I Was Wrong About Everything

I Was Wrong About Everything

Lunch was no longer a priority. There was no time to waste on eating. I was running from one club meeting to another. How? I did not know, but I had to make my presence known everywhere. That is how I had built up my college profile, joining the 32 clubs my school offers and holding leadership positions in 7 of them. I made it back home like every other day. I walked inside, crossing the kitchen to get to my room, but I saw my parents. “Hi Benita, it turns out that Riverdale acceptances came out early,” my Mom said, “they came out today,” my Dad added. “Great, I am going to go upstairs and open it alone,” I responded.

I walked up to my room alone, this moment feeling surreal. I had been preparing for this moment ever since I knew what Riverdale University was, which was a long long time ago. Every hour I spent studying alone, every meal I skipped, every club meeting I attended, every hangout I missed, all for this moment. I sat on my bed and opened up my computer. The email was sitting in my inbox in bright white. I clicked on it. Before I even began to read I noticed there was no confetti. How could this be? We regret informing you… my eyes prickled with tears. I could not see the rest of it. Not that it mattered. I set my computer next to me on the bed and got up. I walked a few steps forward then laid down on the cold hardwood floor and sulked.

My parents’ worried faces flashed in front of me as I woke up, their expressions tense and heavy, like they were carrying something I couldn’t quite see but could definitely feel. They looked, well, worried in a way that made my stomach twist before I was even fully awake. The next few days went by in a blur, each moment blending into the next without any clarity. Everyone that had known me—friends, classmates, even distant acquaintances—knew how much I wanted to get into Riverdale. Needed to get into Riverdale. It wasn’t just a goal; it was the only path I had ever allowed myself to imagine.

For the next few days, I began avoiding everyone, which was not super difficult as I had already chucked my social life out the window long before this. Still, it became more intentional, more desperate. I feared that if I ran into someone I knew, they would ask the question I was not ready to answer. Did you get in? What happened? And I wouldn’t know what to say, or worse, I’d have to say it out loud and make it real.

I stopped going out as much as possible, which was not much to begin with. School had become my escape from home, and home my escape from school, a constant back-and-forth that I could not catch a break from. I stopped paying attention in class, the words of teachers fading away. What was the point anyways? My school days slurred together as I fell in and out of slumber, barely present, barely aware. I felt almost as if I was intoxicated, not by anything real, but by exhaustion, anxiety, and disappointment.

No notes, no pencil, no calculator. Math was too much work, unnecessary work. I put my head down and drifted off into a deep sleep, my new routine. As sleep began to overcome me, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I groaned with annoyance before even looking up. My teacher was standing over my desk. “Benita, your counselor is calling you to the office, please take your stuff and go,” he said, as he handed me the pass.

I took the pass from his hands with uncertainty. What had I done, I had never been called into the office before, let alone being told to take my bags with me. I picked up my backpack and walked into the hallway. I walked zombie-like while examining the pass for any clues. All I could find was my name and leave immediately written on it. It was still the beginning of class. This must be serious. Normally students are not told to leave immediately or take their bags with them. But this was not normal. What was not normal was me being called into the office for the first time in my life. What was not normal was my counselor asking to see me immediately. What was not normal was getting rejected from Riverdale University.

Before I even stepped into the room the questions began. “Benita, is everything alright? Many of your teachers have alerted me that you have been sleeping in class and not doing the homework,” she said from behind a huge computer monitor. No eye contact no nothing. “Just senioritis, I will do better,” I responded dryly. “Alright, here is a slip back to class,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. Great, the school can not do anything.

I walked out of the office, the slip crumpling slightly in my hand. I used to know exactly where I was going next. Which meeting, which class, which task would get me closer. Closer to Riverdale. Now, for the first time in a long time, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Maybe Riverdale was never the most important thing in my life. Maybe I was. As I walked back to class I noticed a sign for the local Community College, the deadline quickly approaching.

2 years later…

Hello there, my name is Benita Sanchez, I am a sophomore at UNC Community College. In the two years I was here I discovered my true passion, film and television. I have completed my general education and now have the option to transfer from here. I was able to experience true college life and learn so much here, but we do not have great opportunities for my interest. I pulled out my filled out transfer sheet. I had a check next to Standalone University, Riverdale hiding right below it. I may have put a check next to Standalone University but I do not stand on that decision as my sole purpose of life.