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June 21st, 2013
“Here! Take a picture, Mrs. Carson,” Andrew asked, smiling from ear to ear. He slung both his arms around Noelle and I, pulling our faces so close together that it was hard to move. “Aw, look—I got my best girl and my best boy right here.”
“Yes,” Noelle said, out of breath. “And it’d really be nice if we didn’t both die of asphyxiation on our graduation day.”
“Oops. Sorry,” he muttered in a snap realization, loosening his grip on both of us. We laughed, on cue, just as my mother snapped a picture, my father standing beside her with an arm around her waist. The Polaroid came out and she aired it out, smiling with delight as she handed it back to us.
“You all look so great!” my mother said, waving the Polaroid rapidly in the air before tucking it away, safely in her pocketbook. “You can add that to your scrapbook—God knows you need to add a few more things in there, I mean really…”
“Okay, thanks, mom,” I laughed to myself, rolling my eyes.
All of a sudden, she looked as if she was holding a hand to her mouth to constrict whatever squeals or cries might escape. The tears began to flow rapidly, started by quite nearly nothing at all.
“Oh, my little Henry—it feels like just yesterday that you were wetting the bed and eating crayons—”
“—Thanks, mom,” I said quickly, my mouth tight at the ends of my smile.
She grinned sadly and buried me in her arms, “I love you so much, baby,” she said into my ear. My father wrapped his arms around us both.
“We’re so proud of you, Henry,” he said.
Before I could thank either of them, I felt two arms wrap around me, pulling me staggering backwards, “We are too!” Andrew exclaimed. “And hey. Salutatorian—I mean, it’s not Valedictorian, but hey, it’ll do—”
Noelle elbowed Andrew against his ribs with a sigh, “Don’t tease him. The only reason he’s second in the class is because Freddie took that AP Chem course over the summer last year.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. All Freddie was doing was pretending to get hammered over the course of summer last year, and nothing else is going to change my mind.”
“Guys, I really don’t care that much,” I interjected.
Noelle nudged Andrew playfully, who chuckled and turned towards me, smiling, “You’re right. But anyway, have you written your speech?”
I patted the pocket of my clothes, hidden under my robes. “Of course,” I told her. “It’s not very good, but—”
“—Oh, shut up, you’re a writer,” Andrew sighed, exasperated. “Of course it’s amazing.”
“He’s right,” Noelle insisted, linking her arms through both of ours. She smiled wide, “Anything you write is bound to sound amazing. I’ll be moved to tears within moments, I’m sure of it.”
“It’s pretty quick,” I told her, not wanting to get her hopes up.
"Wonderful. All the more time for Freddie to come in and sweep us off our feet—”
Noelle elbowed him sharply in his gut, and he keeled over, laughing. They had to grab my shoulders to keep from tripping over their giggles, and I found myself struggling soon as well.
❄
The auditorium was capably converted into a large-scale graduation ceremony, and looked almost too picturesque upon our entrance. It looked like a carbon copy of an old 80s film, streamers and paper banners hanging from the ceiling that read “CONGRATS, GRADS.” Noelle pointed them out as we walked in, adjusting her mortarboard.
“They went all out this year. Streamers and signs,” she laughed sarcastically.
I laughed nervously, wanting to lighten up, but feeling a pit in my stomach as well.
She looked at me with concern instantly, noticing the worry in my eyes and the hand that tightened around my speech that sunk my pocket like a weight. “Hey, Henry, don’t get anxious, okay?” She said softly, as if she’d read my mind. She pressed a hand to my arm and smiled, “You’ll be great. You always are.”
Andrew was busy preoccupying himself with finding a seat, and I continued to stare at the stage, my mind fixed on the idea of tripping over my own two feet on my way up. My mouth felt dry, and I licked my cracked lips before I could speak. “I don’t feel very good, all of a sudden.”
She smiled sadly and laughed, pulling me into a hug. Shamelessly, she rested her head against my chest and smiled against the robes. I felt startled for a moment, but allowed myself this one moment of grandeur before implications and double entendres would begin to blur my sense of judgment.
She pulled away and looked up at me, a sparkle in her eye. “I believe in you, Henry. I always have.”
