Graduation


I was on the decorating committee, of course. We lined the folding chairs with banners so they’d look decorative even before we marched in.

And of course, that made cool places to hide a bunch of beach balls and hand pumps to inflate them with.

All the banners and penants our teams won this year were prominently displayed, along with pictures of all the MVPs, and the Student Council, including Jennifer.

Jennifer was standing on the speaker’s podium with a pair of binoculars, looking for details that needed attention.

The filing in went pretty much as rehearsed. I took my place in line, pushing the pedestal, stepping out of line just enough to place her where she needed to be.

There were cheers as we entered and sat, laughter as the beach balls started to bounce back and forth. Cries of disappointment whenever a teacher took one away.

Thet speeches were about standard, near as I can tell. I never actually attended one of these before.

They weren’t as funny as the mock speeches we gave during the rehearsal. I could write much better material.

The march up to and across the stage went off without a hitch. The whole place stood and cheered for Jennifer’s diploma. And laughed as the Mayor tried to figure out how to shake hands with a sylph.

There was a slot for the diploma to ride in and back down we went. To more cheers.

And the rest was pomp and circumstance and people wrestling with Basque and Polish last names.

Then we were done. We gave the Tiger Cheer one last time as a group and went our separate ways.

Separate being one way of saying ‘crowded together, hugging and congratulating and slugging in shoulders,’ you know.

The first parent to find Electra and me was Mrs. Obrien. She had a big hug for me and a smile for my sylph. And a surprise. “Guess who sat next to us during the ceremony!” she cried. “Little Jennifer’s Mom!”

And that’s when I met Mrs. Beatty.

Jennifer’s mother.

Objectively speaking, she was probably attractive. I mean, she produced Electra, so that’s kind of a given. Even if I didn’t hear the name, those cheekbones, those hips, clear give-aways.

Problem is, I find I can’t really find a woman attractive unless I can imagine enjoying a conversation with her. And I can’t really believe that me shouting ‘die screaming you bitch’ would lead us to sharing a pleasant afternoon in a conversational nook.

But then again, you never know what people are into.

Mrs. Obrien moved on through the crowd. I watched Ms. Beatty carefully as she stepped a bit closer to the pedestal. “Jennifer,” she said hesitantly.

“Mrs. Beatty,” Electra replied coldly.

“It was a nice ceremony,” the woman said.

“Was it as nice as the gymnastics competition I won?” Electra asked. The woman looked confused for a second, then winced. Guessing she hadn’t attended.

“Jennifer,” she tried again.

“Jennifer died two days after last Labor Day,” Electra said coldly. “That’s the legal status of sylphs in one hundred and eighty-five of the countries belonging to the United Nations.” She shrugged. “The rest insist that we don’t exist.” She turned up to me. “Vroom.”

I took it as a command and scurried off through the crowd without a goodbye.

We saw and said goodbyes and promises to stay in touch and invitations to parties, invited a few people to swing by and catch our barbecue. Took pictures, posed for pictures, made goofy faces for the pictures…

Found my parents and family that came as guests. I realized then how Mrs. Beatty got here. Each student was mailed six tickets, more if they asked.

Jennifer’s name was on the list, Jennifer’s address of record got the tickets.

We’d have to make sure they didn’t mail anything else to the Beatty home…

Finally, we turned the pedestal in, in case they ever have another sylph in the school, and got into the car to drive home.

Electra had been kind of manic after we brushed off her mother. Now, alone, with no one to perform in front of, she curled up and started weeping.

I didn’t have the heart to put her in the carrier, so I folded her into my shirt pocket. We sat in the parking lot for a couple of minutes.

“Are you disappointed in me, Conrad?”

I cupped a hand under my pocket, lifting her slightly. “Electra, I am the founding member of the Electra Can Do No Wrong Fan Club And Charm School. What would I be disappointed about?”

“You forgave Masher. I couldn’t forgive my mother,” she said.

“Do you want to go find her, give her a wedgie? See if that improves your mood?” I tapped one hand on the steering wheel. “We could through a fishing line over a tree branch, see if we can lift her off the ground by her panties.”

She laughed in spite of herself. Then sobbed some more.

“I didn’t exactly forgive Masher, Electra. I just decided that my life was going to go on without him, and there was no need to give him the power to bother me.” She quieted a bit, thinking that through. “Your mother… Or, Jennifer’s mother, hasn’t put in the roadwork necessary to earn your foregiveness. Maybe that’ll come with time.”

“Right after the heat death of the universe,” she muttered.

“Okay, you’re talking about heat being a weapon. Time to get you home before you become hysterical.” I lifted her into the carrier and started the car. “Vroom,” I said.

“Vroom, indeed, Conrad,” she laughed. “And…thanks.”

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Index

68. Bonfire and Bullies

70. The End