Independent Piece #3

One Last Time

One last time to be together
To feel the breeze, enjoy the weather
One last time to share our thoughts
On what will be, and what has not
One last time to visit the bridge
Where days of our summers were spent and lived
One last time to sneak out of my home
To meet down the street and through the neighborhood roam
One last time to sneak back in
Oh what a wonderful friendship it’s been
One last time to say goodbye
And then we depart with tears in our eyes
Thinking one last time to be together
To feel the breeze, enjoy the weather

Into the Unknown (Pop Culture Piece)

It’s incredible that the next four years of our lives, possibly the most important for that matter, are determined by only a handful of things: an application, either paper or electronic, including two essays, two letters of recommendation, one SAP (student activity profile), a possible interview, and some amount of money, depending on the application fee. The old and the wise tell us that it’s not where we go that’s important, but what we make out of it – all this hustle bustle and stressing out in unnecessary. They were once in our shoes, however, and know that these warnings fall on deaf ears. To us, these past few months as well as the ones to follow are crucial: good grades, the best we’ve ever gotten, in fact, are crucial, while the right recommendations and perfect essays are also significant. All this, so the next four years of our lives are past at the right college.

My college search began simple: somewhere far from home with nice weather, preferably California or Florida, a school that would meet my standards academically, if not challenge me a bit, and a relatively large school. Those filters soon changed to semi-far from home with mild weather, perhaps VirginiaNorth Carolina, with either appropriate or lesser academics, and size didn’t matter. This changed once again, to anywhere that was financially appropriate; anything else was simply a bonus. or

I applied to twelve schools all together: SUNY Binghamton, Geneseo, and New Paltz, Virginia Tech, Northeastern, UNC at Chapel Hill, UT at Austin, Pepperdine University, FSU, University of Miami, University of Tampa, and University of San Diego. Quite a list, yes I know, but I wanted to have my options. I waited until nearly the deadline for all twelve schools – an immediate regret – and therefore needed to rush all my applications and wait until April to hear my decisions, as opposed to applying early and hearing back early.

The waiting killed me. Every day after my first application was sent out I would anxiously check the mailbox, knowing a decision would not have been made yet, but nonetheless checking. Weeks passed, months passed, and still no decision from a school. I soon began to get nervous, wondering if my destiny was to stay home, work at the local McDonald’s and one day become the manager. Such a future was unacceptable.

The first school I heard back from was Tampa, leaving a message on my answering machine, admitting me to the school. Excitement overwhelmed my entire family, including myself, and I found myself immediately denying my acceptance. I was soon celebrating, however, informing all my friends, and relaxing. My future contained college.

Within the weeks that followed I heard from Miami, FSU, Northeastern, all three SUNY schools, and San Diego. 100% acceptance rate. Although excited, I was still filled with an eagerness to hear from my top two choices, Pepperdine and UNC.

I heard from UNC next, wait listing me. Being wait listed is even worse than being rejected. You’re not good enough, but you’re not bad enough either. You’re undecided, in no man’s land, the purgatory of college. It’s a tease. Thousands of students are put on the wait list for a spot in about one hundred. Being out of state doesn’t help when a school has a state law that allows them to accept only 14% from states other than North Carolina. Just reject me, please. Perhaps I am being over pessimistic, but nonetheless I declined a wait list spot, grieved for five minutes, and moved on.

I was rejected from Texas; no surprise. Minimal chances were given from a school that guarantees a spot in the student body for any Texan in the top 10% of their class as well as a miniscule out of state percentage of four. I don’t know why I even applied.

From before I can remember I have been intrigued by Pepperdine. Perhaps it’s location, or perhaps it’s academic excellence, it has been my dream school since the college search began. Located on the cliffs of Malibu, such a college would require traveling across the country, leaving everything behind, and making a new life. I was more than willing. It’s beautiful, friendly, and welcoming. What more can you ask for from something that you will be spending the next four years of your life with?

The decision from Pepperdine would come in early April, according to the website and admissions counselors. Every day after April 1^st that I didn’t get the letter, the more paranoid I became. On that fateful day, however, during Spring break when I opened the mailbox and found the letter from Pepperdine, I was devastated.

You can know almost automatically whether or not you’ve been accepted into a school by the type of envelope the letter is addressed in. If it’s a large envelope, thick and the size of a regular piece of paper, it’s very safe to assume you’ve been accepted. If your envelope is that standard letter envelope and contains only a single piece of paper, chances are you’ve been denied. Sure, this takes some of the suspense out of the decision, but after several decisions letters you start to pick up on the signs.

My Pepperdine envelope was a small one. Before even opening the envelope I was heartbroken. After opening the envelope I was even more heartbroken by the reality of my rejection. The college I had been in love with since middle school had rejected me. It was a tough break up, no doubt about it. Several days went by with Pepperdine still on my mind, but soon enough I had gotten over the school and moved on.

With all my decisions made, I began filtering the schools and deciding which fit my needs best. Quickly the SUNY schools were out of the picture, as well as Virginia Tech and San Diego. Northeastern and the three schools from Florida were left. Upon visiting Tampa and Miami, FSU and Northeastern were soon out of the picture also. Although I am still undecided, the deadline is drawing incredibly near and a decision will need to be made soon. It’s been a hell of a trip, but finally I am ready for it. Graduate school is next.

Intro to Independent Piece #2

To this day this event has been one of the funniest, most interesting nights shared between my close friends and I. I have always wanted to write about it since the morning after it happened, and regret waiting so long to do so. Much of the humor and details which were fresh in my mind last year have since disappeared, leaving a story which may lack in certain areas. However I think my story shares at least some of the humor and frustration Alex, Nick and I felt on that night. I can't say I'd wish to have more nights like that, but it's one I will always remember forever.

