Over the Moon

On what was supposed to be the best day of her teenage years, Red felt lost in a sea of maroon graduation gowns that made everyone look the same. 

She watched and listened to the hubbub as parents and siblings joked with and fussed over the teenagers that she had spent four long years with at high school. Above the stage, the breeze teased a golden yellow banner with maroon writing which said: Class of 1978.

It was going to feel odd to have her full name announced when she lined up on the stage with other students from her row after receiving her diploma. 

Everyone called her Red, even the principal when she was called to his office. Her father had nicknamed her that because he used to have an Irish Setter. 

She envied the other students whose families clustered around them. You could invite two people, but most had more than that. She had zero, about typical of her life. She shifted her maroon cap to her other hand, then traced the braid from the back of her neck to the end and brought the tail up in front of her face and frowned at it.

Much too tightly braided because her mother insisted on helping her this morning. She felt too warm in her graduation gown and wished she was wearing only a bikini underneath. Last year, a streaker had run naked right through graduation. Would there be one today or more than one? Maybe that boy looking at her wasn’t wearing anything under his maroon gown. But no, she saw the trouser bottoms beneath.

“Never seen you in a braid before,” he told her, attempting a Southern accent. “You look all growed up.”

She gave him a little smile, relieved to not be the only one alone, but then someone called his name. He turned and was engulfed by family—five of them, in fact.

She wished her father could be here, but no chance of that. They didn’t let people out of prison to go to a graduation. Someone at the laundromat was sick, so her mother had to work. Her older brother promised to attend, but Craig being in hospital to have his appendix out made that impossible.

Her favourite uncle phoned last night from Chicago, delayed on business. He said he would be rooting for her today. It wasn’t the same with him not here. He might not even think about her, busy sealing some deal that required careful handling. He seldom visited San Diego, usually only on his way to some conference in L.A.

Neither of the two aunts her mother phoned at the last minute could come either. Why would they want to witness the black sheep on graduation day? Compared to her brother, she would always lose, as long as it was her mother deciding.

Red tucked the maroon cap under her arm and pressed it against her gown to use both hands to unfasten the end of her braid, tugging her fingers through her hair. Undoing all her mother’s careful work, she didn’t care if she no longer looked presentable and grown up. 

She wanted to be eighteen forever. Growing up meant marriage and babies and jobs and stress and maybe prison if she was as much like her father as her mother sometimes said. 

She pulled up the hem of her graduation gown and tucked the fastener in her jeans pocket. Mother might otherwise suspect she deliberately unbraided her hair before graduating. Well, when a promise was forced out of her, her mother shouldn’t expect her to keep it. 

When mother left for work that morning, Red took off her dress and changed into jeans and that peasant blouse with all the embroidery. An unexpected birthday gift from her uncle probably because her father was in prison. Nobody was going to see what she was wearing under the graduation gown.

“What college you going to?” a teenage girl she barely knew asked her.

“Chicago University,” she lied, picking the city where her uncle was on business.

“Oh, I’m going to New York State,” the teenager replied and enthused about how great it would be to live in the Big Apple.

Red nodded, wanting to say that the Big Apple didn’t need another worm. The girl moved on to tell someone else her big news.

The mic on the stage crackled into life. “Testing. One. Two. Three.”

She didn’t like the idea of going up on the stage in front of all these people. With nobody from her family to watch, why bother? She could take off the stupid gown and give it to that woman sitting by a table in a corner of the field. She would say she was ill. They’d been told that the diplomas hadn’t been printed yet, so it was pointless taking part.

But she may as well get her money’s worth. Maybe a streaker would race by or something else interesting. Plus, she wouldn’t need to lie to her mother. She fretted with her hair, thinking her mother would kill her if she found out it was loose before graduation even started.

Among all the noise and movement, she noticed another teenage boy watching her. Matthew, already wearing the maroon cap with the gold tassel, surrounded by his parents and two younger brothers, but looking at her. She raised her chin as she gazed back. She only knew his name because he almost always put his hand up with the right answer.

Red could have studied more, but the only class she liked was art. The teacher said she was good at it, very creative. Despite her good grades in art, her mother didn’t buy those pastels for her birthday. They’d argued. Mother said art would never earn her a living.

