Graduation
WHEN we got back to school on Monday morning, I made sure that word of the assault on Bill spread as fast as the student gossip mill could carry the message. Jeremy did his part with his network as well, so that by lunchtime everyone had heard. When Bill and I sat down together to eat lunch, we noticed that lots of people were looking surreptitiously at us. Whenever we’d look back at them, they would, of course, quickly look away and pretend that they were talking with someone and weren’t paying any attention to us. Bill found the whole thing annoying. I told him to try to ignore it. I tried to keep him distracted with talk about his morning and mine, asking in detail about who he had seen and talked with, as well as how he thought his afternoon would play out.
At one point while I was talking, Bill suddenly interrupted me and said, “Everybody knows.”
I hesitated for a moment, but then said, “Yes. Everyone knows.”
He sat quietly for a moment before nodding and saying, “Good.” And we went on about our day. Nothing bad happened that day, to me, to him, to Jeremy, or to anyone else. And that pattern held through the final three weeks of school leading up to our graduation.
Final exams were the usual pain in the ass to prepare for and then take, but we got through them, and suddenly classes were finished. In just a few days we were going to be closing the door on this chapter of our lives forever. And good, bad, or indifferent, these people and our experiences with them were important to how we had developed into the people we had become, and how we would continue to develop as we moved the rest of the way into adulthood and the world.
Bill was a bit bummed that several of his friends had planned graduation parties but had not invited him. Still, there were several others who did invite him to their parties. The night of graduation and the day after were going to be busy for us if we actually went to all of the parties we had been invited to attend. Well, that Bill had been invited to. He told me that where he went, I went as well—we were a couple, and the days of hiding that fact from the world were finished. So we were going to have a busy couple of days.
But first, before we could go to the parties, we had to get through the big event itself—graduation. Graduation was scheduled for seven o’clock on Friday evening in mid-June. The morning before, all of the graduates were required to attend a ceremony rehearsal. Since the weather forecast was for good weather, the ceremony was planned for outside at the local county fairgrounds, where there was plenty of seating for all the guests. When weather required the ceremony to be held indoors at the school, everyone was limited to only three people that they could have in attendance—there just wasn’t room enough to handle more than that. But this year the weather was cooperating, and it looked like there would be no issue with the outdoor ceremony.
And so at 10:00 a.m. on Thursday, Bill and I drove to the county fairgrounds and gathered with all of our classmates. We received instructions for about a half an hour before we all moved off the stage to practice the procession. The only real problem with holding graduation at the county fairgrounds was that the graduates had to process over the dirt racetrack that ran between the stage and the grandstand. It became quickly apparent to all of us that our shoes were going to suffer. We hadn’t had rain in a couple of weeks so the dirt on the racetrack was very dry and very powdery. As we walked, not only did we have to contend with the dust that we stirred up, but also the dust stirred up by the people who marched immediately in front of us.
I thought Bill was going to throw a fit when he found out that we couldn’t walk side by side like he wanted. The principal informed us that we all marched in alphabetical order, which was the order in which we would be seated and the order in which the diplomas would be presented. It was also the order in which the programs had been printed, so it was clear to me that Bill was fighting a losing battle. It must have been to him as well, because he immediately backed off the issue.
Since his last name came alphabetically before mine, he was lined up for our two-by-two march closer to the front than I was. My last name came right in the middle of the alphabet and appeared to be the most popular letter for last names to begin with, so our grouping was rather large. Eventually, everyone was put into their assigned spot, the processional music was started, and we practiced marching along the racetrack and up the steps to the stage. We all seemed to have a tendency to march too fast, since we kept getting instructions to slow it down.
We had the most difficulty figuring out seating once we got onto the stage. I never would have predicted that this would be a problem. The staff and teachers quickly got this straightened out, and we got the last of the people into their seats.
“Okay. Let’s do it again.”
Grumbling, we all exited our seats, got back down onto the dirt, lined up in our designated order, and did the whole thing again. We apparently were still moving too quickly, because we kept hearing, “Slow down! You’re not in a race. You might be on a racetrack, but this is not a race.”
