The Harmony of Shall and Will

I sit by the phone and wait for it to ring. I have never done this before. Who rings me anyway? My friends text or snap me. My parents know it is worthless to call me because I will not answer even if they call me five times in a row. If they text, I will respond immediately. Now I am at the mercy of my cell phone’s ring tone to find out whether or not I received a full scholarship to the University five days before I am due on campus. 

I had given up hope of going to the University. Even with financial aid and two small scholarships and a GoFundMe page promoted by my grandma at church and her ladies’ bunco gatherings, I was still too many thousands of dollars short to attend a school that wanted me, but could not afford my overdrawn bank account. I talked with the University’s financial advisor about going to school and working on campus, but my parents decided I should focus only on school even if it meant not going to the University that I had talked about since I was six. I have three sweatshirts with their red and gold mascot square center. Found them at thrift stores.

The University liked me. I talked with the department heads about my major and research projects. “What a fine addition you would be to our academic roster.” I believed their sincerity in wanting me as a student. But because too many students’ families were more poverty-stricken than my family, I fell between the cracks of middle-income earners and public assistance recipients. “It’s out of the scope of our authority,” the declination letter read.

A private college advisor told my parents to divorce to improve my chances for debt-forgiven grants and low-interest loans. How can someone tell a couple married in the Catholic church and who religiously received ashes for Lent to divorce for money? Before I thought about the advisor’s request deeply, I had tried to persuade them to see if a trial separation would fulfill the requirement. “What shall happen will happen.” My mother’s answer for everything.

I check my phone to make sure I have the ringer turned on. Since I don’t like the dings my incoming notices make, my phone rarely make noise except to play music or watch a video that is funny to me and stupid to my parents. 

I succumbed to going to a local college in June. Registered for the classes; bought the books. And because the cost fell under my loan stipend, bought me, my sister, and my mom and dad spirit wear to proclaim I would be furthering my education beyond high school. I bought it to have something to wear during the college breaks when my friends would be wearing the logos from their big schools with massive books stores and quads, sororities and football games.

My parents and I agreed that local school was better than no school at all. My mother liked the idea of me still participating in Sunday dinners and family campfires. She knows that if I get this second-chance scholarship, I will go to the University. I told her this with conviction and shaking knees. 

My family has not lived our summer as if I were leaving for another state, a nine-hour car ride away from home. We let the strain of finances and my sister’s trouble-making skills serve as excuses for missed meals and game nights with each of us individually spending evenings isolated in one of the seven rooms in the house. If they had known I would be leaving for the University, my dad would have belted my sister once or twice and grounded her from her phone. Her freshman ass in mandatory family time. 

My mom would have started praying on the rosary after my graduation party and prayed extra every night before I left and prayed it even more after I left. The beads would show wear from her pressed rubbings. Her visits to confession this summer would have been slashed because she would have reconciled any misunderstandings between the four of us before I left. My dad would have asked his boss if we could borrow his pontoon boat for one last family outing before I became an academic princess as he calls me. I would have prepared mentally for my departure.

I call the bursar’s office when the phone fails to ring by two. The receptionist tells me the committee is still in session and to remember “unique circumstances equal a longer time to make decisions.” The University called me two weeks ago with the news that a full ride recipient had died suddenly and I had made the short list of potential recipients; a full scholarship was a serious option. And to sit tight for an answer. The University told four other unsuspecting candidates the same story. 

My mom has texted me twice to see if I have heard whether I am leaving for a state unknown to her or whether I will be around next weekend to help with the grocery shopping. I know the school is not intentionally trying to confuse my emotions. I had to say yes when they asked me if I wanted to be considered again. And my parents encouraged me to say yes. My head fully committed to the yes and my heart committed to fear. Fear of not being prepared to leave my family. Fear that my mom would overcook when I was gone. Fear that only one of my parents would be able to drop me off at the University. Fear that complacency of my current schooling situation will inhibit my ability to adapt and succeed on a large campus. Fear that I had no idea of where I would live or who might be my roommate. Fear that I won’t have enough tampons or deodorant and won’t have the money to stock up. 

My phone pings not rings. Texts from others who want to know my college fate. Their momentary distraction interrupts the list of possible purchases I will need to make if I am leaving. I bought my back to school supplies in July, when they first came out. I like my pencil case and backpack to coordinate and high-quality lead pencils and smudge-proof pens. I would have started shopping in June for dorm essentials if I had known I would travel to the University. Who wants the red spotted comforter because it is the only one remaining in twin XL?

My mom returns from work and sees me holding my head. While I know I don’t understand the weight of the adult world, I believe my teen weight has to at least equal the force of gravity times two.

“And so, are you going or staying?” she asks like I am holding something back from her.

I can’t say a word. If I cry, she will assume I did not get the scholarship. If I smile, she will think I did. How do you communicate an entanglement of emotions when you are not sure how the other person will react one way or another? Especially when the person is the person who loves you the most and who has little emotional distance between happy and sad.

“I don’t know yet.” I could give just four words.

“Let me handle this.” She grabs the paperwork next to the phone and goes in her bedroom. She rarely involves herself in solutions to my problems. She is persistent and determined, but leaves my business to me to handle. 

“The world doesn’t give you a guide every time you have a problem,” she tells me on a regular basis. She must be done with me waiting for instructions.

I hear her ask to be transferred and then a quiet conversation, her voice like she is ordering a pizza for dinner while my dad is asleep on the couch. I can’t hear the words. I wonder if she is sobbing. My mom has the skill to react loud and let her emotions pour or remain reserved and deliver bad news.

The pings and dings continue on my phone. I refuse to respond until I have the answer.

“Why are you not responding to your phone?” my mom asks leaving her bedroom with a deadpan stare.

I hang my head. I am staying.

“Your RA at the University has been texting you. She wants to talk to you tonight and introduce you to your roommate.”

My RA? My roommate?

“The school decided to give all five finalists full scholarships. The school felt it was the fair thing to do.”

I feel the corners of my mouth round upwards.

“And a special benefactor will provide funds for your school necessities.”

A special benefactor? “What?”

“A couple who connected with your application essay wanted to provide something extra.” She pauses. “In memory of their daughter.”

She doesn’t need to tell me more. I know the couple has to be the parents of the girl who originally earned the scholarship. I am blessed. Blessed beyond what I deserve.

My mother brings her most used rosary to me and places my hand on the first bead of the decade. I close my eyes and recite the Hail Mary in unison with her. My heart swells with gratitude and sadness. Tears mill under my closed eye lids.

“What shall happen will happen.” My mother kisses my cheek and wraps her arm around my shoulders.