The Last Wild Flower

03| Growing rosebuds

I've never taken a shower as fast as today, I bet I broke dad's record of seven minutes. To be fair, I had an incentive.

Westbury university's financial aid office begins taking calls at eight in the morning, and I made sure to be the first person to call.

However, they still managed to put me on hold. After forty minutes of ridiculous elevator music, I decided to risk it and take a shower, while my phone balanced on top of a shampoo bottle in the tub. Just as I began to wash my face, the receptionist's voice broke through the continuous  jingle.

I found myself trying to clear soap from my eyes with one hand, while the other held the phone far away to avoid the shower water, but close enough that I could be heard.

Miss Louis, it seems to be that Mr. Morrison, the director of WU's financial aid department, has taken a vacation.

Oh, isn't there a way to contact him for emergencies like these?

We have attempted to reach him in Greece, but there is no direct connection at the moment. We will call you back if the situation changes okay?

Okay, that sounds good.

I extend my arm out, and place the phone on a dry towel.

In reality, nothing about my situation was what I'd call "good."  I couldn't sleep after reading the letter last night, and kept tossing in bed for hours.

It didn't make sense. I'd followed every rule in school; I got straight-A's through senior year, did all the extra credit, never got a detention, and filled up my afternoons with extracurriculars. I even joined the cross country team, for godsake!

I was the ideal candidate for the Prodigy scholarship, and had been promised a full ride as compensation for my hardwork.

So then, why was I here? Why did it feel like my entire future was hanging from a thin balancing rope, and one wrong step would send it all crashing down?

This was too much to think about without sleep, so I got dressed and headed for the coffee pot downstairs.

In the kitchen, I find mom sitting down with a mug and her laptop in front of her. The light seeping from the kitchen windows illuminates the gray counters and casts a spotlight over the pile of dirty dishes.

I turn my eyes away from the clutter, and walk toward the coffee pot instead. After brewing, I pour a cup for myself and add a splash of milk. I lean against the breakfast table, across from were my mother sits.

I've always thought she looks her best in the mornings, with her natural skin glowing and chestnut hair down to her collarbone. It's a reminder that she's still young, only thirty-eight.

She meets my gaze, and smiles a little. "Morning Charlie, how was your first night back home?"

"Morning mom, I slept like a baby," I lie between sips of my coffee.

She nods. "Any plans for the summer? Are you going anywhere with your friends?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure yet."

"Just remember to make the best of it now, because you'll be back in the classroom before you know it." She tells me, in her motherly way.

Oh, let's hope you're right, I think.

There is a moment of silence after, when I consider telling her about the letter. I open my mouth, then close it so fast that my teeth rattle.

When I was in seventh grade, the teacher of an advanced biology program denied me access to the class, because I didn't live in the school area code. I negotiated a fair exchange, by voluteering to help serve food in their lunchroom, after one of the lunchladies quit because of a food fight.