This is the prologue in a new
work in progress, as of yet untitled.
It was hot
in the auditorium. Not quite to the point of stifling, yet, but quickly
approaching. Michelle didn’t know how much longer they’d have to be there, but
she figured it would be another hour, at least. She was antsy—the crowds of
nuclear and extended families pressed tightly into one another on wooden
benches were becoming too much. The shafts of late May evening sunlight
streaming in through windows built near the roof-line were of an angle; it was
almost blinding. Of course, being the t-shirt and jeans girl that she was, the
three inch heels and a-line skirt weren’t helping, either. At least she’d put
her hair up. As long as it was, it would have wrapped around her shoulders and
neck like a woolen blanket and smothered her in the gathering heat of too many
bodies packed into too small of a space.
The whole
setting seemed surreal. She hadn’t attended her own high school graduation, but
when her mind wandered—and everyone’s minds were wondering by the time the
commencement speaker was through with his thirty-turned-fifty-minute
presentation—she felt as if she was back in the auditorium of her own high
school. It was almost as if she was having flashbacks; as if she were to turn
her head quickly to the left or right, she’d not see this auditorium any
longer, but the yellowed pine benches of her old high school and the ratty red
velvet curtains buffeting the recessed stage.
Not for the
first time, she thanked herself for dropping out of high school. Sarah bet most
people wouldn’t say that to themselves, even if they could. Then again, she bet
that people actually enjoyed these types of things—which she did not—otherwise,
why would they have things like commencement?
Instead of
whipping her head to the right or the left to catch glimpses of her old high
school, Michelle slowly turned her head to the left and the right to survey her
family. On her right was Matt, looking engrossed in the ceremony, and yet
jiggling his left knee in that nervous way of his. She knew him well enough to
know it was one of his tells. He’d always had a knack for looking engrossed or
interested when he most certainly wasn’t. It was just another skill in that set
of traits which made him an exceptional salesman. But, if you knew what to look
for, you could read the signs of his body and know what he really felt. Just
like how Michelle always knew when he was lying—he could never lie and keep a
straight face. He would always try to disarm his intended victim with a
smile—he couldn’t stop himself.
To her left
was her twelve year old son, already taller than her and lanky—with a swimmer’s
body-- who was surreptitiously trying to text his friends out of her line of
sight. Keenan was surprised when she prodded his leg and gave him the look. All
mothers had that look—the one that said you were dangerously close to hearing
things that would best be left unsaid in public. Chagrined, he quickly exited
out of whatever message he was writing, and slipped the phone back into the
pocket of his khakis.
Beyond her
second son was her mother, and beyond Matt on the other side were his parents.
There wasn’t enough room to invite anyone else to the ceremony itself. They
would be coming over for the party this evening. Sarah hoped they considered
themselves lucky to be missing this whole spectacle.
Then,
suddenly, the boredom and tedium were over. It was finally time for the
graduates to walk across the stage. The announcer called the first name, then
the next, and the next, in quick succession. The crowd, while instructed not to
cheer or clap except at the end, cheered and clapped for each senior who
clipped across the stage. Michelle hadn’t allowed herself to think of this
moment until now and abruptly the reality of it all pressed in on her. Yes.
Here it was. It was really happening.
Nearly eighteen years ago, when she’d embarked on this endeavor with
Gavin, she couldn’t imagine this day. Assuming that there was a logical (or,
perhaps, illogical, but nonetheless valid) reason for that, she’d stopped
trying.
The first
half of the graduating class floated across the stage in a blur. It was Gavin’s
turn. Right before he reached the principal—handing out the diploma covers or
whatever it was they handed out now—he glanced into the crowd, not smiling, but
calm, and looked directly at her. He’d always had the ability to pick her right
out of a crowd. His green eyes immediately locked with her brown ones. Now
another flashback—not of her own high school auditorium, but of a cold hospital
room looking out over the destruction of her hometown after the storm—came upon
her. There she was again, painfully sore and exhausted, blood still running
down her legs and pooling on the hospital sheets below, her heart wounded in
the ways any woman’s heart will be once she becomes a mother, staring into the
standard hospital bassinet where Gavin lay.
He was a red, squalling thing with
auburn hair like hers and piercing green eyes. Then, as if he knew she was
looking at him for her next direction, he turned his head and looked at her
directly. No matter that the nurses said he’d rarely be awake. No matter that
the books she’d read said he’d not be able to focus on anything beyond 12-15
inches away from his own face. He looked directly at her, calm, open, and
intent. And she’d wondered how the hell anyone expected her to know what to do
to care for this small creature of her own creation and flesh.
Michelle had
vowed that night, nearly eighteen years ago, to make this work. To make it
right. To make her son not suffer the sins of his mother. He was born of more
storms than the one which had bored down on the day of his birth, and Michelle
vowed to make it right. The babe Gavin once was, looked directly upon her, the
knowing of her vow visibly present behind green irises.
In the
auditorium the tears were upon her now—and she didn’t even know why they were
filling her eyes. Matt gently rubbed her back in slow, light circles. Gavin
accepted his diploma cover, shook hands, and had pictures taken off stage
right. He then circled back to his designated seat, and glanced at her once
more before he resumed it. It was done. There it was—a vow kept, a promise
complete. Gavin looked upon her with a gaze that said, “Okay. You have done
this now. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. And now it’s time for you
to do for yourself.”
Sadly,
Michelle didn’t know how or what to do for herself.
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