Graduation Day

by David Howells

  Three men and three women stepped forward from the center of the front row, removed their gowns and let them fall to the floor in front of the stage. The men wore dress slacks and a sports shirt and tie. The women wore conservative and professional-looking skirt and blouse combinations. Each carried a book under one arm. To the tune of the drum, the six turned, three to the right and three to the left, stepping in time to the beat. Their stations were to be in front of each of the main sections of chairs on the floor, as well as one in front of each side of the bleachers. As the ‘teachers’ made their amble, the young woman center stage now spoke.

  “Hi, I’m the class of 2014. You can call me Gail. We’re here to celebrate our time together not just in high school, but throughout our scholastic experience. Look into your memories. No matter what your age, no matter how long it’s been since you were in our place, you remember those precious people we call teachers. Theirs were the voices that struggled to draw you to the unique path each student would walk through life. Hear their voices, and answer them back.”

  Another student, a young woman, stepped forward from stage left, first tier. She carried a French horn which she handed to Gail, removed her gown and let it fall to join the others, retrieved the horn and walked to the left of the stage, opposite the drummer who kept up the background marching beat. As the ‘teachers’ now stood with books open before, the lone horn filled the gym with a haunting and sweet sound, playing a tune known to anyone who ever had ears as a child to hear. The woman emcee admonished the audience to watch their teachers very carefully, for though the music was the same, the lessons would be different.

  The horn concluded the first run through. The drummer stopped and waited. The front two students in the audience announced, “A, B, C”. Then the second announced to the back two sections, “Twinkle, twinkle.” Finally, the side instructors spoke out, “Baa-Baa Black Sheep.”

  The horn gave an intro, the drum in synchrony, the instructors’ hands raised and led the sections in three different sets of words, set to the same music. It was disjointed at first, difficult and confusing, but with focus on the instructors each section was able to master the simple yet difficult task. The gym was filled with voices that differed greatly in word content, but unified in rhythm and tone. It ended with a blending of ‘three bags full, how I wonder what you are, and w, x, y and z.’

  The instructors turned and walked back to the stage. As they did so, the spaces they had vacated were filled in from the second tier, and others stepped down until the spaces vacated were to the far back tier. To these places, the instructors and the French horn player went.

  During their journey, the man center stage spoke, “It was a new world you entered, wonderful and frightening, strange but compelling. There were smells of glue and crayons, the feel of dull scissors and large pencils that now seem much smaller, the sounds of lessons and chalk on the blackboards. You grew, you learned, you met many of your own age, male and female, and began to learn the differences if you hadn’t already done so at home. You ate lunch in a whole new environment, and the cafeteria seats you chose haphazardly at first frequently became ‘your place’, shared by ‘your friends’, for you sought out new touchstones to anchor yourselves to. It was a time to redefine, it was a time to forge.”

  The young woman took up the torch. “Then came a time when you no longer had one person to teach you. Complexity had gone beyond the ability of one person to instruct. You grew to need an instruction team, experts in teaching mathematics, English, science, history, even to speak in tongues you’d seldom if ever heard before. Ten students stepped forward, removed their gowns revealing similar attire to the previous instructors. These, too, had books, but now they spoke their lessons with strong but different voices. One strode to counting in Spanish, another counting in French. One gave dramatic flourishes while reciting ‘Stopping By The Woods on an Snowy Evening’ while her male counterpart swung through the back sections vocalizing ‘The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’. One male spoke of trigonometric functions, one female of the Pythagorean Theorem. A young woman with a slight limp read in order the elements of the periodic table, while a man spoke out loud the ten elements in Earth Science’s scale of hardness. The other two? One announced great conflicts of war the world had known since ancient times, followed by their dates of beginning and ending. The other recited the Gettysburg Address.

  The drummer kept the beat, but added at a signal from center stage a sharp series of drumstick strikes to the metal rim of the drum, silencing the orations and calling the instructors back to being students once more upon the stage. The audience marveled how the choreography of the instructors was such that each section heard each instructor once before the sequence ended.

  The man said, “But minds cannot grow by theory and concept alone. We are a competitive species, whether we compete against others, or ourselves. Physical education class exposed all to a variety of accepted and known skills. Some advanced to team membership, others to cheering them on.”

  Seven members stepped forth with instruments. The surrender of their graduation robes revealed the school marching band outfits. They stood to either side of the emcees and began the theme music to “Chariots of Fire” while a full two-score athletes raised the pile of robes much higher before graduation’s altar. The uniforms spoke out loud the sports of football, basketball, baseball, track, soccer and skiing. Here there was both planned activity and freeform, depending on the sport. The action was slowed greatly from real life participation, but the music gave forgiveness for that while allowing a better view of the ballet of sports to be witnessed. In front, two pitchers tossed to two catchers. Sprinters in slow motion ran up and down the center. Basketballs bounced in front of the bleachers, tossed back and forth to those in the audience who looked like they could catch one without fumbling. The lane separating front from back groups had soccer players vying for the ball on the left, cross-country skiing imitation to the right.

