Isaac

It's strange, returning to the house you grew up in. Gran lives in a drafty Victorian style house. When Polly and I moved in, I thought she lived in a mansion. Her house is only a couple thousand square feet, but compared to the tiny apartments we had stayed in with the chipped linoleum and holes in the walls and crackheads for neighbors, it may as well have been a mansion. Now, all these years later, everything seems a little smaller and a little more worn, though she still has all the same knick knacks I remember. It's no mansion, but it's home.

Gran lays out a spread worthy of a king for me—pulled pork, creamy garlic mashed potatoes and her famous gravy, crisp peas, collard greens tossed with bacon, steaming butter glazed rolls, a flaky slice of apple pie and a mug of warm cinnamon milk. I devour two platefuls under her watchful eye and rave over almost every bite. Her eyes light up in pleasure in a way that warms my heart.

Afterward I volunteer to do the dishes. Gran wants to help, but I insist she rest. Finally she agrees, and catches me up on all the latest gossip while my hands get wrinkled like prunes in the sudsy water (Gran doesn't believe in new fangled inventions like dishwashers). I try to pay attention, nodding politely, but my thoughts keep returning to Beth and our time at Harvard. If you would have told me when I moved to Lexington that I would someday apply for Harvard, I would have laughed at you, but for Beth, she knew she was going there her whole life. It didn't hurt that school came so easy to her.

If it weren't for Beth, I would have been way too intimidated to even attempt to get into Harvard, but she insisted I could make it in. After the night of the prom, when her aunt had banished me from Beth's house and I had come up with our grand plan to run away to college together, she was even more adamant that I at least try.

It still stings, the memories of prom night. The ballroom had been a surprise. Clearly Beth had been planning it for awhile, and it touched me that she had wanted to make the night so special. That moment when our lips came together was the sweetest moment of my life, until her aunt had to ruin it. It still upsets me to think about it, but it was what her aunt had done later that was unforgivable.

I frown as I peek at Gran, who is earnestly telling me about her book club. Maybe I should have returned home sooner. Gran seems so much more fragile and pale now, like the wind might break her if it gusts too hard. Her hair is completely gray, and the lines in her face have deepened. She walks slower these days in shuffling, hesitant steps. Gran has always encouraged me to follow my dreams and I know she has always understood why I had to leave, but I probably shouldn't have stayed away so long. I'd been so wrapped up in myself that I haven't taken care of her well enough. Gran doesn't have anyone but me.

I dry the last dish and put it away.

Gran gives me a kiss and turns in for the night, but I'm still too amped up to rest.

I open the screen door and walk out onto the porch. It is still warm beneath my bare feet. The door slams behind me. I sit down in the wooden swing, lean back and stretch my legs out. It creaks as I rock forward and back, relaxing me. All is quiet, except for the occasional bark of a dog or car that passes.

My thoughts drift back to Harvard.

I turned in my application late, and only because Beth insisted. I figured I might try to go to a state school and visit Beth on the occasional weekend, but she was having none of that. She wanted me to at least try.

The hardest part was the essay. I couldn't think of what to write. I knew that I needed to ace it with something that stood out. I also worried they would reject me if they found out about Polly. The double murders had been splashed across the nation's papers and the internet. It was likely someone might make the connection and poison the waters to my entry. I was toying with ways to change my name, but Beth disagreed.

Don't try to hide it, Beth had said. Be honest. Face your history head on in your essay. They are used to getting applications of overachievers with 4.0+ grades, student body presidents, kids who play three instruments, or speak multiple languages, kids who belong to the chess, speech, and drama clubs, and still find the time to play basketball and run track. The kids who are impossibly accomplished. These kids have had their opportunities handed to them on a silver platter, and you don't even want to try to compete with them, she had said. You will stand out because you are asking for a right at what the world refused you, and because you have a vision for what you want to do. So fight for it!

With Beth believing in me, I dared to try. I guarantee no other applicant submitted an essay like mine.

The is part of the essay Beth and I came up with:

My life was torn apart the day Polly was murdered.

