Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“It is not a compromise, Brian,” I said, stepping closer to the table. “A private ceremony is just another way of keeping her in the background.”
Brian set the folded trousers on top of the stack and looked up at me, his eyes tired and shadowed. “What difference does it make if there are five people in the room or five hundred? The diploma is the same.”
“It makes a difference to Olivia,” I said. “And it makes a difference to her friends. They want her remembered with the rest of her class.”
“Her friends are eighteen years old, Margaret,” Brian said, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself. “They don’t know what this kind of pain does to a family. They think everything is a fight that has to be won.”
“This is not about winning,” I said. “This is about showing that she existed. That she was part of this town.”
“I know she existed,” Brian said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I don’t need to stand in a crowded gymnasium to prove that to myself. I just want some peace.”
