Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Look at where Tyler Sanders is supposed to be,” Kayla said. “They left him off too, and he was on track to graduate before the accident last November.”
“The school had a memorial service for Tyler in the auditorium,” I said, remembering the crowded parking lot and the quiet teenagers in dark coats.
Kayla looked toward the main building, her fingers tapping a rapid beat against her car door.
“That was before the board started talking about the new building projects,” she said.
“What do building projects have to do with the graduation program?” I asked.
Kayla adjusted her glasses again, looking past me toward the yellow school buses lining up by the gate.
“I have to get back to class before the third bell,” she said, her voice dropping as she opened her car door to grab her notebook.
She left me standing by her car with the draft program in my hand, the wind catching the edge of the paper.
At six that evening, the smell of laundry detergent filled our dining room as Brian folded the clean sheets on the table. The television in the next room was playing the evening news, the volume low.