Most people didn't feel much pity for the woman, considering she was screwing the mayor and his wife shot them both in a so-called crime of passion. It affected me so deeply because this is a true story, and Polly is my mother, though I have never been able to stomach calling her that. She is the woman who bore me, then used me to collect food stamps and beg for drinking money when it suited her. I was her "pity poor, abandoned me" card. My childhood was largely spent in my bedroom, trying to avoid the string of lousy lovers who were even less interested in parenting than her, other than the few that were infinitely more scary because they were interested in me for other reasons. Polly really knew how to attract 'em.

I don't write these things for you to feel sorry for me. I write them so you understand why you're not going to see a bunch of fancy accomplishments here. I've spent most of my life surviving, and there wasn't much time or money for extracurriculars. I probably have a lot of audacity to even fill out this application, to assume there might be a place for me among well groomed kids who are helluva lot more educated and accomplished than me.

But if there's one thing that's worth considering, it's that I am a survivor. I owe everything I am to two special ladies - my Gran and my girlfriend.

After Polly got divorced a second time, we came to live with my Gran. She took one look at my bruises, scars, and cigarette burns, and went into protective mode. Gran kept the losers my mother continued to bring into her life out of my mine, and for the first time, gave me a safe place to finish growing up. Most important, she insisted I get a full education.

Despite all that, or maybe because of all that, I worked hard at school. I have decent grades, which I largely owe to my girlfriend, though you can't assume she wrote a thing for me because she's too honest to do something like that. I do owe a lot to her though, because without her encouragement, I wouldn't even attempt to fill out this application.

Because these two ladies believe in me, it's given me the courage to ask you take a chance on me. I promise I will never take the opportunity for granted. I will wake up each day, grateful for another opportunity to do something good in the world. And once my company is created, I will personally take my products around the world and make sure they make it into the hands of those who need it the most.

Sometimes it's worth believing in the kids who have been in the darkest places, because if they've found the courage to escape, they can return to those dark places to inspire others to rescue themselves.

Thank you for your consideration.

I then proceeded to outline my ideas for Solere and a water bottle that refilled itself using kinetic energy. I laid out the reasons I needed a Harvard education to learn how to create my business, and pledged to them if the opportunity were given to me, I would do everything in my power to make my dream become a reality.

After Beth read the essay, she looked up with tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh, Isaac. I wish I could go back in time when you were a baby and take you out of Polly's arms and put you in the arms of a mother who could love you properly." I brushed away her tears and kissed her on the forehead.

"I wish I could do the same for you," I said, reminding her that poor parenting isn't necessarily linked to poverty or the amount of material comforts you have. I knew how hard losing her mother had been on her. We had both lost mothers - hers to death, mine to lust and addiction, and finally to death as well.

Then she marked red ink all over my essay, because I had thirty misspelled words, and my grammar "sucked bad," in her words. She looked adorable, chewing on her pen as she brutalized my essay. She suggested some new words which I accepted readily. Her vocabulary has always been far superior to mine. She also crossed out the part about owing the grades to her, but I ignored her and left that part in. Credit was going where it was due. My favorite compliment was she called the essay "gutsy." In the end, she was right. The final essay was a hundred times better than my pitiful first attempt.

I still remember the day I received the letter from Harvard. Beth had already received her letter of acceptance (no surprise there). Steeling myself for disappointment, I had taken a risk with that essay after all, I drove to her house. I had never been so nervous. I was sure it was probably one of those one size fits all rejection letters. Best of luck, but you're not good enough.

She was waiting for me at the end of the street and ran out to the car.

"Lemme see it," she said, reaching for the envelope.

I let go. She held it up to the light and I batted her hand down as she laughed.

"Not yet. You know you're supposed to wait. It's tradition."

She set the letter in her lap like a good little girl, but the devil was still in her eyes.

"So, who are you visiting this time?" I asked, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Laney is struggling with physics, again. I swear, that girl is so needy," she said as she flashed me that killer smile of hers. My heart slammed into my chest. She was so beautiful.

"What would we do if Laney weren't such an ignoramus?" I murmured, then she pulled my face to hers for a kiss on the lips this time, and for a moment, I forgot all about the letter. I was seeing fireworks.

