We Were Headed Separate Ways.
After staying out extremely late the night before, getting out of bed for graduation was tough. I had to get dressed and put on my gown and get to the ceremony in time for the grand walk with my class – none of which felt like it was real.
When we lined up in alphabetical order, The One was almost directly in front of me. Everyone was hugging everyone else, so I hugged him and got into my place in line. I stood in line, hungover and fatigued, for what seemed like six hours. Then we all walked. Like cattle.
I remember absolutely nothing about the ceremony. I remember trying to keep my eyes open while my head was spinning and begging for sleep. I remember being afraid I’d fall over before I got to my diploma. I don’t remember walking across any stage, or listening to any inspirational speakers, although I’m sure when I was 21, everyone who spoke was inspirational.
After the ceremony, I found my parents. In spite of everything, and because of everything, they’d come to support me on my big day. They were dressed beautifully – Dad in a great suit, Mom in a dress – and smiled broadly as I approached.
Wearing a tan sport coat he’d picked up at Goodwill just for this occasion, Larry stepped out in front of my parents, arms outstretched and squatting halfway to greet me, that big grin on his face as always.
“There’s my girl!” he said, lifting me up and half-spinning and kissing me. “You’re a college graduate!”
I’m not sure Larry had ever known a college graduate before.
When he put me down, I was finally able to say hello to my parents – the ones who had paid for my education, who hadn’t seen me in months, who should have been congratulated themselves for the four years of angst, turmoil and financial distress.
“Congratulations!” said my mom, hugging me and patting me on the back. My dad repeated the sentiment and hug. At that moment, I loved them with all my heart, had no idea why I’d ever left, and just wanted to crawl back into my bed and stay with them forever.
What else did I have to do?
We were there for only a minute when Debbie, my best friend from freshman year, appeared out of the gown-clad crowd and hugged me. We hadn’t spent much time together since Bonnie had arrived at Mount Union, but seeing her …
The memories flooded back: meeting her on a sidewalk the day we tested for scholarships; finding her living in the room next door; playing games during orientation week; track house parties where we danced for hours; all-nighters in the King Hall lobby where we laughed so hard my stomach ached and my face hurt and we didn’t get any studying done at all.
Debbie and I hugged for a long, long time. We’d always said we would live next door to one another and raise our children together. We both knew we were headed separate ways. We knew it would be our last moment at college, and we both cried. And hugged. And cried. And cried.
When I let her go, I felt like I was letting go of my youth. But I did, eventually, let her go.
“Would you like to get some lunch?” my mom asked me – and, presumably, Larry.
“Sure,” I said, wiping my eyes and trying to focus on the future.
Other than lunch, I could see no future ahead of me at all.