It was august when I filled out my application. I was scared more than anything else. Scared that I wouldn’t get in. Scared that I would get in, but not be able to afford to go. Scared that I’d go, but not like it. Scared of not making any friends or getting bad grades. Scared of leaving home, leaving my friends. More than anything I was scared because it was all so uncertain. This was the way I had always lived because of my mother. She thrived in chaos. I’d come home from school to find suitcases lined up on the front walk, and she’d announce that we were taking a vacation right now, destination unknown. Or I’d wake up one morning and the entire downstairs would be painted in new colors, the furniture rearranged, the entire house foreign. She’d sigh, “I couldn’t sleep so I was looking around the house, and I realized that the color scheme was all wrong.” Then she’d smile, “Isn’t it lucky that the paint store on the corner is open all night? They have such lovely colors, don’t they Melanie?”
So when she handed me the application and information packet that morning and written down the link for the website, it shouldn’t have surprised me. I should have been glad. I had been begging to transfer all summer. Threatening, half seriously, to get myself kicked out on purpose. Still, it was a little late to be applying, I thought. Skeptically, I looked through the website. Everything about the school drew me in more, but I was careful to squelch my excitement. There was too much risk with my mother to get completely invested in the idea of this to good to be true school. I filled out the application anyway, daring to hope. I must have done three drafts, trying to keep my desperation to get out from showing in my essay. Then I threw it away. Then I reprinted it and did it again, but gave up halfway through. I ended up finishing it the next day. I got a stamp from my mother and we put it in the mailbox together, surrendering my fate to the mailman.
Sometimes I think back to that time, and realize that that moment defined the rest of my life. I would never be the person I am now, if I hadn’t sent in that application. Taking risks can be a good thing. It’s better to try and fail, then spend the rest of your life wondering what if...
Love,
Melly
