This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for, or rather, the moment I'd been dreading. Depends on how I felt that day. Graduation was filled with all the pomp and circumstance I could ever imagine. There was an eclectic mix of proud parents, sleepy grandparents, and restless babies.
Emmett walked in front of me with his fancy Valedictorian's sash. Meanwhile, I searched for my parents in the crowd, desperately hoping they hadn't forgotten I was graduating too. But how could they forget? Emmett was going to be here.
Finally, amid the sea of people, I spotted Maria, flailing her hand like she was trying to swat a fly, and screaming Emmett and I's name like she had just learned how to talk, and discovered screaming. My parents clicked away at their cameras capturing every single moment. I wonder how many pictures Emmett was the focus of. I tapped Emmett on the shoulder, and we both plastered fake smiles on our faces.
Mom had convinced us that I would be cute to match for our graduation as if we were still little kids who needed to remind the world we came out of the same womb at the same time. Underneath the red graduation gowns, Emmett wore a black tuxedo with a pink corsage and bow tie. Me? I was sentenced to five hours of an itchy, sequined strapless pink dress that made me look like Barbie's disco ball. As soon as the lady at the rental area showed it to me, I regretted not bringing a pair of sunglasses too. I did have to admit fit me well and outlined my awkward-looking curves. But the itch? No. Just No. At least I could return it.
As I wobbled my way toward the stage, precariously balancing on Mom's old glittery pink stilts, I couldn't help but question her sanity. She let (made) me borrow them as she wore them at her graduation back in 2000. How did she manage to adorn these deathtraps on her feet? One wrong move and I'd be on the floor writhing in pain. I didn't even need the heels! I was already towering at a lofty five foot ten. But no, according to Mom, the heels would make me look more "ladylike." Whatever that meant.
The atmosphere buzzed with excitement, or maybe it was just the collective relief of finally leaving this place behind. I wouldn't have to cry over a test for a while unless I somehow found a calling my parents liked and came to university like Emmett. I tried to soak in the moment, to feel the significance of the occasion, but all I felt was an overwhelming desire to flee.
I brushed off my growing unease and did what I always did with my feelings—ignored them. The ceremony began shortly, and we sat in front of this stage while Principal Watson? Walter? I couldn't remember. I know. I know. The bare minimum was to know his name. I never needed it. He looked down on us with enthusiasm. Honestly, I couldn't care less about the guy. He didn't make my life harder or easier, just average, like a sad bowl of oatmeal.
Then came the moment we had all been waiting for. Emmett, the academic weapon, and his longtime arch-nemesis Navjeet Singh, the eternal second place, salutatorian sat side by side on the stage. Navjeet had been trailing Emmett in science fairs, robotics tournaments, and basketball for a little over six years. No one was a bigger thorn in his side than Navjeet. Emmett had finally come out of their long battle, unless Navejeet found him at Harvard.
After what felt like an eternity of boring speeches, it was finally time for Emmett to shine. Before Principal Watson-not-Walter (just found out) even could get the second syllable of "Thompson" the crowd broke into the most thunderous applause I've ever heard in real time. I joined in not excited. I've taken the brunt of hearing Emmett practice his speech over and over.
"Hello, Class of 2024!" he began.
"To friends, family, and faculty!" Emmett boomed with confidence, projecting his voice. Meanwhile, I slouched in my seat, already anticipating the sweet release of this ceremony's end.
Emmett went on and on about looking at our families, appreciating our teachers, and even contemplating the Earth's role in our lives. It was like a crash course in sentimental philosophy, filled with all the cliches one could jam into a speech. And then, of course, the most original piece of advice ever. "Be yourself."
The crowd ate it up like dinner, clapping and cheering as if Emmett had just solved world hunger, cancer, and inflation. His bro friends cheered extra loud in masculine applause. I contributed and clapped out of obligation, losing myself slowly.
Eventually, it was time to strut our stuff on the stage. Emmett returned to his spot in front of me, and I found myself sandwiched in the middle of the "T" people. I waited. And waited. And then, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, I ascended the stage to claim my diploma and receive a lukewarm handshake from the principals.
The rest of the ceremony dragged on with the obligatory performances by the grade 9 and 10 band, the choir singing their hearts out, and more forgettable speeches. My eyes were all attentive, but up in my head it was all crickets.
Eventually the ceremony had to end, Emmett and I located our parents and Maria, rocking a flowery orange dress that matched the streamers that adorned her electric wheelchair. I bent down to hug her, feeling my ankles shudder.
"You did it!" Maria exclaimed, her eyes shining with pride, before hugging Emmett.
"Thankfully," I muttered under my breath.
I hugged my mom and dad, squeezing them tightly while simultaneously wincing in pain as my ankle threatened to betray me. Mom whispered in my ear, "See, the heels were a good idea, right?"
I managed a half-hearted nod, not wanting to reignite another debate over shoes again. Dad's bushy mustache rose with his smile. "You both made it! We're so proud of you."
"Yeah," I sighed, realizing that my accomplishments paled in comparison to the shining star that was Emmett. Maybe if I had worked harder, pushed myself further.
Nah.
"You did so well on your speech," Mom congratulated. "You had everyone so...captivated. I cannot wait to share this on WhatsApp so everyone in Nigeria can see."
Emmett was the frequent star of Mom's family group chat. There was nothing they loved for than humble-bragging about all their kids achievements.
