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It was Friday night, and the mall was crowded with high school kids roaming back and forth, just hanging out. Stephen and Peter sat in the food court, their conversation more serious than their surroundings suggested.

 

Peter was looking hard at Stephen.

 

Stephen took a drink of his soda then said, “No way.  My old man wouldn’t hear of it.”

 

Peter took a deep breath and motioned to the mall. “Your life is here,” he said.  “Your friends, family, most of your dream. You’re talented, Stephen.  And the local college has the program you want, not the Ivy your parents are pushing you into.”

 

Stephen felt nervous and also angry. He knew he wanted to stay, but his parents were pushing him into something he didn’t want because they, themselves, both attended polished colleges. He knew the local college offered him what he needed.  Plus, he could still be around his friends and family.    His little sister was only ten; he didn’t want to miss out on seeing her grow up!

 

Stephen said, “Man, if I told my dad I wanted to be a writer instead of a lawyer, he would probably sue me.”

 

Peter grinned. “Probably. But you know what you want. And the local college is it. We’re all going there.  Me, Noah, Jen, Derrick, the whole gang. If you weren’t there, it would be like we would be missing an arm or a leg.  You know the local college is a good school.”

 

“I feel the same way.”

 

Stephen liked the local college more than the prestigious college his parents wanted him to leave for in when summer break ended. He had researched the writing program the local college offered and compared them to the college his parents chose for him.  To his surprise, he found the local college offered a highly respected writing program.

 

Stephen looked around the mall.  He spotted kids he had known all his life walking around. He was so at home there, around his friends and family. He just didn’t want to disappoint or anger his parents. He loved them and always tried to so hard to please them. He had done exceptionally well on his SAT’s, scoring fifth highest in his entire school.

 

Yet, from the knot in his stomach, he knew he would feel worse about leaving his whole life to go to some fancy college.  Especially if he was there to learn something that wasn’t who he was.

 

He was a writer. That was his dream. His life!

 

“Look,” Peter said, “I’m poor and you’re rich. My old man could care less if I joined the Army, went to college, or worked fast food. I worked myself sick for that scholarship and I barely made it.  I’m going to be somebody, Stephen.  And I’m staying right here to do it.”

 

Stephen nodded.

 

Peter continued after a sip of his soda.  “I’ll never understand why people think they have to leave to be somebody.  The way you can write?  You are talented, man. Everyone knows it.  But if you run off to be a stuffy lawyer like your old man, just to please him and your mom, then you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

 

Stephen reached down into his pocket and pulled out the Stanford University acceptance letter.  He placed it down in front of Peter.

 

“This letter,” he said, “has been like a stone around my neck. It’s… like a doorway trying to pull me through and drain the life out of me. But to my parents it’s like triumph!  They parade around. I can’t disappoint them. They have all these hopes for me.”

 

Peter stared at the letter. “This is their letter, not yours.”

 

“What?”

 

Peter looked back up at Stephen. “If you take that letter as your own, you’ll be living your parents dream not yours. You know that, too.”

 

“I guess, if I fail at writing, at least I can fall back on being an English teacher,” Stephen said more to himself. “It’s not like I’ll be a total failure to them.”

 

Peter stood up, patted Stephen on the shoulder and said, “You’re as likely to fail at being a writer as I am at being an accountant. You like words and I like numbers. Think about it. I’ll be at the arcade where the rest of the gang is at.”

 

Stephen watched Peter walk off. He admired and respected his friend. Peter came from a hard home but fought to make the grades he needed for an academic scholarship. Peter was the one that helped Stephen understand all his math courses.

 

He looked down at the acceptance letter. Peter was right: That letter was his parents dream. He knew his parents loved him and just wanted what was best for him, but this was not it. Becoming a lawyer was not the life for him. He loved to write. He was good at writing. Somehow, the stories flew from his fingertips as though he had some mysterious, beautiful and confusing imagination in his hands, full of endless words. He had won writing contests and even earned money writing for a short story magazine.

 

It wasn’t fair. He was torn between his dream and his love for his parents. What kind of choice was that?

 

“Go away…” Stephen pleaded with the letter, “Just go away.”

