Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
Tomorrow, the doors of the gymnasium would open. I looked at the desk, where the neat stack of documents sitting beside my ironed dress seemed to wait for the morning light.
The glass doors of the high school gymnasium were already covered in morning fingerprints when Arthur met me near the concrete steps. He adjusted his dark blue tie, his fingers moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that matched the quiet gravity of his wool suit. In his other hand, he carried a leather briefcase that looked far too heavy for a warm June morning, its brass latches tarnished at the corners. He paused to clean his spectacles with a silk cloth, his calm baritone voice keeping my breathing steady as the first crowds of parents began to push past us.
“We are exactly twenty minutes early,” Arthur said, checking his silver pocket watch before sliding it back into his vest pocket. “The doors just opened.”
