“Dear Miss Foster, after reviewing your application, we would like to set up a phone interview with you as the next step in the application process.” I read the email out loud, letting the words echo in the silence of the early morning. My grin extended from cheek to cheek. I pulled up the comforter of my bed to my chin in order to muffle my happy shrieks. The first step in my plan was finally underway.
I furiously typed a reply at an unholy hour of the night. It was almost three in the morning, and the sun was just making its appearance on the horizon, when I finally finished the email. I typed and retyped my email for about three hours. Hopefully, Vassar University didn’t look at time stamps on emails. An applicant should not already be showing bad habits of insomnia. In the email, I replied with my earliest available—Monday at 4:00 p.m. I had hoped that didn’t sound too eager, as it was only two days away.
After rewriting the email four times, I hit send. My tired eyes weighed heavily as sleep pulled them closed. I laid down for what would only be a four-hour nap. Leaning over my bed, I pulled out the journal that I kept hidden. I flipped to the page that had the list titled “After Gap Year,” and checked off the first box: “Get into to Vassar University.” I wasn’t accepted yet, but I got a phone interview which was close enough. Step one of my five-year plan was complete.
The four-hour nap felt as if it were two minutes when the alarm buzzed in my ear. My groggy eyes snapped open to see the bright red numbers that read 7:45 a.m. I heaved myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom; I was supposed to wake up forty-five minutes ago. I dashed through my morning routine with such speed it would put the Flash to shame. I piled my blond locks into a bun and threw on whatever clothes I could find. Downstairs, I found my mom making scrambled eggs as “Walking on Sunshine” played on the radio.
“Morning!” I shouted over the music.
“Morning Ri!” Mom. She was dressed and ready for the day, as if she had been awake for hours, which she probably had. I grabbed a toast from the counter and shoved it in my mouth, running for my shoes by the door. I hopped around the kitchen putting on each shoe and eating bits of whatever breakfast foods were on the counter.
Mom looked flustered. “Would you sit down a minute and eat your food the right way, and not like an animal.”
“I can’t. I took an extra shift today and I’m already late.” I swallowed the hunk of toast in my mouth.
“What time will you be home?” Mom asked. Concern painted her face.
“I’m working open to close today.”
“What? You just worked that shift yesterday!” She put her hands on her hips.
“It’s fine. Oh, by the way I got a phone interview with Vassar on Monday! Well, I hope it’s Monday, but they haven’t confirmed yet.” A grin emerged on my face. Mom’s eyes went wide and a small smile began to appear.
“That’s great sweetheart.” She paused for a moment. “But we talked about this. Vassar is really expensive and I’m not sure we can afford that—”
“Yes, I know. But I’ve been working a lot, and have a lot of savings. And my grades from high school are pretty good. There are probably plenty of scholarships I could get and there’s the work program,” I babbled. I knew money was tight, but that was all accounted for. I had a plan.
“Yes but, Ri—” Mom sighed.
“Can we talk about this later? I’m gonna be late. Bye, love you!” I kissed her on the cheek and ran out the door. My future was waiting to be paid for.
Some people enjoyed going to their jobs, but since I was taking a gap year, those enjoyable jobs people always talked about were not offered to me. I hadn’t had the pleasure of getting one of those enjoyable jobs. Working retail was my purgatory before I could obtain the heavenly occupation that could only come with a college degree. Someday, I would be a writer living in New York City, but until then I had to work at our local Macy’s. As I organized the shoes of the clearance section, I had to remind myself that, with this interview, I was practically on my way to that New York studio apartment.
When my lunch hour finally rolled around, I took my break in my car. I checked my email to see if I had any unread emails. After scrolling through the long list of emails, I finally found one where the address line read Shannon Johnson—my enrollment advisor. I held my breath and read through the email. My interview was set up for Monday at 4:00 p.m. I sighed with relief. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to wait too long. I scrunched my eyes closed. “Thank you, God!”
It was then time to begin prepping. I read everything I could find on Vassar University, something I had done before, but now I had a purpose—I needed to know everything about this school.
As Monday rolled around, the panic set in. I planted myself in front of my vanity mirror, practicing my interview. It was 3:45 p.m. The biggest interview of my life thus far was going to happen in fifteen minutes. I had practiced religiously every day since I got the confirmation email. I had all of my answers memorized to whatever questions they might ask. What I planned to do at Vassar, why I wanted to go to their school, how I would contribute to their school. I was set. I had even practiced how I would answer the phone.
“Hey,” I said looking in the mirror. No, not professional enough. I thought. “Hi.” Better but still a bit casual. I threw on a blazer that was a little too large for my twig-like frame. People told me that if you dressed the part you would act the part; I had also hoped that applied to phone interviews where they couldn’t see you. I didn’t know if that worked for phone interviews, but I was willing to try anything at that point. I cleared my throat. “Good afternoon.” My voice had lowered to a range I never knew it could reach. “Ugh!” I threw myself onto my bed. Deep breaths Ri, you’ll do fine. You’ve prepared for this, I reminded myself. Sometimes, talking to yourself helps keep the mind sane.
Before I knew it, my phone buzzed on my night stand. I jumped up and grabbed it. Lord, please let this go well, I prayed.
“Hello?” I answered, thankfully without a bad British accent.
“Hello Riley Foster?”
“Yes, this is she.” Oh! that’s good, professional, and not unnatural, I thought.
“Hello this is Shannon Johnson, your enrollment advisor. Thank you for being able to talk with me. I just have a few questions regarding your application.”
“Yes of course,” I replied, feigning a casual tone as my hand was twirled my hair into knots.
