Paying for College - The Novel Read online

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  I spent the whole week drifting through my boring classes. At some moments, I felt better, even though that tuition bill was still wrapped around my vulnerable throat and choked the life out of me. Other times, I felt this intense guilt for what I did. I thought about slipping the money into an envelope with a yellow stick-it note: I’m sorry. Then I would slip the envelope into the mailbox at Mike’s Garage.

  Finally, Friday came. I rose early. After showering and dressing, I retrieved the money from my dirty laundry and shoved it into my front jeans pocket.

  After my morning class, I headed to the administration building, the tallest structure in the town. We called it the dark tower because it loomed over the edge of campus with its brown steel and dark tinted windows. It looked like a centipede standing upright, with dark, staring eyes covering the whole body.

  Approaching the building, I noticed the brown paneling appeared especially black in the morning sun. I walked through the front doors and headed to the first floor to the bursar’s office.

  Only two silent students stood in line. I headed to the bathroom and entered a small stall. I locked the stall door and leaned my back against the door, pulled out the money and counted it.

  Yup, a thousand dollars. It’s here and now. If I pay my bill, I can’t return the stolen money to Mike’s Garage.

  I shoved the money into my pocket again and stood in line.

  I waited and waited and waited. Finally, my turn had come.

  I approached the counter and said, “Hello. How are you this fine, bright sunny morning?”

  A middle-aged lady with thick horn-rimmed glasses just stared at me. Then she said, “Student number?”

  “Oh yeah. That’s right.” I pulled out my wallet and grabbed my student ID and slid it to her through the slot under the bullet-proof window.

  She squinted at the ID and looked at me. Then she keyed my number into the computer terminal.

  I glanced at her desk on the other side of the counter and saw a faded picture on her desk – a happy, smiling clerk standing with a group of friends on a sandy beach. The sea was a dark green-blue and the white sand looked like snow. The caption at the bottom read – San Lucas, Mexico.

  “How was Mexico?”

  The lady kept looking at the computer screen. It appeared she hadn’t experienced any joy, happiness, and good times at least in three centuries. Even in her picture of Mexico, she looked several hundred years younger. I imagine she probably visited there during the Middle Ages. Of course, I wouldn’t even recognize that woman in the photo except she wore the same horned-rimmed glasses.

  She turned to face me. “Your student account shows a balance of seven hundred dollars.”

  “Eh. Excuse me. I don’t understand. I thought I only owed the university six-hundred and sixty dollars.”

  “Sir, the university charges interest on any unpaid balances.”

  “But I thought my classes were paid in full. I just needed to pay the second installment for my room and board.”

  “Sir, the university charges interest on any outstanding balances.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t mean to complain, but is it possible to have this interest taken off my account?”

  “Sir, I have no authority to adjust student accounts. You ought to speak with the financial aid office.”

  “Could I just pay the six-hundred and sixty dollars? Then I’ll pop into the financial office and discuss this matter with them.”

  “Sir, next week, students with any unpaid balances will be automatically withdrawn from classes.”

  “So that means the university will remove me from class for an unpaid balance of forty dollars?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Isn’t that a little –“

  “Sir, other students are waiting.”

  I glanced behind me and saw the line had grown to a dozen unhappy students. They frowned at me as I glanced in their direction. “Okay. Okay.” I pulled out my stack of money and flipped it upside down and counted out seven-hundred dollars.

  Then I slid the bundle of money through the slot under the window.

  She grabbed the money and started counting it.

  My heart started pounding while I tapped my left foot on the floor. I watched her every move, as if the act of touching that money, she would know that I had stolen it. Then she would reach over, grab the phone, and call the police. Such a pakapoo I am. Brothers, wouldn’t that be funny? All the students would stand, stare, and point at me as I held my head low while the police officers handcuffed me and escorted me to their squad car. Then the gossip would start. The rumor would start a student was arrested for burglary, then evolve into armed robbery of the university, until the climax – a student assaulted the dean.

  At least that day, the university cashier didn’t call the police, and the police never came to arrest me. The woman opened the cash drawer and sorted the money, and added them to the growing stacks of money. Then she pressed the print button on the keyboard while a printer whirled into life to print my receipt.

  I’m not sure why I did it, but I scanned the environment around the office. Although a thick, bullet-proof window separated me from the cashier, I noticed the flimsy, wooden door that protected the bursar’s office. Then I looked at the ceilings and corners for motion detectors and cameras. Nada! I could be in and out in five minutes.

  I grabbed my receipt, and smiled. Of course, if I must steal, it’s better to steal from a thief or an evil organization.