Short Story :: essays research papers

...the names of those involved have been changed to protect the innocent... March 1, 2001 5:39 p.m. - Nerves, nerves, nerves†¦how can one letter enclosed inside of an envelope determine so much? Michael Livingston had plenty to lose. Try four years of undergraduate school at Morehouse University, two years of Notre Dame graduate school, and Harvard Law. Yes he had plenty to lose. Walking into the door of his closed-space apartment, he sits down with the letter in plain view. Thump, Thump, Thump! His heart races like greyhounds at a race track. The time is here. The time is now. Michael opens the letter to find his results of the BAR exam he had taken†¦ â€Å"Dear Mr. Livingston, It gives us great pleasure to inform you that you are in the ninetieth percentile upon completion of the Virginia State BAR Examination. Congratulations on your success.† Experiencing a seventh heaven elation, Michael throws the life-saving letter up in the air, and yells to the top of his lungs. He sits down on the couch with a sudden thrust as if he were lightheaded. He picks up the letter again and reads it a few more times before disregarding it for the last time. As he catches his breath, the tight brown belt from his khaki trousers digs into his stomach making for an even more uncomfortable pose. Pulling his white Geoffrey Beane button-up shirt out of his trousers, Michael then gets up and walks into his room as if he were in a drunken stoop. The excitement he was experiencing tired him more than the 9 to 5 internship at the courthouse. While his heavy head sunk into the pillow, Mike hears a mysterious knock at his apartment door. â€Å"Who in the hell†¦?† he says emphatically. Mumbling words that would turn his mother in her grave, Michael looks out the peep hole he normally uses to look a Cynthia’s ass.(Cynthia is the 24 yea r old film student that lives in front of Michael.) He then notices three gentlemen; all dressed in fine tailored suites with matching hats and coughing handkerchiefs. Michael shouts, â€Å"Who is it and what do you want?† â€Å"Mr. Livingston,† one gentleman replies. â€Å"We are representatives from Sampson, Heath, Jacks, and associates. May we have a word with you Sir?† Michael tells the gentlemen to hold for a moment while he puts on a shirt. He comes back and opens the creaking door.