Two hours after we had started, we were released. Everyone was given their caps and gowns, which fortunately we had not had to wear earlier since it was a warm day. We took them home, tried them on, and posed for pictures in the backyard. We even got my mom to take a bunch of pictures of the two of us standing side by side in our caps and gowns. We knew we’d do it all over again tomorrow night when we actually had our diplomas in hand, but still, digital photography freed us from having to worry about how many pictures we took.
One of the parties to which we were invited the next day was actually scheduled for the afternoon before graduation. We thought that was a bit odd until we got there and found that the party was more of a proper high tea event than a high school graduation party. We found everyone dressed up, classical music playing, bunches and bunches of small round tables with white tablecloths, and waiters moving around, passing out tiny sandwiches and cups of tea.
We were seated at a table with two people Bill knew. Even though I had nothing in common with the two friends of Bill’s from his track team days, we were all quietly amused by the party, since it was not remotely like what any of us had expected. When you think of a graduation party you think of music, a keg of beer, a cake, fun, laughing—you know, party sounds. But here everything was extremely proper and precise. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the waiters had measured exactly where to put the little plates and carefully folded napkins.
We were nibbling on our sandwiches and drinking our tea when an older woman interrupted us. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I hope everything is to your liking this afternoon.” We could see that she had one of our fellow students in tow. We all looked at the girl, who simply rolled her eyes and looked unhappy.
Ever the diplomat, Bill spoke for all of us. “Yes, ma’am. A perfectly lovely party. May I ask you what tea you’re serving this afternoon? I love the flavor.”
The woman beamed at him. “You, young man, have a very discerning palate. I only serve English Breakfast Tea at tea parties.” She smiled and then said, “I must be off to greet other guests. Please enjoy, and thank you for coming.”
As they walked away we could hear the woman asking her granddaughter, “He seems like a nice fellow. Why didn’t you date him?”
“He’s gay, grandma.”
“Well, that’s a good reason. He’ll be quite a catch for some lucky man, then.”
Bill and the rest of us were trying very hard to contain our laughing. We absolutely did not want to burst into laughter and disrupt the party.
When everyone had it under control, I couldn’t resist. I looked at Bill and mimicked the earlier line. “You, young man, have a very discerning palate.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” he responded.
“You’re both a couple of fruits,” one of the jocks joked, not intending it to be malicious in any way.
“Well, duh,” Bill said. “I thought that was clear by now.”
“Crystal, my good man,” one of them said. We had a quiet moment between finishing our sandwiches and tea and being able to get the hell out of there. Unexpectedly, one of the two guys sitting with us brought up the prom.
“Bill, I just want to say that I think what Sue and the guys did to you at the prom was awful. I didn’t know anything about it. If I had I would have done something to stop them. They had no right. And I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
The other guy was quieter than the first. He simply pointed at his friend and said, “What he said.”
“Thanks, guys,” Bill said. “That really means a lot to me. I’ve been really bummed out by the whole thing and have been waiting to get the hell out of this town and to slam the door shut on this part of my life forever. So, thanks, that really does mean a lot to me to know that I still have some friends around here.”
“Totally.”
I thought for a moment that I was about to be witness to the much hinted-at but never saw jock bonding behavior, but at the last minute they all pulled themselves back from the brink of sharing an emotion.
We had to hit the road to get to the fairgrounds and get capped and gowned for the dusty procession, as did many of the others in attendance. Even though I knew the answer, I used my cell phone to call my dad to see if they would be leaving soon. As I had anticipated, they had left and arrived already. They were seated in the front row of the grandstand. Actually, Mom was seated and was holding a seat for Dad. He was down on the racetrack behind a stanchion the school had erected, setting up a tripod and getting his video camera set up to record our procession. I didn’t know how much of the event he was prepared to record, but should he want to record all of it, he had a prime location to do so. I grudgingly had to admit that there were occasionally times when arriving early at an event had some benefits.
