Wildwood

6. Graduation

Graduation“Tanzy Leigh Hightower,” the principal says, announcing my name. I keep my eyes on him and walk straight ahead, refusing to look out at the crowd. There’s no one here to wave to or take my picture. I only came because the silence in my house was too loud.

I take my diploma and shake his hand.

“Congratulations,” he says.

My lips form a tight smile, and I stride toward the off side. With only two steps to go, I can’t stop myself from stealing a glimpse of the courtyard. The two seats assigned to my family are empty. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, and then force my legs to finish walking off the stage.

After the ceremony, I stand under the limb of one of the cherry blossom trees lining the courtyard, and stare out at the people milling around. Families gather together and take pictures. They hug, they smile. They play with the graduation tassels. I take off my cap and rotate it by its corners, and then peer down at the toes of my paddock boots, which are peeking out from under my itchy gown.

I’m not sure why I’m still here. There’s no one waiting on me, no pictures to take. I step out from under the tree.

“So, Tanzy, what are you going to do now? Go to Disney World?” Dana’s voice calls from the left.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, breaking into a grin as I catch sight of her.

“The back. I don’t do the whole assigned seating thing. Sorry I don’t do dress up, either.”

“I wouldn’t have recognized you if you did. You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did. I’m taking you out for lunch, too. Just me and you. I just need to drop by Wildwood first.” She heads in the direction of the parking lot.

“I, I’m sorry. I can’t go to Wildwood.”

“You don’t even have to get out of the truck. It’ll just be a second.”

I shake my head. “It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Tanzy, you can’t avoid Wildwood forever. We need you. Your horse needs you. You need Wildwood! What are you going to do now, seriously? Are you and your mom just going to sit in the house and stare at each other or avoid each other until the end of time?”

“I’m going to wait tables at Smokey’s. I start next week.”

“You’re going to wait tables?” she practically shrieks. “Your father would have my head if he knew I let you and your talent waste away at Smokey’s Barbeque.” Her face is the picture of disgust.

“Just for now.” I hold up my hands. “Just until I can afford a place of my own. Then we’ll see.”

“Did you not get into any colleges?” she asks, leaning in.

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened any of the letters.”

Dana reaches up to her sunglasses and pulls them down. Her blue eyes bore into mine. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I need to be here. Smokey’s is fifteen minutes from my house. Mom does best during the day, and I’m going to try to only work lunch shifts.”

“This is…” she trails off and plants her hands on her hips. “What did the therapist say?”

“Mom fired her.”

“Of course she did.” Dana rubs her brow. “And there’s nothing you can do to force her to get help?”

“She hasn’t tried to hurt anyone or herself. She has days where she’s better. She’s grieving, Dana. I don’t think there’s one set way to do that. Even the therapist said so.”

“This is really what you want to do?”

“Yes.”

“Well please, for the love of God, change your mind. And when you do, you will have a job at Wildwood waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” I squirm under my gown. Between the conversation, and the polyester’s exceptional ability to absorb heat, I feel like I’m being cooked. “I think I’m going to pass on lunch. Thanks for the invite though. I just feel like I need to go check on Mom.”

“Sure, go.” Dana waves at me. “But you better call me soon.”

“I will.” I beeline for the truck, keeping my gaze trained low. In my haste, I fumble with the handle and drop the keys.

“Are you okay?” a man’s voice says from behind me.

“Yes, just in a hurry,” I say, stealing a glimpse over my shoulder. There’s a guy standing at the car two empty spots away from mine. He’s nearly a foot taller than me. His hair is dark and messy. His face has a long scar across one cheek, and his hands look like he tried to grab a catfish by the whiskers. I know I’ve never met him before. He’d be hard to forget.

“Thanks, though.” I climb in and slam the door shut, nervousness scampering from the nape of my neck down my spine.

I give him a customary wave through my window, and punch the gas.

The sensation of being followed trails me all the way home. I check my mirrors every few seconds. No one is behind me. So why does it feel like it? My stare moves from the road to the shadows of the trees. Who was that guy? A student I’ve never met? Someone’s relative in town for graduation?

“You need to get a grip. It was just someone trying to be nice. People with massive scars can be nice,” I whisper. I look at my own hands, which are crisscrossed with dozens of little scars from farm life nicks and scratches. I sigh. I don’t allow my eyes to wander from the road for the rest of the drive.

“I’m home,” I call as I walk in the door, and then I head upstairs to my room without waiting for a response. I sit down at my desk and pull open a bottom drawer, where unopened letters from six different colleges are tucked under a scrapbook. I spread them out on my desk. What if I got into one of these schools? Would they still take me, or is it too late? And if I did get in, would I go? Could I leave?

I open the first envelope.

Dear Miss Tanzy Hightower,

Congratulations! We’d like to welcome you to…

My eyes blur with tears. I open the next letter, and the next, until all six are open on my desk. Six invitations to start over. Six places that think I belong with them. I gather up the letters and run down stairs. Mom’s door is open.

“Mom!” I burst into her room. It’s empty. I approach the windows, a seed of dread taking root inside. Mom is outside, lying flat on her back on what looks to be a patchwork quilt. I lean forward, recognizing some of the patterns. She’s made a blanket out of Dad’s shirts. His pictures are scattered around her. The tulip has been dug up and cast aside, and she’s clutching his dog tags to her chest.

I look from her to the letters and back again. She would be so happy to hear about me moving away. She’s about as thrilled with the Smokey’s idea as Dana was. But how could I move away with the knowledge she has just as many days like this as she does days where she comes and watches the sunrise through the kitchen window?

I fold the letters, and drop them into the trash can on my way outside, where I lower myself to the blanket of dad’s shirts, and stare up at the sky.

Part Two