Paying for College Read online

  ***

  I scan the local newspaper daily, looking for any evidence of my crime.

  I noticed one short story on Monday, tucked on the last page of the newspaper.

  The police are investigating the vandalism at Mike’s Garage. They believe some rowdy high schoolers broke into the place, creating a large mess. The article did not mention anything about stolen money. That was it!

  I still did not pay my student account. However, I felt that a large weight was removed from my chest. I felt ease in class, and could concentrate and study. Sometimes guilt flashed through my mind, but then I thought about my grandmother getting taken by those thieves.

  ***

  A week has passed, and I have two more days to pay my student account.

  I retrieve the money from the hamper, and organize the stack of cash by denomination. Then I head to the administration building.

  The administration building is a 7-story, steel and glass edifice. The steel was painted a dark brown, and the windows appear blackish in the sunlight. The administration building glares over the university campus like an ominous black tower, making sure that anyone in the vicinity knew who was in command.

  I approach the looming tower, and enter the first floor to the cashier's office.

  Only two students are in line. It is late March and most students already paid their accounts.

  The line moves quickly, and it becomes my turn.

  I slowly approach the counter, and say, “Hi, are you doing? Here's my student ID. I'm here to pay my account.

  The cashier is an old, middle-aged lady with thick horn-rimmed glasses. Her face seems frozen in a frown. The joy of life left her centuries ago.

  She takes my ID and keys in my student number, and replies mechanically, “You owe $690.”

  “What do you mean? I thought I owed $660?”

  “Well sir, the university assessed a $30 interest fee on your account”

  Instead of arguing with her, I pull the wad of cash out of my pocket. Subsequently, I count out $690 using the largest denominations, and hand it to her.

  The woman grabs the bundle of money, and recounts it.

  I felt a little nervous. As if the simple act of touching the money, the woman would know it was stolen. I scrutinize her, searching for any hidden expressions, or any acknowledgement about my misdeeds.

  The woman places the money in the drawer, and hands me a receipt.

  “Thank you,” I said, sticking the receipt into my pocket. I turn and quickly leave.

  ***

  It is May, and I completed my last final exam. Returning to my dorm room, I am speechless. I cannot believe it. I made it through my third year of college. I earned a B- in English Composition, but A’s in everything else. This was a terrific year!

  As I am walking along the sidewalk, a campus squad car quickly stops next to me.

  My heart starts to race, as the police car squeals to a stop.

  Ah Jesus, as I think to myself. Have I been caught?

  The campus officer climbs out of his car with a clipboard in his hand. The cop quickly glances at me, and then heads over to check the parking permits of cars parked along the road.

  Beads of perspiration form on my forehead, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  As I walk in the foyer of the dormitory along a wall of mailboxes, I notice a letter in my mailbox.

  I quickly retrieve the letter, and notice it was from Financial Aid. I mumble, "Great, those bastards again!"

  I hastily tear the letter open and scan the contents.

  The Financial Aid Office is pleased with my progress, and they decided to continue with my scholarship. Next year’s tuition, room, and board are estimated at $16,600, and the scholarship covers only 10 grand.

  I utter, "Great, I have to find another $7 thousand for next year."

  As I crumble the letter and thrust it into my front pocket, a smirk creeps across my face. I remember a Mexican restaurant downtown. I heard the restaurant owners hire illegal, undocumented workers. The restaurant owners pay these workers less than minimum wage and mistreat them badly.

  My smirk broadens into a wide smile. Stealing is not stealing, if it is from thieves and criminals. Right? Especially if the money is going to a good cause?

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