I smiled meekly and nodded at her, grateful. “Thanks, Elle.”
She grinned back at me slyly, releasing my arms so she could cross her own across her chest. “Good,” she said. “Now go up there and kick some ass. It’s time to graduate.”
❄
Andrew and Noelle had found their families amongst the couple hundred students in our class when I nervously stood behind the scenes, not yet found my seat, my thumbs twiddling anxiously. The card that I’d written my speech on sat in my hands, taunting me, wishing to be read. I tried not to think about it.
I was so busy worrying about my own possible follies that I didn’t notice it when Freddie appeared beside me. He looked as he always had, tall and lanky with unkempt curly dark hair and untreated acne. I was sure, though, that one day that acne would fade away, and he’d own an empire of his own. That’s how those things always played out.
“Hey, Henry,” he said quietly. He looked at me meekly; almost apologetic.
I looked up at him briefly before turning back to my card, eyes scanning over it in an attempt to memorize at least a few lines before I would be called up. “Hi, Freddie.”
There was silence for a bit.
“So, graduation,” he finally said, in awe.
"Yeah. Graduation.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.”
He pursed his lips, his leg jittering nervously. “Look, Henry—I know we haven’t gotten along in the past, but I just want you to know—”
“—Freddie, I don’t care about that. It’s okay,” I told him carelessly. “It’s all okay.”
He shook his head, “No. It’s just that…” he looked at the ground, curiously thinking of how to phrase his next sentence. “…I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened between you and Winter.”
My eyes widened, and quickly I looked up at him. “What?” I said, my tone unintentionally acidic.
He looked nervous. “I’m just…I know she meant something to you. And I don’t claim to know much about either of you guys, but word is that she’s gone,” he said, avoiding my gaze. He looked down at the ground; his shoelace was untied underneath his blue graduation robes. “And I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry about anything, Freddie.”
“I was a real jerk to you once, Henry.”
“That was almost a year ago, Freddie, it doesn’t matter anymore—”
“—Of course it matters. That kind of stuff always matters,” he said, his fists clenching on his legs. “I want to be a good guy. I don’t want to be seventy one day, old and retired, looking back on my life and remembering that one shitty summer night I must’ve made you feel like shit. I want to apologize”—I remained quiet, unmoved. He closed his eyes and took a breath—“Please accept my apology.”
I paused, folding my speech in half. I looked at him, solemn, and nodded, “I accept your apology,” I told him.
He sighed, a breath of relief escaping his lips. He looked at me, smiling softly, “Thank you,” he told me. “And, to be honest—there’s no one who I’d rather be sharing the stage with than you, Henry.”
I looked up, somewhat surprised. I blinked, nodding back at him, “Yeah,” I said hesitantly. “Thanks, Freddie. You’ve earned valedictorian.”
He laughed, as if I’d said something funny. “I got good grades,” he told me, smiling sadly. “But what you did—what you did meant something. That’s what you’ll remember. That’s what you’ll be thinking of, when you’re seventy years old, thinking about your days in high school. Not the grades. Not the titles. Not any of that stuff they try and kid you into thinking is worthwhile. You’re going to remember this—this, right here, right now—and her,”he told me. The sadness in his eyes melted away like sun kissed snow, “You’ll remember her.”
❄
The rest of the ceremony before my speech seemed to disappear in a foggy haze. Students filed in, lines upon lines, marching as music drummed in the background to welcome us to one of our greatest transitions. I took my seat amongst the rest, unable to see neither Noelle nor Andrew amongst the seat of blue caps and tassels. My palms sweat, my heart raced, and for a moment, I forgot the speech in my hands.
The opening ceremonies raced by. We said the pledge, our principal inaugurated the ceremony for us, saying a few words of encouragement before I heard my name being called, blasted against the four walls of the massive auditorium.
A roar of applause broke loose—I felt hands tug on my robes, shouting words of encouragement. They were people I’d ever hardly spoken to, but they were happy for me. I didn’t know how, but by some miracle, I stood up on my two legs and found my way up to the stage, my hands clinging to the podium for some sort of balance.
