The Awaited Letter

Today's prompt: "Share a high school memory that you will never forget."

Since I’m still in high school, it’s hard to say what memories will be remembered forever (hopefully all of them, I don’t like the idea of forgetting things!) And although there are several moments that I will unfortunately never forget, mostly involving sports, I can think of one morning that I hope to remember forever because it was the day that I could call myself a “real” writer. I know this didn't happen in a school environment, but since I'm homeschooled, my whole life is school!

The morning is fresh and brand new, and Dad comes in with the mail. I’m in the kitchen when he hands me a letter; it’s from that magazine I had submitted my short story to. This was my first time of trying to get my work published in a real print magazine. It had already been six months, and as I marked them off on my calendar, and the time reached closer to the maximum they had given for waiting time, I tried my best to brace myself for the rejection. Now, I’m an optimist… most of the time, but I also believe that you’ve got to face the truth, just optimistically. So the last few weeks, when I would remember that it could be coming any day now, I would tell myself and my family “I can’t wait to get my rejection letter!” So here I am, in our kitchen, surrounded by white; white floors, white ceiling, white cabinet doors; with the window open letting in a breeze from outside, and I look at the thick envelope in my hands. I don’t open it right away, I wait, gathering courage and trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from fluttering. Dad stands at our white electric stove top and goes through the rest of the mail. Mom’s sitting at the dining room table, waiting as well. Finally I open it, but ever so carefully, and despite my efforts, the butterflies still dance. One can’t help but hope, can’t they? My manuscript is inside, along with a brief letter. They thank me for my submission. Then I see the words “we regret...” You know instantly with those words that it’s a rejection letter. For a moment everything inside of me stops; my heart, my butterflies, my breathing. My spirit, it flutters to the ground like a dead leaf once the wind has stopped blowing. Mom asks me what it says, I smile weak “They didn’t publish it, I knew they wouldn’t.” I had been preparing myself for this, I knew it was coming. Then in another instant excitement surges through my body and wells up in my chest; I smile wide, giddy, and dance around the room in my stocking feet. My words laugh with happiness “I’ve got my first rejection letter! I’ve got my first rejection letter; now I’m a real writer!” Mom and Dad just look at me and smile; they already know that I’m crazy.

And so I was able to write that day;

Failed/rejected work: 1

Accepted/noticed work: 0

Times I’ve given up: 0

And I’ll keep on going, even if it’s 100 to none.