People were arriving in droves by that point, both participants and observers. While the grandstand had no problem holding all of the people, it was looking more crowded now. We milled around for a while, since the school administrators seemed to subscribe to my mother’s school of thought that you get somewhere early. They had all of us assembled, capped, gowned, and ready to roll—or march—well ahead of the first step being taken.
Finally, finally, finally, it was time. I gave Bill a quick hug and then went to my place in the lineup. The music started, and my heart rate increased with excitement. This was the big event. This was what I had worked toward for years and years. This was the end of one part of my life and the beginning of the next part of my life. I knew that there were not all that many such moments, and each one should be savored as fully as possible. I was pleased. I was excited. I was proud.
When it came our time to march, I and the person beside me started to move. Several administrators along the way kept telling us, “slow down,” so we tried. When we reached the stage, we found our seats and waited until everyone was on stage so that we could all sit down together as one.
The ceremony was long. I had never really stopped to think about how long such an event would take. I suppose I had been to these things before, but for some reason I’d just never paid much attention in terms of how long they took.
First there were awards and scholarship presentations. None of us knew ahead of time who was slated to receive what recognitions. They ran through several small (i.e., fifty to one hundred dollar cash prizes) and a couple of $500 awards. For the most part they all went to deserving people, people who had earned the recognition and could use the money.
The master of ceremonies announced that the next award would be to recognize the achievements of a student in the field of leadership, and go to someone who had clearly been one to teach, to lead, in both good times and bad, and someone who had the potential to further develop his or her leadership skills. The award was for $2,000. And he announced Bill’s name as the recipient.
I looked over at Bill, who looked shocked beyond belief. Most of the other graduates cheered and applauded, and there was polite applause from the audience, except for my mom and dad, who were jumping up and down and cheering louder than anyone else. Bill stepped forward to claim his award certificate and his check for $2,000. Fortunately, none of the recipients were expected to say anything, but simply to accept their awards and return to their seats, which is what he did.
But I hope he didn’t get too comfortable, because he was called back up as the recipient of the next award as well, which featured another nice check. They called a couple of other people up to present them with awards before moving on to the next item.
The final award of the evening before the presentation of the diplomas was the announcement of the graduating senior selected by their peers as the person most likely to go the farthest in life. This one didn’t come with any cash award, but it was still very coveted. After the appropriate introduction and citation of some of the previous winners of this award, Bill’s name was called, and he returned to the podium to shake hands and receive a plaque. Turning to the graduates, he held it up with both hands, high above his head, and smiled. Turning to the audience in the grandstand, he did the same move. He had earned it, and I was so proud of him.
One by one the graduates were called to the front and were presented with their diplomas, both of ours with honors. We were a small community, so there were only about 150 of us graduating. Still, this process took some time. There were some other parts to the ceremony, but quite honestly they were all a bit of a blur for me.
Finally we were finished, and we recessed from the stage in the same way we had processed. Well, almost the same way. There was one change now. Rather than leave at his designated spot, Bill had remained and waited until I moved forward from my seat to march off the stage. I smiled so proudly when I saw him. He held up his hand, took mine, and we walked off the stage together, holding hands and holding our heads up high. We were making our public statement, “We’re here! We’re queer! Get used to it!”
That night, as we made our way from one party to the next and then the next, we were clearly attending as a couple. Since these people were by and large Bill’s friends, most of them his sports friends, I followed his lead throughout the evening. I stuck by his side when he seemed to want me there, and when he wanted to talk with some guys alone I made myself scarce and found someone else to talk with—either that, or simply watched people.
While watching people at one of the parties, it hit me that I wasn’t the only person who found such social interactions difficult. From what I could see, many of the people present did as well. The only difference was that some people were able to bluff better than others. Some were also pretty good at making small talk. At each party I only saw maybe one or two people who were really good at working a crowd. They also knew the people there and were able to toss into conversation some small fact about the person they were speaking with, which gave that person an opening to talk, thereby taking the pressure off the person who had initiated the conversation. In each case it was a joy to watch the person in action, to see them going from person to person, group to group, and in each case masterfully showing off their social and people skills.
