“Today’s commencement marks a new beginning for you all,” said our guest speaker. It’s a windy day. The atmosphere and the costumes were supposed to squeeze tears out of our eyes, but here on stage behind the speaker – our professor emeritus who resembles one of those medieval wizards – our eyes are not remotely damp. In fact they’re getting dry, actually, for listening to those predictable speeches while facing the wind up here is quite a tedious task.

Sitting close to me are my three friends for the last four years. Tom, on my right, is currently nudging me to look at the “inspired” face of a very young, goody-goody girl sitting down there with the other non-honor-students. Oh, she must be so proud of all this – and probably very religious too. Rich, on my left, is seemingly exerting an effort to suppress a laugh. Yes, being touched by the sensations of a college graduation ceremony is a thing to be laughed at for him. Sitting directly behind us is Brandon Harrison, the star of the day as always – the one with the money (or the grades!), and the host of the party tonight.

Now I just took a peak behind me. Brandon’s eyelids are truly superb when they are closed – for even then his eyes are still smiling that confident smirk. Remembering the first time I saw him in our cafeteria, where we all met, I hated that smirk. I didn’t know why exactly, but I detested it. However, being a person with exceptionally high EQ, and being instinctive enough to know right then that he too, is a hard-core science major, I made the effort to get to know him. (You see, one’s undergraduate major determines more than one’s degree – it is a mark on the forehead, aiding the natural selection process between different groupies.) Eventually I grew used to his face, which really should be hated because it is an appealing face to females. Well, we never got in each other’s way.

Finally we come to the part where the crowds will cheer at the call of our names. Where my parents are I’m too embarrassed to care. I hope they do not call me by my baby nickname (no, I am not writing it down here). Tom had a group of people blowing trumpets. I suspect that he treated them dinner last night. He was no where to be found for ‘family obligations’. I also suspect that all of us (with the exception of the somewhat clean-cut Brandon) wanted lingerie thrown on stage instead of cheers. That’s the sort of “honor” we really would like.

With a yawn I walked off the stage. And, with a thousand unwillingness in my heart I started taking various photographs with grandma, two aunties, the three-year-old-cousins, mom and dad and their friends and their friends’ dry-haired, multi-scholarship daughter (wait a minute, I think she was in one of my classes…oh…she is not wearing those glasses today). The day concluded with a huge dinner. Most restaurants in this university town probably make their major income this time of year.

At 10PM I arrived at Brandon’s apartment. His parents were just about to leave for the hotel. Lucky bastard, this Brandon. They give him whatever he wants as long as he studies everything the tutors give him. Of course, in return he made them proud. Still. I wish my parents fuss less about health and cost and let me be the champagne supplier of my close friends. So you see why he is the star of the day, eh?

His parents kissed him goodbye, and ten minutes later (so delayed to make sure that the image of mature, polite young men stays fresh in their heads) the music was exploding out. Yet within those ten minutes, Brandon came to me suddenly and said, “hey, how come you don’t look so sad? You’re favorite Professor Solano just died.”

“What?”

“They announced it in the ceremony this afternoon. You weren’t paying attention?”

I thought he was asleep! He always put up an appearance that things come effortlessly to him. “No, no…I didn’t hear…when did this…”

“A week ago I think. He had colon cancer. Cheer up, man!” He patted my shoulder. But I had a feeling that he was more joking with me. I had the reputation of being the good son, the good student, the good friend, the good ‘x’ where ‘x’ can be substituted to any ordinary role one can think of.

“What? I’m fine. What makes you think he’s my favorite professor…well…it’s sad when people die,” I said.

“Hey I’m not the one faithfully attending his boring discussions,” retorted Brandon.

Drowning the music a voice replies, “those were useless! Pure theory doesn’t cut shit with real application. He gave me a B – it ruined my perfect transcript!” Tom shouted from the sofa, where he habitually occupies while discussing the narrow range of his GPA with a can of beer. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t go,” I said automatically. Somehow I didn’t want to admit a certain defensiveness. Somehow it didn’t feel like he is gone. It’s as if we’re back in the old days when we were all in that class. “Besides, you people depended on my notes!” That was a good defense on my part. (Why was I defending myself?) Every week they complained about how this class is useless to our future professions; or how Dr. Solano should have realized by now that all (not most, all) students taking this course wanted to meet a general science requirement (i.e. an easy A); or what a total nerd I am. “Well, it’s about time…what is he seventy-two?” asked Rich.

