M O M E N T S

# 1

^ just because I don't know

Corin Phillips

I sat in a four person booth with just me and my thoughts at a local diner.

My right hand held letters of admission to local and out of state colleges offering me full ride scholarships. And my left hand was busy tapping the table, playing chords, as if it was a piano.

But I wasn't happy.

I quit tapping and grabbed the papers with two hands now. Today was my last day to decide which of these schools I was going to attend this fall. There were four colleges that stood out at me, but none of them would ever fill in the urning I had for Mountain View School of the Arts.

Or in short: MVSA

I had been dreaming about MVSA since I was a little girl in second grade who knew pigtails to be the coolest hairstyle. The college always seemed like a heaven to me. A place where I could study and thrive in what I loved the most.

Piano.

I started piano when I was in kindergarten. At first I had no patience for the art, and my mom struggled to keep me practicing for thirty minutes a time. I wanted to play with my Polly Pockets, not some musical instrument. But about three months into fighting mom everyday, I gave in and actually practiced on my own. And after about a year, I fell in love with it.

I don't think that six year old me understood what falling in love with something could mean, but I knew that I had a passion for piano whenever my hands played the keys, and a beautiful sound came from within.

As my senior year in high school came, I sent out videos of my playing to multiple colleges. But I sent many more to MVSA.

Letters of acceptance came from each school I applied to, and it brightened my spirits of being accepted into MVSA as well.

But all good things do come to an end.

By the end of my senior year with one week of school left, I hadn't received a letter from my dream school. And that wasn't a good thing.

Some schools send acceptance letters during the summer, but I figured MVSA would be on top of their freshman students, and send paperwork immediately.

That was when I lost hope.

"Dearie? You look awfully tired. Can I pour you s'more coffee?" Darla, the waitress around this diner asked with her hand on her hip, looking down on me with pity. I nodded and she warmed my cup.

"Thanks." I said softly as she walked away with a slight smile. I took a small sip of the drink, and it warmed my throat, causing me to forget my thoughts for a moment. To some people, black coffee was death for them, but I had no problem towards it. I'm pretty sure I was the only high schooler in this small town who drank it straight from the pot.

The bell on the door rang, telling that someone had arrived. I looked up and someone had arrived.

"Harry?" I half asked, half stated. He said hello to Darla, and made his way over to sit by me.

"Scoot over." He said, as if there wasn't another seat right in front of me. But I did as he asked, (rolling my eyes of course) and slid over.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Atlanta for another week."

Harry shook his head which caused his brown, dark curls to shake. "I couldn't let my favorite girl spend her last week of summer without me, could I? What kind of best friend is that?"