“Well, first let’s begin with some basic questions. Why do you want to join Vassar?” From the sound of the interviewer’s voice, I could picture her: perfectly curled hair, pencil skirt with matching blazer, and statement jewelry all together in perfect color coordination.
I took a deep breath. “Well, Vassar is a great school that really prepares their students for success,” I replied. So far so good. I gave myself a mental high five.
The interviewer continued asking me a series of basic college questions to which I answered flawlessly. She then started asking the obscure personality questions, which is where it started going down-hill. She asked me things like: What do I like about New York? Why did I want to live there? What have I learned recently that would benefit me in life? Each of my answers kept getting worse. “New York has a nice…atmosphere? I love the… uh… Pizza? Recently, when I got the wrong order at Starbucks I learned that it’s okay to try new things.” I thought I wanted the world to swallow me up then, but then it got even worse.
“Alright.” Ms. Johnson was trying to sound as objective and calm as possible, but I could tell she was neither of those things. “So last question, who is your favorite author and what do you like most about his or her writing?”
I was about to answer when my mind went blank. My favorite author? What’s an author? Did I even read? I began to panic. Just pick any author.
“Well…I’d have to say my favorite author is … Bill Watterson?” I blurted, staring at my childhood comics collecting dust on the bottom of my bookshelf.
“Bill Watterson…you mean the author of Calvin and Hobbs?” She asked. Ugh, why did you have to know who that is, I thought.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yup, that’s the one!” My pride melted like a snowman in summer.
“And what do you like most about his uh, writing style?” She asked, I could hear the distaste dripping from her lips.
“Well…” I racked my brain for any possible title, but came up with nothing and decided to do what one should never do in an interview—ramble. “I just love how he is able to make the characters so relatable to both adults and children. It’s quite important in this day-in-age that we make literature enjoyable for adults as well as children, because the adults are the ones reading them. Which is exactly what Bill Watterson did. I also think that children’s stories need to have a lesson and—”
“Oh, Oh! I think that’s enough. A very…uh thoughtful answer, really.” She was just mocking me at this point. “Well that’s all the questions I have for you today. Thank you for your time,” she said.
I quickly regretted every word that I had ever uttered. “Thank you very much, have a wonderful day,” I replied, trying to regain what pride I could. Soon I was met with the silence of a dead telephone line, and all my hopes and dreams crushed before me.
Later that evening, I consoled myself with the comfort that only Rocky Road ice cream could give. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. I was too embarrassed. Instead, I sat in my room with my ice cream and sad movies playing on my laptop.
A new day dawned, and yet I had not moved from my spot on my bed from the day before. I opened up my email to find a message that I had never wanted to see. We regret to inform you, that due to certain factors… I didn’t need to read the rest to see that the Vassar University door of my life was now closed. It felt as if all that I had worked for this year was wasted. I had spent a year after high school working, volunteering, and doing any other activity that might boost my application and resume. I had planned for one school, one career, and one life all building off of each other. At that moment, I was standing on top of a tower I had built for myself as it was crumbling beneath me. I had prepped for everything except failure, and now I was staring it straight in the face.
In the middle of the night, I had migrated from my bedroom to the living room couch. I sat with a bag of chips—having already finished my ice cream—watching any tear-jerker movie I could find. Because, as humans, it only logical that when you’re sad you make yourself even more sad. As the clock neared bed time, Mom appeared at the entryway to the living room. She was dressed in her bathrobe with her hair in a knot on her head. Her big, tired eyes stared at me and waited to be acknowledged. When I paid her no attention, she walked over and plopped herself down beside me on the couch.
“So, your interview didn’t go so well huh?” she asked.
“How’d you know?” I said, shoving a handful of crumbs in my mouth.
“Honey, you’ve practically cleaned out my pantry.” She smiled. “Also Dad said he heard you ranting about adults reading Calvin and Hobbs when he got home from work yesterday.”
I slouched deeper into the couch, wishing the world would swallow me up for the second time today.
Mom wrapped her arms around me in one of her comforting yet suffocating hugs. “There are other colleges, Ri.”
“I know that, but none of those colleges were in my plan,” I replied.
“Sometimes our plans aren’t God’s plans.”
“Well can His plan become mine? Because I just spent a year of my life working towards my plan.” I folded my arms, and cast a scowl towards the television. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that what felt like a year of hard work was wasted on a college that probably didn’t even care about extracurricular activities.
I felt my mom’s arm tighten around me. “No, because if He catered to whatever we wanted then He wouldn’t be God.” Mom sighed. “Ri, God’s plan for you is so much more than just where you go to college. You just have to be willing to let go of what you want, and see what He has for you.” She rose from the couch. I knew she was right, and it annoyed me. She kissed me on the head. “Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight, I love you, Riley.”
I did not take Mom’s advice to get some rest. Late night television played like white noise as I replayed the events of the last two days. I kept looking at my computer on the coffee table. The light of the TV glared off the shiny silver finish of my laptop. I sat up on the couch and grabbed the device.
Alright God, which door do you want to open? I thought.
I began typing, searching everything from tuition rates to different majors. Maybe everything that I had planned to a tee wasn’t what I should do in the first place. I didn’t have anything specific I was looking for; I didn’t know what I wanted. Instead, I was just trying to find what God wanted. It was as if I stood in a hallway of closed doors and waited for God to open one, showing me where to go next. I looked at thousands of pictures of different campuses, trying to get myself excited for new possibilities.
I didn’t know where I would end up, but perhaps if I took a step back from planning, God would take me a step forward.