I knew he was only sixty-three. He told me so himself, among many other things he told me. Rich went on. “If he doesn’t retire somehow, the newer, younger associate lecturers would never make professor. Look around, this school is populated by people like him. I’m not saying that they should all die or something, but give other teachers a chance! I mean, honestly, the TAs do a much better job teaching anyway.” Tom hollered back a qualifying “yes”. The Circle of Life discussion. Always comes to this. Damn the cartoon. Now I have images of lions and monkeys going around in my brain with that song. Over and over again.

Before I could say anything Brandon turned up the music. People started coming in. As usual, the crowd goes through a ‘sifting’ process in my eyes. All familiar faces here, but I’m looking for a particularly familiar one - Valerie, whose delicate eyes I remember from grade four. She used to march around in those over-alls, her hair a peculiar bronze color under the sun. Valerie, when she turned fourteen the loose clothing morphed into something shapely but tenacious…her skin has the texture of bouncy water balloons…(pardon me but if you think that I am a hopeless romantic then you are greatly mistaken. To save you from my less digestible descriptions of her at age fifteen, I shall stop here.) She moved after sophomore year in high school. We were re-introduced again in college. No, she did not recognize me. She was with some guy as far as I knew. I learned to think of her as a fancy, nothing more. But that was about to change tonight. Valerie is looking very attractive in a sheer purple dress. Her hair is no longer the same metallic color, but her features now have a certain wildness, which, is only more attractive to men in general. Even more attractive – she came alone. The sound of music prohibited me to hear any conversations. So I was bored and started to drink the cocktail (you see, I am one of those people who despise cheap alcohols) while idly chatting meaningless things. After all, that is the point of parties. Somehow, as I grow more relaxed, I am vaguely aware that someone is particularly aware of me. It’s Valerie. She is now walking towards me. Thank God for the dim lighting (or shall I thank Brandon?)…I cannot bear to look straight into her eyes like this. As usual, when such situation occurs or is about to occur, some dumb-ass will come out of no where to half ruin it. That dumb-ass is Rich.

“What’s the matter man your face looks like crap,” that was his greeting to me. Ah the grand advancement of modern language. Of course I said, “nothing.” My side-vision is still tightly gripping the approaching Valerie. We all exchanged hellos with her. Saving the awkward silence, Rich repeated the news of Dr. Solano’s death to her. It is redundant for me to describe what this meant for her. She is of another major. But no matter, when she (or I) has nothing to say, she simply drinks. The shape of her lips is what counts. “My dad was just telling me after the ceremony, that his colleague knew this Solano. They did this research on lung cancer or something. Isn’t it ironic that a cancer researcher got killed by cancer?” Rich is drunk and not very coherent, but I heard him alright. I said, “um-hmm.” Some girl came to speak with Valerie. “Well…..better get used to people dying…..at least for me you know,” Rich is referring to his aspiring career in medicine like his old man, although, nothing is set in stone yet. He continued, “You know why Brandon paid this much attention to it? His uncle is a professor here you know, the department chair is retiring now. Solano’s death means one less competitor for next year’s department chair. I guess you feel bad…..well, you’re like, his pet.” “Good luck to all of your bright future…” I mumbled. I used to think that people who experience sudden burst of temper are in general selfish and temperamental. But at this moment I felt a stir. I don’t know where that came from….I just don’t. “I’m going to be some sort of a doctor! I’ll be helping people, not purposely failing students just because he is bitter!”

