Sincerely, Vantae

FRAT BROTHERS

"Ladies and gentlemen," the dean of Political Science spoke into the mic, "please welcome our last honoree of the night, Vantae Kim!"

There was a loud applause as I walked onto the small stage and accepted my award-a silver plaque with "Student of the Year," etched across its front.

Tonight was the private post-graduation ceremony for the top students in my major. For whatever reason, the officials thought it would be a great idea to have it several days after all the other departmental graduations. They also thought it was smart to have it on the roof of a famous hotel, so those of us who got bored could easily stare at the beach in the background and look like we were paying attention.

"Thank you all so much for coming out to honor the top twenty students in our department," the speaker continued. "We'll also have you know that each of the students we honored tonight has scored a 177 or higher out of a perfect 180 on the LSAT."

More applause.

I looked at my watch.

"Help yourself to plenty of the gourmet dessert before you leave, and please be sure to keep in contact with us as you start your exciting careers in the law!"

When another round of applause began, I stood up and headed toward the dessert bar-to say goodbye to the few classmates I actually talked to during undergrad.

"Well, if it isn't Vantae Kim..." A grey-haired man stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "What an interesting transition you made, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

"Superstar athlete to superstar student." He smiled, looking at my right leg.

"It's too bad you got injured. I think the team definitely would have gone places if you'd never gotten hurt. Supposedly..."

I clenched my fists, somewhat grateful that I was wearing a suit; the fabric was less than forgiving if I needed to punch someone.

The man didn't wait for a verbal response, he continued talking-confirming what I'm sure every sorry ass fanatic on this campus wondered from time to time. "You don't think you should've gone to another doctor for a second opinion? The doctor you went to wasn't the best one. The school even offered to send you to New York to get tested. They also offered you rehabilitation, didn't they?"

"They did."

"I mean, don't get me wrong. Making the Dean's List every semester and scoring a 177 or higher on the LSAT-"

"I scored a 180."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, that's impressive, son, but you could've gone places. Michael Jordan played in a pivotal playoff game with the flu. Hell, Willis Reed-one of the greatest centers of all time-played with a broken thigh bone. Broken. Plenty of players come back from the type of injury you had, so I just don't understand why you couldn't give it a try."

"Are you done now?" I kept my fists low.

"What did your parents think about your decision?" He wouldn't stop. "Did you ever talk to them about it? I'm sure your father would've never-"

"Fuck you." I spat. "You don't know shit about me, and I don't care whether you don't understand a decision I made regarding my own life. Live your own."

"I'm just saying..."

"You won't be saying much of anything else if you continue," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "Don't let this suit fool you."

He looked at me in utter shock.

"And for the record," I said, stepping back-giving myself some space, "Michael Jordan was a goddamn professional athlete when he played with the flu, I wasn't. Yes, Willis Reed was one of the greatest centers of all time, but he retired because he couldn't stop getting hurt, correct?"