Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
The waitress set a cup of chamomile tea between us, the steam rising in thin curls. It had cost three dollars at the counter, a price that seemed too high for water and a bag of leaves.
“The house is very quiet,” Brian said. He rubbed his temples with his index fingers, a habit he only had when the headache was behind his eyes.
“You could come tomorrow,” I said.
“To watch Vance call security?” Brian looked down at his mug. “I cannot do that, Margaret. I cannot watch them treat her name like some kind of mistake.”
“They are not going to treat her like a mistake,” I said. “Arthur has the state board notification. We are going to walk through the front doors of that gymnasium at nine in the morning.”
Brian took a slow sip of his water. “Vance has the police chief on his speed dial.”
“Then the police chief will have to explain why a mother cannot sit in the back row to watch her daughter’s class graduate,” I said.
He looked at my face for a long moment, searching for the tears that usually came when we spoke of her. But my eyes were dry.
