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June 1979
Robert Archer looked out from the temporary wooden stage that had been set up on the school's exercise field, surveying the crowd that filled the folding chairs before it. In the front rows, clad in blue caps and gowns, sat this year's graduating class of Hanley High, and filling the seats behind them, family and friends. Shaded by the protective canopy that had been erected over the makeshift pavilion, Robert felt a touch of sympathy for the graduates, who had only their mortarboards to protect them from the already blazing mid-morning sun.
'What idiot first thought it made sense to have outdoor graduations in June, especially in Florida?' the twenty-three-year-old thought. 'It has to be almost ninety degrees already.'
Despite the heat, the presiding faculty didn't seem to have any intent of shortening the ceremony due to the weather. Principal O'Neil had been speaking for over a half hour already, and showed no signs of stopping. Robert couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but he was certain that the woman was giving the same speech she gave at his own graduation five years before, with just a few anecdotes pertaining to the current student body thrown in at appropriate intervals. The speech hadn't impressed him when he was sitting out in the third row, and it had even less of an impact on him now. The mention of his name as this year's guest speaker brought the hope that she was finally coming to the end.
Robert wasn't sure if having written two best-selling novels really qualified him as a distinguished alumnus, but given the honoree at his own ceremony, the requirements couldn't be that exacting. Nineteen seventy-four had been the school's diamond jubilee and they'd picked Nelson Ferrari, a retired local businessman, whose sole qualification seemed to be that he'd been part of the class of '14.
Ferrari, Robert recalled one of the parents saying, had won a medal in the First World War. He didn't remember the name of it, but described it as a sort of participation award more than a personal decoration -- a fact that was left out of his speech, which had been both pointless and seemingly never-ending. Having finally earned his moment in the spotlight, the septuagenarian proved reluctant to give it up.
Mrs. O'Neil finally finished her own remarks and, turning in Robert' direction, invited him to deliver his, a cue he totally missed as his mind was still on his own commencement. Thankfully, the teacher sitting to his left realized this and gave him a subtle nudge to alert him that it was his turn to speak. Quickly rising to his feet, the sandy haired author moved to the lectern and, after thanking the principal for the introduction he hadn't heard, removed an index card, on which he'd scribbled a few thoughts, from his jacket pocket.
Accepting the invitation to speak at his alma mater had been his publisher's idea, an added bit of publicity to coincide with the upcoming release of his new novel. If he was honest about it, Robert had few good memories of his time at Hanley High. While not exactly a loner, he had few friends and was hardly a spectacular student. What he did have was a natural born talent for storytelling, along with the ability to put those tales into a respectable form. His first professionally published story had come during the second half of senior year, appearing in a popular literary magazine. That the story, with only a few editing changes, had been rejected by Hanley's own bi-annual publication a few months before always brought an amused smile to his face.
A smile that showed now as he delivered his oration, which, to the appreciation of the crowd sitting in the hot sun, was brief and concise, running less than ten minutes. He simply congratulated the graduates and advised them to follow their dreams, even if no one else had faith in them. Nothing soul-searching or overly inspiring, but enough to fulfill his obligation.
Once he sat back down, it didn't take long to hand out the diplomas. Unlike what had preceded it, this part of the ceremony went off with clock-like precision as, maintaining a respectable space between them, each graduate climbed the staircase on the right, moved to center stage where they paused just long enough to be photographed accepting their diploma, then exited down the staircase on the left.
Robert's attention began to again drift again after the first dozen or so students revived their diplomas and he began to read the back of his program where local merchants had taken out advertisements congratulating the graduates, and at the same time promoting their businesses. His head abruptly jerked upward, however, when he heard a familiar name.
Bud Stefanowski had been one of his classmates, a casual acquaintance more than a friend, but one who lived on the same block growing up. The long-haired redhead, who glanced in his direction after being handed her certificate, bore little resemblance to the gangly adolescent he remembered, but she was unmistakably Bud's younger sister.
As the sunlight washed over the thin, almost translucent gown, it highlighted the well-developed form beneath it, one clad in a minimum amount of clothing. Robert suddenly felt a lot older than he did a few minutes ago, as he compared the image of the shapely beauty with the annoying brat that had always seemed to follow him around in his teens.
'Damn, Jeanine, you done grown up good,' Robert thought, realizing that she couldn't have been more than twelve the last time he'd seen her.
He paid more careful attention to the rest of the commencement, recognizing, if not the faces, then the names of two other younger siblings of people he'd known. A brother and a sister, the latter didn't produce anywhere near the reaction Jeanie had.
The ceremony finally ended, and once it did the now no longer students were quick to leave the field, determined to celebrate the event in their own manner. Robert too got up to depart, only to have his exit delayed by a few teachers who stepped forward to say that they'd read his books and always knew he'd had it in him to be a great writer. He graciously accepted their compliments, but wondered at the same time how many even knew his name when he'd been a student.
There was one teacher, he noted, that didn't approach him. In fact, the older man went out of his way to walk to the far end of the stage and use the staircase there. Head of the English department for the last twenty years, Karl Bakersmith had also been Robert's teacher his last two years at Hanley. He had been the one who had rejected the story that jump started his career, calling it, at the time, a piece of ill written claptrap.
'Screw you, old man,' Robert thought as he flashed his old antagonist a smile, 'I hope it gave you angina when you saw my books on display down at Fitzgerald's Bookstore.'
Finally getting past the crowd, Robert headed for the far end of the parking lot where he'd parked his rental car. Having only gotten into town just in time for the ceremony, he still needed to head over to the Bluestar Motel and get a room for the night. His parents had moved down to Longtown for his father's job while he was away in college, so he no longer had a place to stay in town. He'd just reached the Pontiac Sunbird when he heard someone calling his name.
-=-=-=-
Turning in the direction the voice had come from, Robert saw a blonde-haired woman in a green dress hurrying in his direction, waving her hand as she got closer to catch his attention. He didn't recognize her, at least not from this distance, but her display of urgency made him stop and wait for her.
Once she caught up with him, that changed. It wasn't so much her features that he recognized as her voice, the former having changed considerably from what he'd remembered.
"You took off so fast that I didn't get the chance to even say hello," the woman said as she caught her breath, brushing a few strands of her layered tresses, cut just above her shoulders, away from her face.
"Mrs. Evans?" Robert asked, his tone still reflecting a bit of uncertainty.
"Hiya, Bobby," she smiled.
Clarice Evans was the mother of Gary Evans, a friend from his own days at Hanley. The last time he'd seen her had been at her son's wedding, four years before. Not so long ago, he thought, yet long enough for her to have transformed into a vastly different person.
The woman he remembered had been almost twenty pounds heavier, with hair less bright and vibrant. She was still slightly overweight, and there were a few more age lines on her face, but for a woman in her late fifties, she looked pretty good. Especially when he considered that his own mother, who was a decade younger, had begun to look more like his grandmother with each passing year.
