Tina is graduating

  June 2, 2011

Graduation day. Class of 2011. Balloons and decorations are everywhere when I pull up to the school.

“So just call me after school, and you can come home for a bit before the ceremony.” Mom’s eyes look anxious as she tries to read my expression, tries to predict my lately unpredictable behavior.

“Well, actually, band kids are sticking around, getting pizza and stuff.” I'm careful to word my lie. Nowhere do I say I'm staying.

My mom’s eyes relax when she sees my easy smile. Deceived by my act, as she always has been.

“Ok, hun. Have fun.”

I force myself to unclench my fists, pick up my bag, open the door, get out of the car, start walking. Walk under the balloon arch, through the gates of hell, to my grave.

There's no way I'm staying at school.

I call you. You're always up for a ditch day. “Let’s just go somewhere.” You don't ask questions. You never do.

I spend the day watching the clock, knowing that I should be back to play with the band for graduation, knowing that someone will have to drug me, for me to go.

2:30.

“Shouldn’t you be going back?” In between kisses.

“I’m not going back.”

You stop. “Jess?”

“I can’ go back. I can’t watch that. I can’t celebrate my best friend in the world leaving me.”

“Jess… you can't just avoid it.”
        "I can certainly try."
        "Tina would never forgive you for missing her graduation."
        And there's the one argument that will make me go back. 

We're seconds away when your phone rings. Caller i.d. informs us Jessica’s mom is calling. We freeze.

You answer. Start lying. Start pulling out your smooth lines, your easy answers.

But I can't take it anymore.

“Mom. I’m almost at the school.”

“Jessica?? The band is worried sick!!”

“I’m sorry.” Lump in my throat.
“We’ll talk about this later.”

You drop me off, a gentle squeeze of my hand, and as I shut the door, the tears start pouring out. What am I supposed to do? I run- or at least the closest thing to a run while I'm sobbing- to the band, arranged up front. The sun shines, not a single cloud in the sky.

My band family is alarmed at my lateness, even more so at my tears, and they straight-up panic when I refused to explain. But families are amazing, and soon Mack Daddy has me smiling, there's water in my hand, and my trumpet layingon my seat, ready for play.

I enjoy my few hours, knowing there's a big lecture to come.

And come it does. It lasts quite a few nights self-exiled into my room, quite a few drastically silent and horrendously loud days.

But it's a turning point. I know I can't ignore this tightness in my chest, this awful feeling I get whenever I'm around you. It has to stop. You have to stop.