"We better go. Someone might see," she said when the kiss ended. I pulled away from the curb, feeling guilty that Beth, who was typically so honest, had to lie about fake tutoring sessions to spend time with me. It still irked me that her father and sister had believed every suspicion that came from her aunt's mouth and had not only forbidden me coming to the home, but also her having anything to do with me.

All over one lousy kiss.

Alright, so there was nothing lousy about that kiss. It had been the most incredible kiss of my life, but the penalty had been steep. Thus the necessity of our clandestine meetings.

I can't lie, though, there was something kinda hot about my girlfriend being willing to risk everything to be with me.

We pulled into the same overlook where we had fled after the prom. It had become our spot, our little refuge from the world now that Beth's house was off limits.

Beth sat down on the grass and patted the ground next to her, but I shook my head. I was too nervous to sit. All I could do was pace nervously in front of her.

"All right, you pacer, you. Here's your letter," Beth said.

"You open it. I can't do it."

Beth slid her finger underneath the flap and pulled out the letter.

I bit my lip as she read through it silently, her face emotionless.

"Well? What does it say?" I finally burst out.

She looked up at me with stricken eyes.

"I am so sorry Isaac. I really thought you would get in."

My heart sank and I staggered back at the blow.

I felt sick.

Beth was going to Harvard.

I wasn't.

I was going to lose her.

I was beyond sick.

I was going to lose her.

I could still visit her.

Right?

Right.

There would be other guys that would want her.

Smarter guys.

Confident guys.

Guys who got in.

Guys with networks.

Guys with deep pockets.

Guys with everything going for them.

Her aunt's words rang in my ears.

Maybe I was really just the son of that woman.

A dark and ugly thing to be kept out,

To keep from contaminating the purebreds.

I had tried to brace myself for this likely outcome, but there was no way to fully prepare for the moment.

"Well, that sucks," I said.

My voice sounded muffled in my ears, like I was underwater and my ears were plugged.

Beth looked at me sadly for a moment, then handed me the letter.

I couldn't look at it. Tears were blinding my eyes. I dashed them away impatiently.

I glanced at Beth.

She was grinning, which made me angry.

Why was she grinning? Couldn't she see that this could kill our relationship? How could she act like it didn't matter?

I looked at the letter again.

All I see is one word.

Congratulations.

Wait.

What?

"Gotcha!" Beth cried, launching herself into my arms. "They accepted you. See?"

It was true.

I could barely believe it, but it was true.

I was going to Harvard!

Stunned, I hugged Beth back.

Sure there'd be other guys at Harvard, but I'd be there too.

There's no way one of them was going to steal my girl.

I turned on Beth, who was innocently reading through the letter like she hadn't just put me through a freaking heart attack.

"Ooh girl! You're going to pay for that!" I growled.

I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. She kicked and protested and giggled as I carried her over to soft patch of grass and tickled her mercilessly until she begged me to stop.

I can't help but smile at that memory. The girl got me pretty good.

As I think about our last conversation, though, my smiles fades.

The memories that follow are almost too painful to recall.

_______________

Thanks for reading this chapter! Please click the star if you enjoyed it.

So, I have a bit of personal history thrown into this chapter. Years ago, my husband was applying for a scholarship. It had demanding requirements, including a near perfect GPA, letters of recommendation, and an essay. If he got it, it would pay full tuition, books and even some living expenses. Being a couple of poor college students surviving off Ramen Noodles and Hamburger Helper, it would be a huge relief if he got it. He worked so hard preparing the scholarship. When the letter arrived from the scholarship committee, my husband was too nervous to open the letter, so he asked me to do it. I couldn't resist; I was just as naughty as Beth and told him he didn't get it. He was only disappointed for a moment before I spoiled everything by laughing and he figured it out. I believe his reaction was much like Isaac's! Fun memories. :)

Dedication goes out to a lovely romance writer and friend here on Wattpad Liz Madrid or MorrighansMuse. I first "met" her on the pages of "Finding Sam," a romance about an artist who has a second chance at love. I've since read "Collateral Attraction" and am so looking forward to reading more of her work. She's awesome! The best part? You can buy her books in ebook and paperback on Amazon, so no waiting :)