And all at once, the music stopped playing; people ceased to speak; parents turned on their cameras; and a million small, watchful eyes were carefully placed on me.
My hands shaking, I unfolded the speech. The lines were smeared from constant wear, but I could make out my messy print all the same. I looked out into the crowd once again; palms sweaty, joints fidgeting, heart pulsing.
And finally, I spoke.
“Classmates—parents—teachers and staff,” I began, my voice sore. I looked into the crowd and smiled, “We did it.”
Another roar of applause. I looked back down at the paper, smiling nervously. I adjusted my glasses.
“I spent a lot of time over the past few weeks worrying about this moment—what I would say, what impressions I would leave on you all. Because for many of us, this is goodbye. I will not see all of these faces together in one room again ever again. And I believe that you can see that negatively, but like most things, you can also find the good in it.
“I believe that time, and the lives that we’ve come to lead, are extremely temperamental. They can seem like they are racing by—and so we must do whatever is in our power to hold onto them; to seize them and cherish them while we still have the life in us to do so. I don’t know if I’ve always seen it that way, but I believe that this year—as it has for many of us—has changed me,” I said, looking into the crowd. In the far reaches, I could see Noelle’s face. She looked at me, tears in her eyes, smiling as wide as I’d ever seen her.
“At the beginning of the year, I found myself wandering. I couldn’t pin down what I wanted to do with my life. For so long, the prospect of the future had seemed so distant that I could put any name to it, and it seemed possible…But I’ve grown to realize that this notion of future and possibility can seem inversely related, because as what you’ve waited all your life grows closer, it can suddenly seem so terribly, terribly real”—I chuckled, only to myself—“And that can feel like a great burden for someone who has no idea what they wanted to do.
“But it was this year that I also learned to pick myself up. I no longer wander through life, and I believe that that is because of the relationships and talents I acquired this year. I was able to realize that my one true love can also be a source of income—more or less, at least.”
The crowd burst with laughter. I looked up—I could see Andrew, far to the left, in stitches; Noelle, towards the back, smiling beautifully; my parents and Hattie, in the way, way back, cheering me on; and Winter, wherever she might have been, dreaming, breathing, and living. I wanted to remember that moment. I wanted to remember it all—the bitter and the sweet.
I smiled, taking it all in before I looked back down at my speech. My eyes skimmed over the next few lines, bracing myself as I drew in a deep breath. “I believe that this year, I met the most important person I’ll ever meet. This person taught me how to love, how to cherish, and how to dream. They taught me that if I want it, I can get it, and if I don’t think I can, I’ll never come close. They taught me the value of hard work even though I was supposed to be the one teaching them”—I drew in a shaky breath, feeling my throat closing up. I closed my eyes—“I believe that in everyone’s lives, they’ll come across a person like this. A person that changes everything. A person that makes you feel incredibly secure in yourself because they, themselves, believe in you so very much. I believe that we all have someone like that waiting for us somewhere—and that the largest issue is whether or not we reach out and hold them close while we can.
“And though that relationship and these relationships that we’ve made with our fellow classmates are some of the most important we’ll ever have, I believe it is also important to understand the importance of oneself,” I asserted, looking back up at the crowd. For a moment, my eyes seemed to deceive me as I thought I could see a flash of bright blonde hair in the back of the auditorium. I ignored it, persevering through the rest of the speech.
“This same person that I come to see as one of the most important of my life, ironically, taught me that sometimes, you have to be your own best friend. Sometimes, you have to support yourself, because no one else will,” I said, licking my crackling lips. “I believe that the people you surround yourself are immensely important. But I also believe that you must first learn to love yourself before you can learn to find that love in someone else. You cannot learn to live inside another person—you must first learn who you are and what you want.
“I feel that in the day we live in, that social interaction is amalgamated with this idea of self-worth, and that we are only of value when other people see us as such. But I don’t believe that’s true. I believe that there is no shame in wanting to be on your own every now and again. There is a silent dignity in shyness that not many recognize, but I have felt firsthand.
