Vandalized.
March 4th. 9:00 a.m. Portland State University Cafeteria.
Coffee in hand, phone vibrating in pocket: a (208) area code on the screen. What's this call mean? I fumble with my coffee, head for a counter, and compose myself enough to sound professional.
Hello? I say.
Hello. He says, We've reviewed your application and were very impressed with the manner in which you handled your prose. We would like to offer you a position in our MFA program at the University of Idaho.
Composure is most necessary in this moment, not hopping around like some dingbat spilling coffee all over the floor and my shirt before I head off to poetry class. Oh my god! I mouth without my voice. Well Thank you! I verbalize.
The program's competitive. The top three selections have been offered at TA ship. If one of them decides to choose another school, I am right behind them in line. I am not sure of the likelihood that someone would turn down at Teaching Assistantship but, you never know. You never know what could happen in just a moment.
So this is it folks. This is the turning point for me. I will be relocating to a place where the summer is sunny and the winter is cold as fuck: Moscow, Idaho. My program is 2-3 years in length and when I am finished, I'll hold an MFA in Creative Nonfiction and I'll be prepared to teach writing.
And isn't it appropriate that the school mascot is The Vandal?
To those of you who have joined me in my writing classes, been enthusiastic about my endeavors, encouraged me to follow my dreams - Thank you. You are the reason why I've continued my journey.
And to Grandpa Rice, otherwise known as "Pops" - this is for you.
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