people who knew me.  And maybe it still wouldn’t work out.  Maybe I’d still be a poor student, and end up homeless, no matter where I went.  I just wanted a chance to try.  


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s