That day, I decided to catch the bus. Since the unsanctioned road trip to Canada, my driving priviledges had been revoked. Anxious, crabby, distracted, I made my series of transfers unconsciously, as if the metro route map had been drafted onto my palm. After forty minutes of shuttling underground, I disembarked in front of the Downtown Library.

Seated before the computer at last, I can't say what prompted me to drag my mouse, with uncanny arrogance, to the email (and then the link, and then the little box where you type in your name and social security number). After I clicked, the computer paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. Suddenly, on the dim screen, a grinning bulldog j-peg appeared and began sneering at me, surrounded by the words "Congratulations" and "Welcome," illuminated and flashing like the storefront of a Parisian brothel.

At school the next day, I was greeted with muted smiles. Elizabeth hadn't been admitted.

(the admit) : exercise one in memoir writing