In the Mail...

"Goodnight Carter, goodnight Lindsey," I yelled to my two good friends as they drove away, having just dropped me off at the entrance of my dormitory. Once inside the beautiful stone building, I ambled towards my room to enjoy a peaceful evening with no particular plans. I opened the door to my room, and I picked up my phone I had forgotten to take with me this evening.

Nine missed calls. Either someone had died or my parents had won the lottery.

I called Sharon, my girlfriend, back first to see what she needed.
"Hi Kyle...Have you called your parents yet?!"
"Did my acceptance come in the mail," I asked instinctively.
We said our goodbyes, and I called my mom.

"Hello," she said. "Where are you," she pleaded.
After our conversation it turned out that my parents had driven from Rogers to Fayetteville (about 30 miles) to come and see me; they were sitting in their car right outside my dormitory.

I scrambled downstairs to my parents who had searched every cranny of the university to find me. They had searched all four stories of the library, my dorm, the three-story music building, and chased down some other student at Wilson Park that evidently looked like me.

I hopped in their Chrysler and we sped to Braum's. When we got in line at the ice cream store, you would have thought we had burst into a Halloween Party, except during the middle of February. I got in line between a Ninja Turtle and a Princess. A priest, Obama, and a hideous troll licked their ice cream cones at one table. Every other table was inhabited by some entity possible only from the imaginations of Hollywood and the quality masks and paints of fine Chinese sweatshop craftsmen.

I was handed my ice cream, and after dodging Zorro and Fonzi we sat at a table. We licked our succulent ice cream and talked about weeks of politics that had gone by since we had lasted met. (The inauguration of Barack Obama had happened only two days earlier...the big hat...Yo Yo Ma's "arm-syncing"...John Roberts). Finally my mom slipped out the unopened manilla envelope and handed it to me.

"It would be a real bummer if you drove all this way to hand me a denial letter," I joked.

I ripped into the letter, and it read:

"Congratulations on being accepted to the University of Arkansas School of Medicine..."

Need I go on? I was accepted to medical school surrounded by a clown and the grim reaper. I think it will be an excellent four years.