Driving Doctor Mayhem

[18] The End of the First Part

To put it delicately, the rest of the night went south fast.

Apparently, That New Restaurant Over There had let their shrimp supply get a little too ripe, and I found that Cricket, who could be sensitive enough on his own, was even more temperamental with food poisoning. I didn't want to leave him in his apartment alone--I was quite the saint, obviously--so I let him crash on the couch as long as he promised not to snore.

It was a small house; noise travels.

As I tip-toed into the kitchen in an attempt to grab Cricket a Sprite without waking up my mother, I saw a stack of mail vaguely scattered around the place where we said we would keep the new mail, but never did. Two type-B women do not a clean house make, even if they have a neat freak hanging around all the time.

"Whatcha doin'?" Cricket asked, clearly nauseous, but desperately trying not to get sick and, in his own words, 'make a bother of himself'.

I waved him away a little, slowly walking to the counter and trying to hit the sweet-spots in the creaky floorboards. According to the label, the top envelope was sent from Northwestern University.

Northwestern University, my second choice school.

Northwestern University had sent me a letter, and it was heavy, which I'd always heard heard was a good sign.

All summer, Cricket and my mother had joined forces to ensure that I was well aware that a gap year could turn into a gap life if I wasn't careful.

I didn't really listen to them, but after an Oprah marathon that caused me to reevaluate my existence and have an epiphany that I can't even remember now, I had reapplied to a few medical schools one afternoon. My incentives may've been a little questionable, but you couldn't argue with my results. I even rewrote my entire entrance essay to make myself seem more impressive.

It had a sticky-note attached to to it, which read, in my mom's loopy handwriting, 'I swear I didn't peek. Good luck, doll. XOXO'.

I ripped into the package, and let out a scream that Cricket would later describe exclusively as "dolphin-level shrill."