Someone collided with her shoulder. She turned, ready to tell them off. A few teenage boys laughed together nearby.

“Sorry,” said the teenager who had stumbled into her, pushing his glasses back up. “I got shoved.” 

“Not your fault,” she told him. A hot blush rose in his cheeks. She glared at the laughing boys then turned away. At least she would never see these idiots again.

The mic crackled. “Friends and relations, please find a seat on the bleachers if you have an invitation or stand at the sides if you don’t. Students—and this is the last time I will call you students—now is the time to find your seats alphabetically as we rehearsed.”

Red followed the crowd toward the waiting rows of folding chairs. As she found her seat which had a piece of paper with her initials and a number taped on it, she felt again like she was being watched. 

This time, though, she didn’t see Matthew or anyone else gazing her way. She shrugged and sat down, though she had to stand up immediately to let someone else get past. 

Did her father remember she was graduating today? Every day must be the same as every other in prison, like a nightmarish version of high school.

She put her square maroon cap on her lap as she wasn’t going to put it on until it was time for her row to walk up to the stage. The rehearsal had been okay—but she felt nervous. What if she missed a step while going up to the stage or tripped on her gown when walking across it? Being laughed at was one reason she missed school so often. 

Sometimes, she only turned up for Art. She would miss that teacher, but none of the others. She would have liked to study music, but you had to own an instrument to do that. Even her brother hadn’t had any music classes. Too expensive. 

As the principal stepped up to the mic and gave his speech, she realised she would never have to sit outside his office again. He once set up an appointment with the district school psychologist. She’d phoned up that morning and imitated her mother’s voice to report that her daughter unfortunately had stomach flu. She put the phone down before any questions could be asked. 

One of her few so-called authorised absences. She grinned, having forged her mother’s signature on the attendance slips taken home on a regular basis. She managed to intercept the letters mailed to her parents about her excessive absenteeism. She only ever got an A from her Art teacher, but she’d figured out how to work the system.

The careers counsellor spoke next about their brilliant futures and exponential possibilities for expansion, whatever that was. She stopped listening and tried to think what dog he resembled. 

She decided it was a dachshund, sad and narrow with a pointy face. They couldn’t afford one, even though it could live on leftovers. If only Craig said he wanted one, too, they would probably have gotten one.

Next up was somebody political who attended this very high school back in the day. He said this year’s amazing graduates would bring credit to their teachers and parents. She gave up listening and chose a German shepherd for him, a bit stern but ready to wag his tail.

Then the class valedictorian walked up on to the stage. As it was Matthew, she decided to listen, although he did use a lot of big words. She forgot to choose a dog for him because she liked his voice. He finished much too soon, compared with the other speakers.

The principal came back and talked briefly, then finally the high school orchestra started playing. The Pomp and Circumstance march, practiced at rehearsal, was supposed to help them walk in a slow, steady and dignified manner.

When the teenagers in the row ahead of hers were walking toward the stage, she put the maroon cap on. Should the tassel be to the left or the right? Nobody seemed to be consistent. She just hoped the stupid cap would stay on. Who designed these caps and gowns anyway? It would be better to wear your favourite clothing, something you looked good in, plus it would cost less than renting the cap and gown.

As Red climbed the steps to the stage, she heard someone not far behind her throwing up. Feeling nauseous, she managed to keep going and didn’t look back. Everyone in the audience must be staring. Their family would have to pay for their graduation gown to be especially cleaned if they’d gotten it dirty. That had been emphasised at the rehearsal. And they weren’t to throw their caps in the air at the end, but she expected that almost everyone would do that. Her brother’s class all had.

She accepted the diploma case with her left hand and shook hands with her right at the same time as smiling at the principal. She had practiced the routine numerous times with Craig as she didn’t want to look stupid. If only her brother could see her flawless delivery.

She walked to the back of the stage and lined up with the others. The audience applauded which she enjoyed. She’d like to be an actress, though she doubted she could memorise the lines. Her mother wanted her to have a solid career. 

Red had been job hunting since Easter, but they always wanted skills she didn’t have or the job sounded boring. She had promised that she would start applying for jobs next week, as she had to start earning money so she could leave home. She had neglected to tell her mother about this plan, but that was the best way to avoid yet another argument.