“He was a very good teacher.” I found words escaping between my clenched teeth, each carrying a resonating strength and perfect pronunciation. In my mind I’m replaying the time when Dr. Solano humorously joked about politics in academia. He said – I remember so clearly – “these people here don’t realize that ‘want’ is a cancer of the mind...it won’t kill you fast but you’ll die trying to get rid of it.” Then he laughed and told me to go get some lunch, remarking that at least the academia feeds him somewhat. Rich laughed dryly, gobbled down some beer, and started a conversation with some passer-by. My eyes feel vacant, and I am frozen like an idiot. I am staring at the bowl of mixed cocktail, a golden swirl of joint enterprise, a welcoming mix of meticulously selected flavors. Glorious in its diverse mixture, yet with each additional ingredient there lurks a secret, a conceited fear of soiling the taste. I took another sip, my Nth sip. It tasted too familiar to be described, like our God-damned mediocrity. Then the aftertaste grew sour. Suddenly I feel a pair of gentle hands pulling me down towards the sofa. It was as if I had an outer shell made of rock, and at her touch it melted into flesh and bone again.

I knew it. I knew her, Valerie. It was more than my fancy after all. Towards her I started incoherently, “that’s too much….too much…..he was good…..good to me, to his students…you know? He didn’t judge us like we do each other…” My voice dropped to a tiny sigh, almost as if I were back in 4th grade with her on the playground. She smiled at me and said, “you think too much.”

Did she really hear me?

She moved closer to me. Her skin has a pore-less quality, like plastic. My right arm and her left arm slide pass each other like cool wax. For a moment I had the illusion of her being a waxy doll. But her temperature was high, and I feel the heat like energy waves. But no, my body is cold. If one of us must be lifeless then she must be the one alive. There are nights when one suffers from heat without combustion, like the inside of a pressure cooker devoid of oxygen to burst into fire. This is not one of those nights. In the dim light I see her half-opened eyes smiling a joyless smile. Her face remains in a fixed form of relaxation. That is one stupid expression. It marked the end of her beauty. I stood up just as she was leaning towards me, resulting in her falling abruptly on the sofa. The drink in her hand spilled over my khaki pants. She let out a laugh, and started rolling around on the sofa, which elicited a massive game of rolling around all over the place. I felt nauseous, and found my way out. When I found myself on the sidewalk on my way home I slowly became aware of my surroundings. Ah, I’m about to leave this place. It was raining but now it stopped. Everything looks wet and fresh under the streetlights. How I have loved the street lights on my way home all these years. Even the rain here I shall miss. Everything is slowly coming back to me. Dr. Solano and I on a rainy afternoon solving some problems after class. Dr. Solano telling me stories of those famous scientists’ lives. Dr. Solano and I chatting about my future career choices. The classroom, the hallway, the stairs, the trees outside. I see them all. I recall the first time having a private talk with him for an academic difficulty. He said to me, “every tool you already have in your head. These problems are like those in life; they will seem to be purposely made to hurt you only because you didn’t fully understand how and why they were made. Never take the easy way out. That is a waste of your mind.” Without me knowing I think they all secretly went to speak to him, as usual. He was equally kind to them, but they didn’t listen. They could not understand. I stayed time after time because it became a pleasure. He was, to my mind, a friend. I improved, and before the class was over he said to me, “see, it depends on you, what you want to understand or believe. It’s been most rewarding for a teacher to see interest in a student. Don’t ever give up. You are a part of the future of science.” And I was dreaming, dreaming for a long time, of me in a cap and gown for some advanced degree, of me on a podium receiving some award, of him reading my research papers, etc, etc. But tonight the dreams seemed like bubbles, with colorful films under the streetlights, then disappeared into the night. For a moment I was lost and what happened tonight I could not remember. I would not remember. This is not an elegy. There is no pedestal, only love. Death shouldn’t glorify – it only makes one feel so dreadfully alive. I looked up and found a bright full moon, somehow beckoning me into her tender comfort. If the moon were a lady would she dance with me? Only wolves and madmen are fond of the moon.

I followed the lunar signal, soft and diffuse like the caress of a mist. Before me the road glitters an inconspicuous combination of colors. Behind me, the street, the crowds, the houses, the noises, the beloved streetlights, even my own shadow fades – all, all fading into the darkness. I walk on, taking the frame of existence with me, just me, my thoughts, and the moonlight.

Grace is a member of the Class of 2008