“Because without an understanding of who we are, how can we truly grow to be the doctors, lawyers, musicians, and artists that all of us strive to be? This is our time to understand who we are and what we want. This is our time to discover, to create, and to be,” I say, my voice growing stronger yet shakier with every syllable. I look up in the crowd to catch my breath and suddenly end up losing it when I see a face in the crowd—far past the students, far past the teachers, and even far past the families. Leaning against the wall, eyes pinned on me, Winter slouches, smiling as wide as her mouth will allow. I struggle to catch myself where I was in my speech, feeling my thoughts scattered into a million pieces, now all at once.
“This is our time to make mistakes. This is the time to think we’ve ruined our lives. This is the time to realize we haven’t. This is the time to pick ourselves up and remember all the things in the world that make it beautiful, because there are so many—trust me, I have seen them.”
I looked up again, my eyes colliding with Winter’s. My eyes did not leave hers for the rest of the speech. I’d memorized my lines anyway.
“Do not let these rough patches skew the view of the rest of your life. We are all so young, and we all have so much to look forward to. So if there is one thing you do, I beg of you to do it: Enjoy your life. Love every moment of it, from the crinkled smiles to the gut wrenching tears. Learn to love. Learn to experience. Learn to keep an open mind, and most of all, learn to forgive.”
Winter smiled from the sidelines, and for a moment, I though I’d seen a tear slide down her cheek. I grin back, gathering the strength to finish.
“And lastly,” I breathe, “when you believe that the world has turned against you and everyone else has too, remember that you were born to be you. Look around you. Who is with you? Take it in. You have found your home all along.
“Thank you.”
The moment my lips depart from the microphone, the audience stands up and applauds, roaring with shouts and cheers. Amongst the clamor, I can no longer see Winter clearly, and my chest tenses. In a daze, I’m ushered off of the stage and back into my seat. People high-five me, pat me on the back, and shout words of encouragement at me, but I’d forgotten them all. The only thing I could thing about was her flash of white gold hair and her smile that stretched for days.
Freddie quickly got on the stage and delivered his valedictorian speech. I stared at the ground for the most of it, preoccupied as an ant walked across my shoe, when suddenly it seemed as if he’d finished. I pulled myself up quickly to applaud when I’d realized that minutes had passed without my knowing.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded. The principal spoke quickly again, before announcing the diplomas. They began with the A’s, the B’s, before they arrived at the C’s. They went through only five names before they arrived at mine, and I was up on my feet again, greeted by a round of applause. I hiked up the stage, greeting the principal as he handed me my diploma. He shook my hand and leaned in to whisper in my ear: “Excellent work, son.”
I smiled at him and nodded, thanking him quietly before I turned away, my diploma in hand. The emptiness in my stomach felt strange as I walked down the stage, back to my seat. I thought I might be rejoiced to be holding the guarantee of my future in my very hands, but it all felt so artificial that it might not have been real. The reality that had presented itself to me over the past few months had seemed so unappealing that perhaps I didn’t even want it.
As I departed from the stage, I caught sight of my parents and Hattie in the audience. They stood up, cheering, screaming my name. The sight of their happiness made me smile, if only for a moment. It was as I looked to them that my eyes shifted to the back again, where for a moment, I could see the familiar flash of white gold hair. Behind the throng of familial chanting and communal excitement, she stood, smiling as she’d always been. I felt my heart catch itself in my stomach, watching her as she held a thumbs-up in my direction. I couldn’t hear her voice, but her lips read: “Henry!”
I wanted to run after her, but I was escorted by a teacher to my seat after it seemed I’d lingered at the stairs for too long. The rest of the ceremony went on painfully long as I waited to see her. They went through over a hundred names before they arrived at Andrew’s, and even more before they arrived at Noelle’s.
Over an hour passed, and after a few more words from the principal, he encouraged us to throw our mortarboards to the sky. In a flurry of excitement and wonderment, three hundred and fifty hands soared into the air, throwing their caps to the sky. Cries of joy and excitement emanated throughout the auditorium, and in the cover of the excitement, I hopped from my seat and rushed out. I heard a few yelps of discomfort, but I couldn’t be bothered. Hardly anyone tried to stop me as I ran out, past the families, past the teachers, and to the back of the auditorium, where I’d seen Winter standing.
