Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“I wiped down the dresser,” Brian said, holding a yellow dust cloth in his hand. “The wood was getting a little dry from the sun.”
“It looks nice, Brian,” I said.
He walked over to the closet and pulled a small wooden box from the top shelf. It was the music box my mother had given Olivia for her eighth birthday, its dark mahogany finish still smooth and polished.
“Do you want to put the diploma next to it?” he asked.
I reached onto the desk and picked up the leather-bound folder that held the honorary degree the superintendent had signed. It was heavy in my hand, the gold lettering of Oak Creek High School pressed deep into the blue surface.
“Let us put them together,” I said.
Brian set the music box on the center of the dresser, and I placed the diploma beside it, leaving enough room between them for the small glass case.
“We never did open this after the morning of the ceremony,” Brian said, his fingers resting on the small brass latch of the music box.
