Graduation

The Lake Lucklier Elementary School cafeteria stirred with activity. Janitors worked in two's to move the lunch tables against the walls to make room for other janitors who were setting out row after row of plastic chairs, while yet more janitors struggled to assemble the choir risers borrowed from the music room for the graduation. The risers went in front of the raised stage at the far end of the cafeteria, where the 5th grade teachers reviewed class rosters against the stack of photocopied certificates on two tables covered with white plastic tablecloths. The parents and guardians have started filing in through the double doors from the front hallway. The principal wheeled an upright piano from storage and sat it opposite his podium on the other side of the tables. Teachers from other grades—their own classes having let out for summer vacation the day before—worked as ushers for the event, handing out programs and helping people to their seats.

The combined 5th grade class stood in the loading zone just outside the cafeteria. A few teachers dotted the perimeter of an otherwise swaying sea of red caps and gowns. The caps had black center buttons from which hung black tassels. The teachers told them to keep the tassel hanging on the right side of their cap until told otherwise. The children joked and jostled and swayed like a field of poppies sprung from asphalt. The loading doors opened, and one of the 5th grade teachers stuck his head out. He waved over the nearest teacher and told her to get the students to line up. Music spilt from the open doors: the piano, badly damaged by humidity, warbled out The Star Spangled Banner and Nearer My God To Thee—a song not strictly adhering to the separation of church and state, but one of only four songs the school secretary knew.

While the class was being rustled and corralled, Stephen Wolfe slipped away from his classmates, shedding his cap and gown as he ran around to the front of the school. He ran through the front entrance, passed the double doors where he can mutely hear Pomp and Circumstance. The usher-teachers were gathering their belongings from the front office opposite. His feet took him down well-trodden paths, yet he stumbled down the hall unknowingly. He’d peek inside classrooms that used to be his, seeing only lifeless shadow. He tried his refuge, but the library was locked on all 4 sides.

He found an open door and stole inside: It was the janitor’s closet where they kept the supplies for Ms. Edward’s school store: Loose-leaf paper and notebooks, mechanical pencils and standard yellow #2s, Trapper Keepers and tri-color pens for the big spender. The door opened, and Stephen turned to face the back shelf.

"There you are!"

Ms. Edwards turned on the light.

"What are you doing in here?"

Stephen wiped his eyes with his open palms, sniffled, and wiped his nose with his dress shirt sleeve. He held up a hand and pointed at the stationary. Through choking sobs, he managed to get out that they were running low on pencil-topped erasers and stick glue.

"You were a real good helper—I could always count on you, and you left the coins sorted right in the cash box. But don’t worry about the school store—I’ll keep it going even when you’re at Adler Middle."

Stephen turned around, his red and swollen eyes looking at the ground. Ms. Edwards held out his discarded cap and gown. He slipped the gown on, but couldn’t get the cap on right. Ms. Edwards helped set it proper, then sat the tassel to his right.

"You know, you should be excited to see what’s next. You got a bright future ahead of you."

Wide-eyed and despairing, he pled his case: He likes it here; he doesn’t know the new school, or the new teachers; his friends are going to Flint Forest and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

She looked at Stephen, who with a scrunched face was struggling to fight back more tears. "Oh honey." She squeezed his shoulder and led him down the hall to the cafeteria. She knelt in front of him and wiped away his remaining tears. "None of us know what's gonna happen. That's what makes life life."

She stood and opened the door and, before ushering him inside, looked at him again and smiled.

“Plus, you can’t work in the school store forever.”

He made it to the stage just as his name was being called—the benefit of a late last name—and he got his certificate. He held it in front of him and smiled big for his photo-snapping uncle while his aunt cried that they grow up so fast. He joined his fellow students on the risers. At the teacher’s command, they moved their tassels from the right to the left and then sang Hail to Thee My Alma Mater, tiny voices growing stronger amidst out-of-tune accompaniment.