But when I arrived, she was nowhere to be seen.
❄
“Henry, your speech was flawless,” Noelle gushed after we’d filed out of our seats. After I tried to run after Winter, I was escorted by a teacher. Hardly anyone had noticed I’d tried to make a run for it, and so I kept myself quiet. “But I couldn’t expect anything less, really.”
“Don’t inflate his ego too much,” Andrew said with a smirk, patting me hard on the back. “Although, I have to say, it was pretty rad. Although, I don’t know what the fuck amalamated means.”
Noelle leaned in and smiled sweetly at him, tentatively whispering, “It’s amalgamated, Andrew.”
“Whatever! I’m going to college to play soccer, I don’t need your fancy Harvard language!”
“It’s not that difficult a word, Andrew…” Noelle insisted, rolling her eyes.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, it sounds pretty fancy…”
As Noelle and Andrew bickered, I felt someone grab me from behind. Hattie’s arms wrapped around my torso and squeezed with a surprising force.
“Henry, that was sick!” She squealed with excitement, “You sounded like a politician, or something. Only with less makeup.”
My mother and father appeared, only to hug me as well. My mother pushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it under my cap. She smiled, tears in her eyes, “I’m so proud, sweetheart.”
I smiled half-heartedly, nodding, “Thanks, guys.”
My dad grinned, eyes filled rapidly filling with the ecstasy of the occasion. “You know what? How about we all go out to eat? You can invite Andrew and Noelle, too. It’ll be on us—”
I was about to respond, almost excited by the prospect when I felt a hand rip me away from the conversation. I turned around, only to see that it was Freddie, eyes wide with amazement.
“Henry, you won’t believe this—”
I stared at him, shocked by the surprise in his tone. “What’s going on?”
“Come outside. You’ve got to see this.”
❄
Freddie dragged me outside as my family, Noelle, and Andrew lagged behind me, not far away at all. A small crowd of graduates waited outside, staring at whatever spectacle it was that Freddie seemed so preoccupied with.
“Freddie, I—”
“Look!” He exclaimed, pointing at the farthest wall, a small structure that stood at the center of the quad. “Right there.”
I followed his gaze, and surely enough, my mouth fell open wide open with surprise. Hanging over the structure was a huge white tarp, spray painted with the words:
“YOU DID IT, BOOKBOY.
NOW MAKE ME PROUD.”
I stared at it, feeling something inside me stir. Whatever part of me was sad faded away all at once, along with every other limb that held regret or faulty reason. I looked to the sky, then back to my family and friends who looked at me expectantly, the world in their eyes.
I will, Winter.
I will.
❄
August 18th, 2013
It was nearly a week before move-in day when Bronwyn called me for the last time. I haven’t spoken to her since.
She sounded sincere, her voice quiet and understanding. She sounded at peace.
“Hey, Henry,” she said.
I perked up when I heard the calmness of her tone. It was something I didn’t think I’d ever heard before. “Bronwyn! How are you?”
“I’m actually pretty well,” she said softly. “I just wanted to call you and speak quickly. I know you’re probably moving out soon.”
I nodded, “The twenty-ninth.”
“Wow.”
“I know. It’s weird, right?”
She laughed, “I know. It’s strange to think of you as anything but a senior.”
“I’m still trying to get used to it myself.”
“So, do you think you’ll like it in the city?”
“Yeah. I really think I do. I’ve enjoyed my time in suburbia…but it’s time for a change, you know?”
"I think I do.”
“So how have you been?”
“Same old, same old,” she said. Though, something in her tone sounded stiff. Something sounded off.
“Is something wrong?”
There was a long pause before she spoke. She was quiet when she did, “We’re going back to Seattle, Henry.”
My eyes widened, and I thought the phone might have fallen from my hand. I straightened up, fearing I might have heard incorrectly, “Wait—you’re leaving?”
“Yeah. It’s time for a change for us, too, I think,” she said. “I think we all need one, after all that’s happened.”
“But what about Winter?” I asked, suddenly worried for her sake. “How will she know?”