  Two minutes of that accomplished, the one guest appearance of an instructor came from backstage to the fore; retired Coach Jacobsma, age 77. He accomplished his assigned task with one long blow of a whistle. Andy took off his headset and let the man give out with his classic, “OK you slugs! To the showers!” There were many in the crowd that remembered that great man, and they started the applause. The old man waved, then returned to the audience as the athletes made their way back to the risers. During this whole demo, no one noticed the back riser people giving way to some kind of construction effort. That part was soon to be revealed…but not just yet.

  The applause abated, the athletes were back on the risers, though something in the position arrangement looked a little different. Well, no choreography was perfect, some thought. Others wondered along different lines.

  Gail spoke as the drum beat continued. “How can we represent the clubs? They didn’t have the PR and flash of our sports teams, but they were just as important to those whose skill-sets fell in different arenas. There was Chess Club (a man and a woman advanced, disrobed, moved left, stood facing each other and played on an imaginary board), the School Newspaper (same activity and genders, to the right, typing and writing), Culinary club (a stirring and tasting couple now stood next to the chess players), Key Club (Kiwanis sponsored civic-service focused couple painting with rollers), the General Organization (a man held a sign that said ‘vote’ while a woman appeared to be giving a speech). These allowed new places to learn, to shine, and to meet new friends.”

  Andy raised a hand. The front demonstrators froze. The drum stopped. “But Gail of 2014! Aren’t we forgetting something important? We grew physically, and intellectually, but what about socially? Ahem. What about daaaattinnngggg?”

  Gail smiled and held Andy’s hand. “You mean like going out, holding hands and stuff?”

  “Yeah. Going to sports events, movies, hiking, bowling, the Mall, laser-tag.”

  G
ail nodded enthusiastically, while some noticed that they were still holding hands. “And the dances! Our class had a band made up entirely of our classmates. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…”

  Andy finished the statement, “FROZEN WIND!”

  The lone drummer raised his stick on high and struck them eight times as the center rows on the risers parted to reveal three men and one woman. At the last drumstick beat, the lead guitarist kicked in with a classic riff that almost everyone in the audience knew right away. The bass player filled the bottom in with a compelling thrum. For a time, the group’s drummer now supplied the beat. Each of the front couples began freeform dancing to the tune of ‘Johnny Be Good’. The audience clapped along delightedly, and more than a few that were closer to the aisles got up and added their own joyful motion the mix.

  The tune ended, and the ovation was loud and standing, but there was one more thing to do, one more lesson to let parents and siblings know had been learned. A hard lesson. Over a hundred students were still gowned and in the forefront. These now came forward. Their revealing showed nothing but black pants and shirts. There was one mother and one mother/father couple who had been forewarned of this. Already, they grieved while soaring on gratitude. Both feelings would soon be deepened.

  Once more, the beat of the lone drummer took up the rhythm offered by the passing of time. The stack of gowns now rose above the level of the stage, a gold-colored mountain that represented the skins of an age shed by those who were once children, but were now men and women. These returned to the lower two risers, while one faced the wall of black to conduct. Led by the drum, the choir hummed like a band of angels. The tune was Amazing Grace.

  Gail and Andy’s heads were bowed, as were all but the singers and the drummer. Gail raised her head. “We learned how to learn, we learned how to love. We learned the joys of hellos. We learned the sadness of goodbyes.”

  Andy now raised his own head to say, “One could not be with us today because she, being human, fell ill to the whims of respiratory disease. She will recover, and probably live her life regretting missing what you have witnessed here today. There are two of us who are also absent in body, though I have no doubt but they are here in spirit. Two years ago, Jamie Letterman died in an accident. The specifics are not important. What is important to us is that one of us fell, one who had talents and potential that the world was denied fruition. Last year, Pasqual Rojas died of a disease. What disease is not important, for people die of a myriad of diseases every day. The result is the same. Our friend, our brother, was not visibly here to share in your love and appreciation, or in ours.”

  Gail and Andy walked over to the podium. One it were two yearbooks. Each took one, and each went to the attending families of the fallen ones. Andy handed one to Maria and Esteban Rojas. “Every one of his classmates remember your son, and will carry him in our hearts for many years to come. Thank you for giving him to us for a time. He, and we, will meet again when each of us finds our own time is finished here.”

  Gail gave her book to Annette Letterman, whose brother was there to support her. “We, the class of 2014, dedicate today’s graduation ceremony to Jamie and Pasqual. Thank you, Mrs. Letterman, for giving us Jamie for a time.”

