Because I Promised

Fourteen | Don't you?

Graduation is portrayed in books and movies as the biggest even of high school. All the work you put in for four years is finally recognized and you get a piece of paper saying "hey kid, you made it" and then you get to celebrate with a hundred or so classmates, half of them you've probably never spoken to. You get your yearbooks signed, throw on a cap and gown, and say goodbye to the hallowed halls you've spent eight semesters in. Your teachers are happy for you but sad to see you go. Your parents are crying with joy that their baby is all grown up. When the ceremony ends, everyone throws their caps in the air and then the movie slows to a stop. Nobody writes about how difficult it is to attend a ceremony when you know somebody is missing. The movies don't show the protagonist mourning a loss at their graduation.

All the movies I had seen and books I had read could not begin to prepare me for the moment where I have to walk across the stage, grab my diploma, and look my classmates in the eye, knowing what I know.

The lights are too bright. The auditorium is too hot. My tie is tied too tight. I grab my diploma and descend the stairs back to my seat near the middle of the auditorium. I can see the outline of my parents and brother, clapping and crying because we all know hard it was to get me here. I sat in the car for an hour, staring at my hands that couldn't stay still for longer than five seconds, before finally walking towards my high school.

The names of the rest of my classmates are called and I watch them all follow the same steps as me across the stage, down the steps, down the aisle and back into their seats. It's almost mesmerizing how practiced it all looks. It's probably the most coordinated my class has ever been collectively.

When it seems like the ceremony may be over, our principal stands at the podium and clears his throat. "While today is a day of celebration, it must also be a day of remembrance. These students have spent four years working very hard to get to this day, but with the cost of losing one of their own. I would like to dedicate this ceremony to Alison Reed, a beloved classmate of yours who was taken too soon."

My breath catches in my throat, and I notice a few heads turn towards me. The lights dim and the projector flicks on to a slideshow of pictures of Alison. The first few are drama club pictures, then some women's chorus photos and a few group photos of the student government. Soon enough, photos of her and her friends make their way into the mix and my heart clenches as my face appears on the screen, squished against hers at the homecoming dance Junior year. I'm looking straight at the camera but her eyes are on me. It fades into a candid one of us, my arms wrapped around her from behind at the last football game of our Junior season. I can feel the bile rising in my throat.

As tears form in the corners of my eyes I stand up abruptly, my metal folding chair clattering to the floor behind me. Heads turn toward me as I run from the auditorium. I can hear footsteps coming after me. Tears blur over my vision and the room begins spinning around me. I find myself clutching to the walls in the hallway, trying to catch what little breath I'm able to.

"Jordan breathe." A hand closes over my shoulder and I expect to hear my mother's voice but instead hear another familiar voice. Cold fingertips rub my shoulder blade in an attempt to soothe me. "Just focus on breathing. Nothing else matters." I focus on the sound of her voice and the feeling of her fingertips digging into the crook of my neck.

For what seems like hours, the only sounds in the hallway are that of my breathing and the echo of music playing in the auditorium. At some point I slide to the floor, falling in a crumpled heap in the middle of the hallway. Emilie follows, her hand never breaking contact with my body. It moves from my shoulders, down my back and rests there for a moment before moving back to my shoulders.

"I asked around about you." She says, her voice soft. "Someone finally told me."

I don't have to ask what they told her. I can tell by the way she's trying so hard to comfort me that she knows exactly what's going on with me.

"You have a panic disorder don't you?" She asks, probably rhetorically.

When I don't answer, she just sighs quietly. "I've had one since I was little."

"How do you know I have one?" I hardly recognize my voice when it finally comes out. It's raspy and almost too loud for the silent hallway.

"I know what a panic attack looks like Jordan." The way she says my name is still so foreign to me, and leaves tension in the air. I try to compare it to my mother's or Ali's but it just sounds different. The worst part is that I can't decide if it's a bad different or an okay different.

Her slender fingers wrap around my clammy ones and my body tenses in response. "Just relax Jordan." She says, her breath fanning over the back of my neck. As hard as I try, I cannot relieve the tension in my shoulders or stop the goosebumps from spreading across my skin.

I'm not sure how long we sit like this before a thunderous applause erupts from the auditorium and metal chairs are clanking together. I can hear footsteps nearing us and chatter lulling into silence as people pass us. "Jord?" The voice that speaks next is most definitely my mother's. The hand intertwined with my own is released and replaced with a larger, warmer one. I'm pulled to my feet by my father, a deep sadness resting in his eyes.

"Let's get you home bud."

I don't have an excuse for why it's so late and so short. Just remember this is a short story, so the chapters aren't meant to be long.

xx Amanda