handed their diplomas and presented with awards.
“I don’t see her,” Hannah worried a few minutes later when the graduates marched in and took their places on folding chairs below us. “I should have brought binoculars or something!”
“Here.” Jane opened her Coach bag and pulled out a small pair of pearl-toned opera glasses, handing them across me to her sister.
Hannah blinked at her, awed. “How did you know to bring those?” It was the same expression she’d had when they were much younger, and Jane claimed to have made something happen by magic.
Jane laughed. “A no-brainer. I always keep them in my bag for plays and museums.”
“Wow.” Hannah fitted the round metal circles to her eyes and scanned the rows of blue caps and gowns. But after several minutes her hands, still holding the glasses, dropped into her lap. “She’s not there .”
“Of course she is,” I said. I held out my hand until she handed me the delicate binoculars. Still trying to improve life for my children, though I doubted I could see anything Hannah hadn’t. The dark black balloon of fear I’d felt was growing inside me, threatening to crowd out everything else. She had to be here.
I scanned the graduates slowly, row by row, but it was not easy trying to identify individual faces under identical caps. I did not know my own daughter well enough to recognize her body language, though there was plenty of motion. Although I was sure they had been ordered to sit quietly on their folding chairs and face forward, few of them did. The robes dipped and swayed like clusters of bluebirds’ wings. Using the opera glasses I could read the messages spelled out in colored tape on some of the caps: “$165,000”; “HIRE ME”; and the usual “HI, MOM!” When I did not pick out Elisa, I went back to the front of the section, trying to focus on blond hair this time. I found one girl who looked like her, but had a long braid down her back.
“Well, this isn’t her real graduation,” I said finally, handing Jane’s opera glasses back to Hannah. “I’m sure we can find her at the arts and sciences diploma ceremony.”
“No, she said to come to this one first!”
“Maybe she put her hair up under her cap or something,” Jane suggested.
“She never wears her hair that way.”
The music began a formal march, and a procession of dignitaries climbed onto the platform. One of the men wore the colorful regalia of a Roman Catholic bishop, and I remembered the college’s roots. Had Elisa been raised Catholic? When she was a few weeks old she had been baptized Methodist in my father’s church. I would have to tell her that.
The ceremony dragged in a way it wouldn’t have if I had been able to look down and watch Elisa’s reactions. I recognized the name of the commencement speaker, a congressman who was no longer in office, and agreed with what he said about fighting climate change, eradicating disease in foreign countries, and stamping out extremism. As if handing out a classroom assignment, he reminded the graduates that it was now their responsibility.
Jane had her eyes closed as if asleep, and Hannah kept pulling out her battered maroon phone to look for a message from Elisa, then frowning and snapping it shut. A woman sitting in front of us whipped around to glare at her, but Hannah didn’t notice. Colin had promised her an iPhone for a graduation gift, but Hannah seemed lukewarm about the upgrade.
“Let’s go,” I said as soon as the last notes of the recessional faded and the aisles were less crowded. Below us happy parents were already swarming the field. “We should wait outside the gym for the next ceremony so we can see everyone who goes in.”
“She hates us,” Hannah moaned, brushing away a strand of hair that had been released from its ponytail for the occasion. “She’s never going to talk to me again!”
“ Stop ,” Jane said sharply. “It’s not just about you. Why don’t you try putting yourself
“I don’t see her,” Hannah worried a few minutes later when the graduates marched in and took their places on folding chairs below us. “I should have brought binoculars or something!”
“Here.” Jane opened her Coach bag and pulled out a small pair of pearl-toned opera glasses, handing them across me to her sister.
Hannah blinked at her, awed. “How did you know to bring those?” It was the same expression she’d had when they were much younger, and Jane claimed to have made something happen by magic.
Jane laughed. “A no-brainer. I always keep them in my bag for plays and museums.”
“Wow.” Hannah fitted the round metal circles to her eyes and scanned the rows of blue caps and gowns. But after several minutes her hands, still holding the glasses, dropped into her lap. “She’s not there .”
“Of course she is,” I said. I held out my hand until she handed me the delicate binoculars. Still trying to improve life for my children, though I doubted I could see anything Hannah hadn’t. The dark black balloon of fear I’d felt was growing inside me, threatening to crowd out everything else. She had to be here.
I scanned the graduates slowly, row by row, but it was not easy trying to identify individual faces under identical caps. I did not know my own daughter well enough to recognize her body language, though there was plenty of motion. Although I was sure they had been ordered to sit quietly on their folding chairs and face forward, few of them did. The robes dipped and swayed like clusters of bluebirds’ wings. Using the opera glasses I could read the messages spelled out in colored tape on some of the caps: “$165,000”; “HIRE ME”; and the usual “HI, MOM!” When I did not pick out Elisa, I went back to the front of the section, trying to focus on blond hair this time. I found one girl who looked like her, but had a long braid down her back.
“Well, this isn’t her real graduation,” I said finally, handing Jane’s opera glasses back to Hannah. “I’m sure we can find her at the arts and sciences diploma ceremony.”
“No, she said to come to this one first!”
“Maybe she put her hair up under her cap or something,” Jane suggested.
“She never wears her hair that way.”
The music began a formal march, and a procession of dignitaries climbed onto the platform. One of the men wore the colorful regalia of a Roman Catholic bishop, and I remembered the college’s roots. Had Elisa been raised Catholic? When she was a few weeks old she had been baptized Methodist in my father’s church. I would have to tell her that.
The ceremony dragged in a way it wouldn’t have if I had been able to look down and watch Elisa’s reactions. I recognized the name of the commencement speaker, a congressman who was no longer in office, and agreed with what he said about fighting climate change, eradicating disease in foreign countries, and stamping out extremism. As if handing out a classroom assignment, he reminded the graduates that it was now their responsibility.
Jane had her eyes closed as if asleep, and Hannah kept pulling out her battered maroon phone to look for a message from Elisa, then frowning and snapping it shut. A woman sitting in front of us whipped around to glare at her, but Hannah didn’t notice. Colin had promised her an iPhone for a graduation gift, but Hannah seemed lukewarm about the upgrade.
“Let’s go,” I said as soon as the last notes of the recessional faded and the aisles were less crowded. Below us happy parents were already swarming the field. “We should wait outside the gym for the next ceremony so we can see everyone who goes in.”
“She hates us,” Hannah moaned, brushing away a strand of hair that had been released from its ponytail for the occasion. “She’s never going to talk to me again!”
“ Stop ,” Jane said sharply. “It’s not just about you. Why don’t you try putting yourself
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