"Oh, Femi here? He just got into Stanford. Just a little something he did in his spare time. It will pale in comparison when he cures cancer."
"Ngozi got perfect scores on the SAT! It's almost like she invented the test. She might as well have. She just got accepted into the MENSA!"
It was a mismatch of everyone bragging about their kids. From scholarships, sports championships, every accomplishment was trying to outdo the next. Mom was practically rushing over herself to tell everyone that Emmett had not only been accepted to Harvard for computer science, but had been recruited to play on their team.
I don't know if I had ever been put in there. Maybe that one time I won the seventh grade talent show. But as long as Emmett was Emmett, and I was not, I would have to find some way to compensate.
Suddenly, someone leaped onto Emmett's back, and a flurry of his popular friends gathered around, erupting in a cacophony of cheers and laughter. I stood awkwardly next to Maria, feeling like a spare part in his shiny glory.
"Great speech, Emmett!" his bro friend Conrad shouted amidst the chaos. "We made it, man!"
They cheered, they laughed, they reveled in their shared triumph. I looked around for Hermela and smelled around for that key-lime pie whiff, but I couldn't find them. It's not like I would want to take pictures with her anyway. It was time for us to part ways.
Dad interrupted my internal monologue, pulling out his phone. "Alright, everyone, pose for a picture!"
They huddled together, arms draped around each other, beaming with pride and accomplishment. I glanced at my phone for the umpteenth time, sighing at the passing minutes. Dad's voice cut through the air, "Ezra, come on up!"
"But Dad, I don't even know these people," I protested, feeling my face flush as their curious gazes turned toward me. Someone stifled a giggle. I needed a beeline exit.
"Don't be silly," Dad reassured me. "Stand next to Emmett. They're your friends too, right?"
No. In fact, he doesn't even pretend we're siblings in public. All is well. Right?
I reluctantly stepped into the frame, positioned awkwardly beside a bro friend of Emmett's whose name I had never bothered to learn and probably never would. Time seemed to freeze as the camera clicked.
Finally, it ended.
Yes.
♩
My room, despite its literal shortcomings, was a lifesaver after graduation. It had been five hours since I wouldn't need to step into that school again. Emmett had gone to a graduation party and I stayed home.
I scrolled through my phone, my entire Instagram feed of everyone graduating. I didn't take any other pictures than what my Dad had. I didn't know if I wanted to ask for them. It felt awkward to pose beside everyone like that. It bothered me.
For the last four years, being thrust into the shadowy depths of the semi-popular kids should've given me invites to parties (minus bathroom vape sessions) and whatnot. But I had never been invited to one. They'd talk about it right in front of me.
It was stupid to cry over not being invited somewhere everyone would be blacked out, face down on the floor, or hooking up in some poor soul's bedroom.
This was it. I had graduated and made my parents semi–proud. I would work at the record shop and leave this average chapter behind in my life.
My eyes flitted to my notebook and I grabbed the fake leather in my hands, which soothed me already. Lyrics raced in my head.
I just feel uncomfortable, not comfortable
With the energy you created
Uncomfortable, questionable
Why I even found you right for me
You turned my world upside down
Now I can't even get it back up
Now I just feel uncomfortable, so miserable
I like you, but you make me feel terrible
"Uncomfortable, uncomfortable," I sang. "You make me uncomfortable."
I smiled through the last lyric being written down. It was so simple, yet so defining. I sang over the chorus more, feeling the words drip off of my tongue. The chorus was solidified. But no matter what, I could never find a good bridge that sounded cohesive with the sound.
I feel like I try to get away from myself with you
Turning me into a phantom for you
The knob of my door turned and I quickly shut my mouth and pushed my notebook far away from me, like I was doing something sinister. Mom walked in, eyes narrowed at my sudden uprightness.
Knocking was a cultural practice out of her books. They owned the house, which gave them universal knocking rights everywhere. I had nothing incriminating to hide from them, except for singing.
"What are you doing?" Mom asked.
"Just thinking," I lied.
"About what?" Mom asked, eyes even more narrow. "I heard you singing."
"School's off anyway!" I defended. "I have no assignments to work on. I was just working on a song I was writing."
"What's it called?" Mom asked, before grabbing my notebook anyway. I refrained from reaching out or else Mom would think I was writing about like sex, drugs, and that whole thing.
"Why are you writing about being uncomfortable?" Mom wondered, and I sighed. "Why do you write about sadness and negativity?"
I prepared to speak but the words died in my throat. "I don't know."
She threw it back to me. "Write songs that make sense. I don't understand this whole music thing to you."
I choked back a gulp. "Well, I'm not sharing them with anyone."
"But if you, they'll laugh at you. The music industry is competitive, you know that? There's no way you can make it. What if people hate your music? You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself, would you?" Mom spat, eyes on me.
"No Mom," I bit down on the words. "I just write music for me."
"If it's just a hobby, you shouldn't be spending so much time on it," Mom said, locking eyes with the floor. "You should be more like Emmett. I don't understand how you both have the same opportunities, but yet you cannot even pursue anything like him."
I bit back on my words. There was no use for starting an argument. Mom was right, and I needed to take correction because there was no way I could be right.
"Yes Mom," I agreed. "I'll think about it."
She looked around and forced up a smile. "Good. You need to make this family proud."
She left the room and I got back up to close the door and leaned my head against the doorframe. New lyrics formed.
I just feel uncomfortable
Not comfortable
I wish you could be different