Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
I laid the draft program next to his stack of white pillowcases.
“They left Olivia’s name off the list,” I said.
Brian did not stop folding the sheet in his hands, pulling the corners tight with a quick, practiced snap that sounded like a small whip.
“We knew there would be details they missed, Margaret,” he said, his voice gruff and short.
“They left Tyler Sanders off too,” I said. “This was not an accident, Brian.”
He smoothed the folded sheet with the palm of his hand, his face tight as he stared at the fabric. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger, a habit that always showed his exhaustion.
“The school has their own way of doing things,” Brian said. “Maybe it is better if we just let them handle the ceremony without us getting involved.”
“She worked for four years to earn that spot,” I said, stepping closer to the table. “I want her name read.”
Brian picked up the stack of pillowcases and held them against his chest like a shield.
“I cannot go through a public debate about this,” he said, looking down at the floorboards.
