This is the 55th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
All she wanted was the answer, but she had no idea how much she would hate it.
“No” was the short of it. “Dear Vanessa, we regret to inform you…” was the long of it.
Vanessa sat in the center of her bed, staring at the email. She read the opening lines again and again, but they never changed. With seven sentences, they’d derailed her life. There’d be no Boston Symphony Orchestra if there was no Berklee. What would she do now? Become a realtor, marry some guy from her history class, pop out four kids, and stay in Douglas forever? Live on autopilot until the sweet release of retirement let her pick up a violin again?
The very idea of it pulled tears from her eyes. She slammed her laptop closed, then winced. Inhaling through gritted teeth, she peeked at the screen—still intact.
She opened her laptop and stared at the email again. We regret to inform you…
Her parents had considered her foolish for just applying to the one school. They hadn’t told her that, of course, but she’d seen it in their eyes. Oh, just the one school? She didn’t know how to tell them, so she clicked the “forward” button and typed their email addresses.
Send.
She reached for her violin case.
Miles Away 