  Gail and Andy returned to the stage, both biting their lips, wiping eyes, working to regain composure. Once more, they returned to center stage.

  Andy: “Some of us will be farmers or politicians.”

  Gail: “Some will be scientists, others will enter the healing professions.”

  Andy: “There may be soldiers, police, journalists.”

  Gail: “Photographers, clerical workers, teachers.”

  Andy: “Someday, many of us will be sitting, like you, watching those that sprang from us move on to a future beyond our vision.”

  Gail: “I pray we will, at that time, be as grateful if not more so to you, our families, as we are now. Our commencement presentation is coming to a close. The drummer represents each of us as we march to our own beats.”

  Andy: “Class of 2014? Our Principal will now hand you your marching orders called diplomas. Remember our roots, our lessons, our friends. Forgive those who offended you. Apologize to those whom you offended. That is the only way to fully close this door, and fully open the next.”

  The two students both reached up to their headsets, flipped off the activation switch, walked over and set them on the podium, and returned to the class of 2014.

  The Principal arose, went to the podium, and spoke into the microphone the names of the graduated, handing each a representative diploma (the real one would be delivered later), and each student heard the drum as he or she walked down the center aisle to the back gym door. The drummer was last to be called, and managed to pop the paper into his shirt pocket and pick the beat back up as he exited, drumming to the back door.

  Tents and refreshments were set up outside. The sun was shining and the sky clear. Laughter and voices gave a blend of great expectations.

  It was a memorable day.

  Thank you for reading GRADUATION DAY. Constructive criticism or commentary on connections struck in your own life are welcomed at twosword@earthlink.net (put the title of the book or story you’re referring to in the subject box). I invite you to peruse the novels on this site. VANESSA, the flagship of that series, is offered to you at a respectful price of FREE. Fair warning, there be ghosts, angels and devils in them thar tomes.

  Sincerely yours,

  David L Howells, DC, EMT, NMT, NUT

  OTHER WORKS BY THE AUTHOR

  TIME SNAP – “In The Beginning” are the first words of Genesis, and they tell us that the first thing to be created was Time. When the machinery of Time fractures, all animal life on Earth freezes except those near enough to Heaven’s observation portals. While Heaven races to repair the machinery of Time, Host watch over Humans wandering through frozen life seeking other survivors, while watching out for Opposition Host.

  HELL RISE - The sequel to Time Snap. Hell is not what it used to be, as the Fallen Host radically change how they manage Human souls. One of Lucifer’s leading Angels wants Moriah back in Hell and will stop at nothing to either bring her back, or destroy her.

  VANESSA – A mentally fractured and hideously powerful spirit of a Georgian plantation and slave owner hold in thrall the men and mounts of a Civil War foraging party. She is avenging the death of her husband and children by putting the enemy spirits through a daily ritual of Hell. Ryan Fitzgalen was rendered spiritually clairvoyant and caused to be the world’s oldest man by a WW II experiment using electromagnetic power for naval stealth technology. He and the spirit of his deceased wife, Vanessa, are no match for Mad Annie, and so must call in his distant descendents to even the playing field.

  VANESSA: FAMILY TREE – Sequel to VANESSA. The epic battle was over at the Edwards Estate. The Fitzgalen Family regroups to lick its wounds, mourn its dead, and pursue their mission of saving souls stuck on the Earth plane. What happens when an underground spirit desperately hiding from judgment beneath the ground doesn’t want to be found, and is ready to strike anyone who tries?

  VANESSA: ALL HEAVEN BREAKS LOOSE – Sequel to Vanessa: Family Tree. Ever since humans began to wonder of the world’s miracles, knowledge of death and what comes after was precious and elusive. The Fitzgalen Family appears to have new authority in this awareness. That unwanted notoriety has a way of creating devotees, and very powerful enemies.

  VANESSA: MENDED HARPS – Sequel to Vanessa: All Heaven Breaks Loose. When a human spirit merged its energies with an ancient oak tree during the Battle of the Rhinebeck Cemetery, a new species was born. Amidst legal entanglements that hamstring the growing Fitzgalen Family’s efforts to pursue its holy mission of spirit liberation, a greater question arises; how do you deal with an emerging competitive species?

  VANESSA: FALLEN COLORS – Sequel to Vanessa: Mended Harps. Conclusion of the VANESSA series. The world’s reli
gions have witnessed great changes, miracles, and proof that the dead walk the earth. Earth feels poised on the brink of a great change. The one who has a hope of leading the world away from cataclysmic holy wars of dominance is an autistic child, who is guarded by a being of great power…an Angel, Avenger Class.

  Contact the Author with Comments and Questions

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