By the end of the weekend, we had hit I don’t know how many events. All I know is that I was partied out. I was tired, and at the same time so high on life that I was practically bouncing off the walls.
While I would have liked nothing more than to take a few days to unwind and to do some private celebrating, the days were ticking past, and we needed to get ourselves out to California by July 1 to take occupancy of our new apartment and get some jobs lined up. One night at dinner we were talking again about how I was going to get my stuff moved out to California if we flew. Out of the blue, my dad proposed something that he and my mom had clearly talked over already, a proposal that I never would have expected in a million years.
“We’ve been thinking that maybe you two guys should consider taking your mom’s SUV and drive out to California. That way you can take all the stuff you want and need, plus you’ll have a car out there if you need one to get around. From what I’ve read, southern California is car culture—big time. We’ve been talking about how it might be difficult for you to get around out there without wheels.
“As you know, her SUV is not the most efficient on gas mileage, but it is in tip-top shape and hasn’t got that much mileage on it since she mostly uses it for around town trips. I realize you may need some time to talk it over, but when you’ve had a chance, let me know what you’re thinking.”
“What will you do for wheels?” Bill asked my mother.
“Well, interesting you should mention that,” she said coyly. “My sweetie of a husband has decided that I should drive his car, which, as you know, is a lot nicer than mine.”
“And…,” Bill tried, still missing a piece to the puzzle. It still seemed like they were one car short.
“Didn’t I tell you,” my dad said, “I’m getting a new one. We have a lot of driveway, but three cars would just be too much juggling, so you’d be doing us a favor if you could take one of them off our hands.”
“Okay, okay,” Bill said to get everybody’s attention while he thought for a minute. “In case I haven’t told you this recently, and because I’m not going to be here to tell you this on a daily basis, I love you two more than I can ever tell you! You’ve done so much for me, more than anyone else ever did or will again. If Mark is willing, I think having a car out there would be a good thing. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my old car would never make the trip. It would try, but I think it would give up the ghost way before it finished the job. It’s been running on a wing and a prayer—and a new battery, thank you very much—as it is.”
I nodded at Bill. Between that and the smile on my face he knew my thinking. “Yes, we’ll take you up on your very generous offer,” Bill answered my father. Bill stood and walked around the table, giving each of my parents a big hug, first one at a time and then both together, at which point I think he was really close to losing it.
This was a wonderful thing, but it changed everything about us getting to California. It was already the twentieth, and the drive to California would take quite a few days. We immediately pulled out an atlas and started exploring options for routes and trying to calculate how many miles it would be and how many days we should allocate. We also talked about whether there were any things we wanted to stop and see along the way.
When we did the math, figuring roughly 2,500 miles to LA, about twenty-five miles per gallon for highway driving, four dollars per gallon as a pessimistic price for gas, we figured we’d need one hundred gallons to get there, or about $400. We’d of course have to add to that the cost of motels along the way.
If we planned to drive about four hundred miles a day, it would take us six and a quarter days of driving to get there, or just a little under eight hours of driving each day until we got out past Chicago, when the roads opened up more and there was less traffic and less restrictive speed limits. If we pushed it and drove a little more each day, we could get farther, but we weren’t sure how much we should plan, since neither of us had ever done any long-distance driving. So initially we settled on the seven-day plan and just about eight hours a day. There were a few things we wanted to stop and see along the way. Mount Rushmore and the Grand Canyon were the two big ones. There were a few other things we could have added, but for a lot of the trip there was only miles and miles of miles and miles.
After hours of study and discussion and contemplation, we decided that we needed to be on the road in three days if we were going to make it to California on our rough schedule. Two days would be better, given that we wanted to make two stops along the way. And then it hit me: agggghhhh! I was leaving home! I needed to think about what to take, what to leave, what I really needed, what I could do without. I also realized that I would not be seeing my parents again for a really long time, most likely, which would be something entirely new for me. Add to that the whole issue of becoming an independent couple for the first time in addition to the anxiety about starting a whole new type of schooling, and suddenly I was bouncing off the walls for an entirely new set of reasons.