Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
The movement gathered speed. Two boys from the chemistry class stood. A group of girls from the yearbook staff stood. The teachers near the back wall stood in a straight, silent line.
I looked around the room, my breath coming slow and even. More than half the students were on their feet now, their quiet presence filling the vast space of the gymnasium. The light from the high fixtures caught the different colors of their clothing, but they all seemed part of the same silent tribute.
Gary remained seated, his eyes fixed on a knot in the hardwood floor near his feet. His hand was still tucked in his pocket, the keys quiet at last.
Principal Bradley nodded once from the podium, his expression peaceful.
I stood in the center of the gymnasium, surrounded by dozens of classmates and teachers standing in complete silence.
Principal Bradley adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles with a slow, careful movement of his index finger. He stepped back from the heavy metal microphone stand and beckoned me toward the wooden steps at the side of the stage.
