Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Speakers are limited to three minutes each,” she added, her voice echoing slightly in the hollow room.
I stood up, my knees stiff from the long wait, and walked to the small wooden lectern in the center of the floor.
The green paper felt thin and fragile between my fingers, and I had to clear my throat twice before I could speak.
“My daughter, Olivia, spent four years in this district,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady as I looked at the five faces before me.
“She was three weeks away from walking across that stage,” I said, pausing to let the words settle in the quiet room.
“I have sixty-four signatures from neighbors who believe her name should be read during the roll call,” I said.
I held out the green sheet, but nobody reached to take it from me, so I stepped forward and laid the paper on the edge of the oak table, right next to Mrs. Gable’s black microphone.
“These are people who watched her grow up,” I said, looking at Mrs. Gable’s quiet face.