As she walked to the steps on the opposite side of the stage, she felt again that someone was looking directly at her. Well, of course, a thousand or so people were. She made her way back to her folding chair. The seat next to hers was vacant. How awful to be sick at your own graduation. She swallowed down the feeling of nausea and hoped she hadn’t caught any germs. 

After everyone received their empty diploma cases and sat down again, a teenage girl in glasses went up to the stage. She sang a song that she had written about the future and how this was their first day of the next chapter of their lives.

Then the principal came to the mic and raised both arms high and said, “Welcome to your future and congratulations to each and every one of you.”

Everyone around her shouted and stood up, so she joined them and threw her maroon cap toward the blue sky. Caps rose into the air, but she felt sure hers had gone the highest. Yes. She’d done it. All the hard work it had taken to get the minimum requirements had paid off. 

Like her favourite uncle had told her more than once: if you don’t got a high school diploma, you don’t got nothing to show you got a brain. His English was better than that, of course, but he liked to joke around. She wished he wasn’t in Chicago as he never called her a black sheep.

She picked up a maroon cap from the ground and found a long auburn hair inside, so she knew it was the right one. Her mother often complained that she shed hair like a dog, one more excuse not to get one. 

She was about to join the line to return her cap and gown when a young boy ran up to her and gave her a folded piece of paper.

“For me?” she asked, sure it couldn’t possibly be for her.

He nodded solemnly, then added, “Got a Hershey bar for it.”

“Who gave it to you?” she asked, intending to return the note.

He whirled around, looking, then shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said, and ran away.

She looked at the piece of paper then unfolded it, reading three words boldly printed: Behind the Gazebo.

Had Craig managed to get out of hospital to surprise her? She glanced at the table where the woman was ticking a name off her list. She could turn hers in after she discovered what the note was all about. 

Maybe it was someone playing a trick—maybe those three boys who had made that boy stumble into her. If it was them, she would give them hell.

She carried the maroon cap in one hand and the empty diploma case in the other. Loads of people had gathered around the gazebo. Teenagers and their family members taking turns getting their photo on the steps. She gave them a wide berth. She didn’t want anyone handing her a camera and asking her to take their photograph. Nobody here to take hers.

Behind the gazebo, partly hidden among the trees, the man smiled at her, his eyes lighting up. He said in a British accent, “I have never watched a mare winning at the races as keenly as I watched you cross that stage to get your diploma.” 

The binoculars, on a cord around his neck, looked expensive. She was more impressed with him than with most of the crowd of parents and relatives dressed smartly for the occasion. Was his suit tailored? Tie pin and cufflinks gleamed as did his gold watch. 

“Who are you?” she asked, puzzled.

“Friend of your father’s,” he said easily.

He didn’t look like any of her father’s friends. Much younger, for one thing, but also, he looked respectable—and wealthy.

“Nathaniel Benedict,” he said, offering his hand, “or Nathan or Nate. Just don’t call me Nat as I’m not a mosquito.”

She shifted diploma case and cap so that she could shake his hand. “Nathan,” she said, “pleased to meet you.” Nathaniel was too much of a mouthful. Nate would be what her dad called him. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled and enfolded her hand with his other hand, then slowly released her. “Go and ditch that costume, angel. I want to take you out for lunch to celebrate since your father can’t be here.”

“I’ll be right back.” Red handed him her diploma case as if that would keep him from disappearing. As soon as she got in line, she pulled the maroon gown up over her head, glad to free herself of the enveloping folds. She had to repeat her name twice. The woman paged through the list on her clipboard and put a tick beside her name, then slowly filled out a receipt.

She stuffed the receipt into a pocket of her jeans and hurried back toward the gazebo. She was totally over the moon that her father had sent a friend along to watch her graduate.

She slowed. Matthew, the valedictorian, was standing on the gazebo steps with his parents on either side and two younger brothers on the step below. A camera flashed, capturing the moment. The family looked so happy. Lucky him. 

She hurried on to meet her father’s friend. Lunch sounded good. She’d refused the breakfast that her mother had insisted on, predicting that she would faint in the middle of graduation. She hadn’t eaten because of the butterflies dancing in her stomach. They were turning somersaults now.