 

Yet, the letter sat there, torturing Stephen with its enduring presence.

 

Stephen grabbed the letter and stuffed it back into his pocket. He wandered home instead of going to be with his friends. He needed to think.

 

~*~

 

Stephen spent the weekend reading through some stories he had written, thinking about Peter’s words. By the time Sunday evening came around, he called his friend and told him to meet him back at the mall.

 

Stephen pulled out a story from his back pocket and handed it to Peter.

 

He said, “I wrote that when I was fourteen. I’ve never showed it to anyone. It’s a silly, scary story about a bunch of mutated wolves attacking a small town.  Nothing great. But when I wrote that story, I scared myself. And that’s when I knew I wanted to be a writer. But that was being a kid. I have to focus on being an adult now. Mutated wolves don’t provide a future and get you into a prestigious college.  Hard work and responsibility does.”

 

Peter took the story. He sat for a long time and read every word. When he finished, he put the story down and looked at his friend. “That’s a shame, then.”

 

“What’s a shame?”

 

“You called that story silly, but it scared me, too. I didn’t think it was silly. And the way you ended it?” Peter shivered. “Creepy, man. But if you want to run off to stuffy law books instead of following your dream, go for it.”

 

 “Peter, I have to be responsible here.”

 

“Be responsible to who? Let me ask you something. How many lawyers are there in the world? If you google just our area, you’d find hundreds. But how many really good writers are there out there?”

 

“I know but—”

 

“But what? You said you had to be responsible, but to who? If you aren’t responsible to yourself first, then you fail right there. Man, you owe it to your stories. You were given a gift. And you have choice: write great stories or read from law books that have no life.  Sure, you get accepted to a big school.  But I don’t think you accept who you really are.”

 

Peter stood up from his chair. 

 

He said, “You run of to Standford.  Go fulfill your parent’s dreams.  But be ready to regret it the rest of your life.”

 

When Peter began to walk away, Stephen stood up and followed.

 

He stammered, finally saying, “I just don’t know.  I worry about being wrong.  I feel like writing is a bad choice.”

 

Peter stuffed the story into his pocket as he walked towards the parking lot. “Fine, you run off and let your dream die. I’ll stay here, take this story and bury it out at the cemetery, because that’s where your dream will be.”

 

Stephen took wide strides to keep up with his friend. “Hand it back.”

 

Peter shook his head.  “Nope. Have to go bury it.”

?“Peter.  Hand it back,” Stephen said demanded.

 

Stephen grabbed his friend’s arm.  He yelled, “Hand it back!”

 

“Nope, off to the cemetery with it.”

 

Stephen pulled Peter back and slugged him in the stomach.  He yanked his story from Peter’s pocket.

 

He said, “It’s my story!  Mine.  I won’t let your bury it!”

 

Peter grinned and put a hand to his stomach. “Somehow I can’t see you slugging your best friend over some law book.”

 

Stephen looked at Peter, confused. “You… did that on purpose.”

 

“Hey,” he said, “what are best friends for? The question is, what do you do now?”

 

Stephen took a deep breath. He slowly pulled the acceptance letter from his back pocket and handed it to Peter.  He said firmly, “Tear it up for me, will you?”

 

Peter shook his head. “You have to do it.”

 

Stephen took back the acceptance letter. He thought about his parents, their happiness when they saw the letter, their faces all lit up.  He knew they meant well, that his parents loved him, but Stephen also knew–in order to be the son they needed him to be–he had to follow his dream.

 

He tore up the acceptance letter, walked over to the wastebasket and dropped it in.

 

He felt sick, but at the same time somehow better.  Like a cloud had cleared in his head.

 

Stephen said to Peter, “I need to go home now. It’s going to be a long night, but I hope they’ll understand.  I just hope my dad doesn’t kick me out.”

 

 Peter grinned. “Nah, he’ll sue you first.”

 

“Thanks for being here for me.”

 

Peter laughed. “I don’t think you’ll thank me when you realize how many pizzas you’re going to owe me after that gut-punch.”

 

Stephen grinned and walked off, holding his story in his hand. Maybe a story about mutated wolves wasn’t so silly after all.