The Admission

As the mailman drops the pile of Tuesday mail, filled with weekly news and entertainment magazines, electric and telephone bills, credit card promotions, political literature, and a "Have you seen persons" flyer, into the narrow mail chute leading into the closet of winter-woven jackets and salt-stained boots, the sound of the over-protective dog barks at the blue-uniformed, waterproof-sun-helmet-soldier who spends his days escaping the fur enemies over terrains of suburban grass and white pavement paths, but today he is fortunate to elude the vicious bite of the Yorkshire terrier before the excessively anxious high school senior rushes to tear down the hinges off the closet door to open the envelopes shipped from his utopian dream school, but he doesn't open the rectangular envelope, instead he holds it in his soft, shaky hands as the nerves and excitement from his stomach explode and conquer all control over his body, because this isn't just the moment he receives another birthday card from relatives who live on the other side of the country, this isn't just another graduation party invitation, this is his future, his dreams, his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, his payoff at the end of his four years of hours upon hours of studying for vocabulary quizzes, math and history tests, English essays and term papers, a warehouse full of novels and short stories, historical research, spending the weekends working at the student council fundraiser, hours locked inside the only room with no air conditioning, gazing in front of the computer screen to finish the yearbook deadline, not to mention the anxiety and stress of pop quizzes, the fear of not getting the grade on the final, the drive of fear from college guidance counselors to register for SAT's, ACT's, A.P.'s, in order to get the P.H.D. they all want to see you work for, because your success is not only meant for you, but is riding on the shoulders of them, the principal, the superintendent, the school board, and the close-knit community, which all comes down to this defining moment of opening the single-page letter and reading, "We regret to inform you ..."

by Ryan Keller