Independent Assignment #2

Highway Men

The headlights of the passing car illuminated the three of us – Alex and Nick sitting with their feet dangling out the side of the car while I sat on the roof. Two people had already stopped to ask if we needed help; this car would make the third. As the black Expedition crept to a stop and the driver rolled down his window, we quickly reassured him that we were okay and he could continue on. He was not convinced, however. It’s not every day that you see three teenagers stranded on the side of the highway at 2:30 in the morning. He drove slowly away, however, and left us once again with only the blackness of the night.
It began as a normal Thursday; Alex, Nick and I sitting in the high school cafeteria during our free second period. We were playing cards when I mentioned the new X-Men movie was coming out the next day.
“We should definitely go see it tomorrow, first thing.”
“You know, it’s probably playing at like, 12:01 tonight,” Nick responded.
We looked at each other and soon enough a plan was devised for the three of us to sneak out of our houses and catch the first showing of X-Men 3. At the time it was an excellent idea, and for the rest of the day we bragged about our planned excursion and tried to recruit some more friends. No one wanted in, however, and by the end of the school day it was still only the three of us.
I snuck out of my house at 11:30 that night, when I was certain that my parents had fallen asleep. I quietly crept down the street to the old trailer in the center of GreenBriar, our intended meeting place. Alex was already waiting for me, and only moments later Nick pulled around the corner in his old, rackety Geo. We got into his car, as excited as a group of third graders on Christmas morning, and began our journey to the movie theatre.
The movie was sold out.
“Well, this blows.”
“‘Blows,’ I think, is an understatement,” I responded.
“Whatever. We’re out, we might as well eat.”
So it was settled. We left the movie theatre and went to Wendy’s, where we had our midnight snack. Literally. We left the Wendy’s parking lot with disappointment in our hearts and exhaust in our eyes, and headed home.
It was merging from highway 84 to 6-84 that Nick noticed the low rumble underneath his car. He warned us of the discouraging noise, but we disregarded it and told him to continue on. Within a few seconds, the engine was making the type of noise you’d imagine if you played the drums on your kitchen’s pots and pans. The car then came to a halting stop in the middle of the exit ramp, but Nick managed to drive it a bit further, and pulled over on the side of the highway.
“Shit,” we all said simultaneously as we opened our doors and stepped out of the car. It was already close to 1 AM and we began to panic. I offered to call my dad, confess, and have him pick the three of us up, but Nick and Alex refused. We had thirty dollars among us and couldn’t call a car service to come pick us up, so virtually, we were screwed.
It was after sitting around and debating for over 45 minutes that Alex found the AAA card in his wallet. I dialed the number with a newfound hope in my heart, and was relieved when the operator answered in her friendly voice.
“Yes, we’re stranded here on the exit ramp connecting highways 84 and 6-84,” I told her in as calm a voice I could muster. “Our car has broken down; we don’t know what happened. The car won’t start again and we don’t have another ride home.”
She assured me that a tow truck would be on its way shortly and all our problems would be solved.
“Shortly,” however, took another hour and a half, and it wasn’t until almost 3:30 AM that the tow truck showed up. It pulled up slowly next to us and a large, scruffy man with raggedy jeans, dirty white tee, and lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth stepped out of the truck and walked towards us.
“Isn’t this how all horror movies start?” I whispered to Nick and Alex as the man approached us.
“Shut up. We just woke this guy up at three in the morning to come pick us up on the side of the road. He probably is ready to kill us.”
With all the charm we could muster, we explained to him our situation: we snuck out of our houses to see a movie which was sold out, and on the way home the car broke down. Our parents don’t know we’re gone, we have school tomorrow, and have virtually no money between us.
Pete, as it was, turned out to be a pretty nice guy. He told us he’d “take care of us good” and he’d get us home safely. Within no time he had Nick’s Geo on the flatbed of the truck and we were ready to leave for home.
“There’s only room for two of you in the cab of the truck. One of you’s gotta’ ride in the Geo,” he informed us right before leaving.
A quick game of twenty first finger determined that Alex would be the unlucky one to sit on the flat bed of the truck. He sluggishly climbed aboard while Nick and I took our seats in the cab of the truck, next to Pete. He started the truck and merged onto the highway, accelerating quickly; before we realized it we were going 85 miles per hour on a virtually empty highway. We directed him to Nick’s house and asked him to, as quietly as possible, unload the car off the flatbed into the cul de sac. Pete was an expert at his skill, silently taking the car off the truck, without any of the chains, bolts, or hooks clanking once. He even helped us put the car into neutral and push it into Nick’s driveway to where it was before he snuck out. We thanked him profusely and assured him that Alex and I could walk home, only about two miles from Nick’s house. Pete, however, would not hear it. He forced us into the cab and demanded that he drive us to at least our streets.
We pulled into GreenBriar at close to 4:30.
“We can take it from here, Pete.”
He took Alex’s AAA card, swiped it through his little machine, did some paper work, and gave us the check. Twenty three dollars. We gave him all of our thirty dollars and promised that if we had more, it would be his. He was truly a lifesaver. We stepped out of the truck, thanked Pete once again, and turned towards our homes.
“Well, that was quite a night,” I said.
“It’s going to be an even more interesting morning.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
With that, we turned away from each other and separated. The only thing still illuminating the night were the headlights of Pete’s tow truck, growing smaller and smaller as he drove slowly away.