“If she ever wants to contact us again, she knows what to do. She’s a smart girl. You know that better than anyone,” she said, laughing solemnly. She was quiet for another long while that seemed to stretch on for far too long. “By the way, I never congratulated you. Salutatorian. That’s a big deal.”
“Oh, thank you, Bron—”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. It’s just, I forgot about it, really, and I don’t know if my parents would have liked it.”
“I understand. Don’t worry about it.”
Another pause.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
“I guess this is it, then?”
My throat tightened, my fingers gripping the phone tight. “Don’t say that,” I say. It’s a plea rather than a command. “You can call me any time. Please don’t think of us as strangers, especially not after all we’ve been through.”
She sighs into the receiver, “God, Henry. I’m sorry.”
I pause, slightly confused. “Sorry? For what?”
“Do you remember what I told you? Back at Hunter’s place?” She asked. I rack my brain for answers, but none come to me. “I told you that Winter doesn’t love anybody.”
Suddenly, I remembered. I nodded, though I knew she can’t see me, but somehow, she knew that I understood.
“I was wrong,” she said, honest. “She loves you. She’s always loved you.”
I hung my head, looking at the floor. My bags were still unpacked. I knew she meant it.
❄
August 20th, 2013
I’d received a written letter from Ms. Calloway in the mail on that Tuesday.
It was rather lengthy, going into great detail about her desire to see my work one day lining the shelves of a bookstore. She was kind, as she’d always been, encouraging, and sincere. She congratulated me for graduating and applauded my speech, as she’d seen it through a video someone had uploaded to the Internet. I’ve yet to see it myself.
At the bottom of the letter, she enclosed her number as well as the number of a well-known publishing agency. She noted that she had connections with an employee, and that I should contact him if I’d ever finished anything worthwhile (she’d mentioned that everyone I wrote was worthwhile, but I assumed that at that point, she was sugar coding it just a bit).
I smiled when I received the letter and pulled out a pen and paper, eager to write back. I told her that I wasn’t sure when I’d have anything “worthwhile” completed, but I was sure that when I wrote it, I’d know.
And I’d let her know as well.
❄
August 28th, 2013
Andrew and Noelle found it to be their mission to arrive at my house on the day before I left for college. They both spent the day in my room, where we reconnected like we might have when we were younger, talking about what we hoped and planned for in the upcoming future. Noelle lusted after life in the city while Andrew imagined the possibilities waiting for him at his university in Maine.
And as the day went on, I could feel the strings attaching us growing stronger and stronger to the point where I thought they might have been sturdy enough to transcend the spaces in between.
❄
August 29th, 2013
It was early in the morning, and the sun had hardly risen by the time we were on the highway, bound for New York City. Hattie and I sat in the back of the car while my mother drove. My father read a newspaper in the passenger seat, and Hattie had fallen asleep on my shoulder long ago.
I tried to save that moment in my mind, remembering every little detail: from the smell of Hattie’s shampoo to the color of the sky to the sound of the newspaper when my father flipped the pages. I tried to save the sound of my mother humming to the radio and the way her hand fit perfectly with my father’s, resting on the space between their seats.
And in that moment, I felt complete. Winter was gone, but my life went on. She wouldn’t be gone forever, and in the meantime, I had the city ahead of me. I had the whole world ahead of me, smiles and heartaches and all.
Moments passed, and my mother suddenly cried out with excitement. “Oh, look! You can see the skyline!”
My father put his paper down and looked, cracking a smile. “You’re right! Look, there’s the Empire State building!”
"It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It sure is,” he replied.
In the distance, the sun rose over the skyline. It lit the Hudson River, and the colors danced and reflected in a million tiny shards of glass. In the distance, the curtain of skyscrapers held a separate world, one I’d never encountered before. And it was waiting for me. And suddenly, it seemed the city was set ablaze with light.
Everything’s going to be all right, she had said.
And she was right. Of course she’d been right.
It’s okay, I told myself. I was surrounded by my family. I was surrounded by the light of the city that wanted to welcome me into its arms. And somewhere, no matter how distant, Winter was safe. She was safe, and it was all I could ask for.
It’s all okay, she’d said.
It’s all okay.