Cate Gladding
Narrative Paper
November 8, 2010
Just yesterday my best friend, Bex, and I arrived to the majestic land of the Teton mountain range where the mountains jut unapologetically into the vast sky that extends for miles upon miles with nothing prohibiting its immeasurable limits. It only took two thousand five hundred fifty three miles and four days of driving through places unknown to us to get there. Through the rush hour of Buffalo, New York to the colossal Lake Eerie; through the unforgiving length of the most boring state of Nebraska; through the harsh, cold crimson wind of Wyoming and the frightening snow-filled mountain passes of Idaho, we made it in one blissful piece to Rexburg, Idaho.
Caught up in our excitement of arriving to Rexburg, we took in our beautiful surroundings of yellow bricked buildings and manicured green lawns. In this valley surrounded by skyscraper mountains we were bound and determined to advance our academic dreams at a little school called Brigham Young University-Idaho, the sister school to the larger campus in Provo, Utah. Idaho is known as a mini-Utah for the only reason that Idaho is turning into as much of a Mormon community as Utah is. In fact, that is what brought me and Bex to Idaho. We had been converted to Mormonism prior to our academic adventures and were attending a Mormon university. One of the fastest growing and most strict religions had claimed us and took us for this ride across country to take advantage of a great opportunity to get an education – something we may not have been able to do without the support of the church’s financial aid and strong belief in advancing education.
Our first morning in our apartment, we woke up to the bright sunlight streaming through our small window and the sounds of students moving into their new apartments. There was yelling, running, slamming of doors, country music and the din of rolling suitcases on the sidewalk. Bex and I, being the good anti-social people that we are, hid in our apartment and began organizing our belongings into the closets, nooks, crannies and bookcases. Excited for my new classes to begin, I logged into my campus website and checked my email. I already had homework for my Mandarin class! How ridiculous! My science professor posted his syllabus and I quickly glanced at it and moved onto one from the BYU-I registrar. I read through it quickly, some lines sticking out brashly. “You have been academically suspended. . . As a result of your Academic Suspension, you are no longer eligible to enroll in any academic course. . . Therefore, you must withdraw from school. . . ” The only way to lift the suspension was to attend another university for one semester taking twelve credits and receive at least a 2.0 or complete a full time, honorable mission for the Latter Day Saint church. A rock dropped in my stomach. This couldn’t be real. This isn’t happening to me. Sure, I had a bad class and one bad grade from it, but this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me. I’m a good student, honest. I just slipped up in one class. Maybe they’ll let me stay. I just drove twenty five hundred miles to get here. Surely they will take that into consideration. I re-read the email to make sure it was real. It was still there. It still existed, the harshness of the pixels boring into my eyes. I cried for Bex to come over and read it, my voice shaking, starting to grasp the reality of the situation. She read it and her brow crinkled. She paused, read it again, analyzing every word. I could see in her eyes the same rock drop in her stomach that had dropped in mine. She set my computer down, bit her lip and looked at me. I couldn’t look her in the eye; I felt too ashamed. But then she took me in her arms and consoled me. My best friend in my worst time of need was there for me, something I will never forget.
After much crying and words of anger, we decided to take action. I ran to my suitcase and threw all my clothes on my bunk searching for my “Sunday best” clothing to wear and we dashed up to the administrative building. Once there I informed the secretary of my problem and asked to speak to someone who could help me, anyone who could help me. I paced back and forth staring down at my bronze ballet flats which stood out from the granite gray colored rug which I thought was hideous. We waited and waited while the pressure of the situation pushed on our nerves. The funny thing about waiting is that it gives a person time to think about the situation and it takes control of that person’s mind. It becomes a short obsession. That is when the “whats” and the “ifs” take over, but most dangerous of all is the combination thereof. What if I had done just one more assignment? What if I decided to persevere through that horrid online class instead of capitulating? Stop it. I had to stop it. I knew I couldn’t go back and change my actions; I could only change my reaction to the situation.
Someone finally emerged from some small, brightly lit office to talk to me. The only advice he had to offer me was to petition the decision by writing a paper as to why I ought to stay in school and submit it to the academic submission board. They would review it, talk about it and decide whether or not I deserved to stay. With no other words of encouragement, he slinked back into his office with his dapper suit and well groomed appearance in tow. Bex and I left with a new fervor. There seemed to be some idea of hope available. We both knew I could write something persuasive, something to make the board see where I’ve been, the trials I’ve endured and convince the board to show me some sympathy. After all, I was a convert to the church and surely they’d show some favoritism to a new found sheep just brought unto their fold.
As soon as Bex and I entered the apartment, I lunged for my computer and began writing what I believed could redeem me from my unfortunate circumstance. I wrote of how the campus uplifted me spiritually and made it easier for me to maintain my grades, but my error was attempting to take classes online from my home in New Hampshire. I let my depression run my life at home and I let that affect my grades. I concluded with, “I am a good student who hit a rocky patch in life. This is not a habit or pattern of mine to do so poorly in school. I know I can do the work and I know I can excel. I may not be the best student at BYUI, but I do my personal best. I know that I should address my depression in the wintertime much better than I did this last winter, and I will in the future. I know that I have the Holy Spirit to guide me and teach me the things that I need to know.
I am petitioning that my academic suspension be removed so that I may further my education at Brigham Young University Idaho. I am petitioning because I know I can do well academically, give BYUI a good name and be proud of myself for my accomplishments.”
I submitted it, confident that my words would sway the board into letting me stay, however, as confident as I was, I knew that there was a great chance that they would reject it and I would have to find a new life. What would I do? Would I stay in Idaho and work there? Or should I try and go home, tail between my legs? I wanted to be prepared for either decision the academic board made for me so I investigated apartments in the nearest city of Idaho Falls. Any apartments that I could afford were dank, dingy, run down and in the wrong part of a city for a young woman to live in. I looked at a couple apartments, one in my price range and one out of my price range. The one in my price range was so extraordinarily disgusting. The cabinet in the bathroom broke when I went to open it, and behind that door were old brushes, a match car and a hair drier that looked like it stopped working in 1990. On the bright side, the apartment came with furniture; however, the furniture was covered in a disgusting amount of grime and dust and was as old as the hair drier. It was frightening for me to imagine living on my own in these vile places with no one to be with me. The real world was hitting me fast.
A few days passed with no response from the petition board and I grew more and more impatient and frustrated. I just wanted them to tell me immediately. Waiting and not freaking out about the uncertainty of my life was so heart wrenching and difficult. The first day of classes on campus was the most painful day. I knew I couldn’t attend my classes due to my suspension, but then when I logged into my school website I saw the email that stated that my classes had been dropped. Bex knew I had been excited to start classes and feigned that she wasn’t excited for hers; she didn’t want to make me feel worse than I already felt. We both knew it was over for me.
It was four thirty am and my car was packed. I popped open my trunk and squished my last bag into the space that was already too full. I paused and looked at what surrounded me. A land of hollow opportunities suffocated me, the mountains seemingly distant before now pressed up against me. The dry air pierced my lungs as I took a deep breath, stepped into my car and turned the key. As I pulled onto the highway leading east a song from the musical Wicked began to play in the background. Elphaba, the younger version of the Wicked Witch of the West, sang to me when she said, “something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game. Too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep, it’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes and leap. It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity, and you can’t pull me down.”
I looked into my rear-view mirror and I witnessed all that I dreamed to be my future as it disappeared behind me. I was leaving the safety net of Mormonism and pursuing my new dreams of being true to myself. I pushed my foot against the accelerator, curled my fingers around the steering wheel and I defied gravity.
