Thirty Happens (11 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Butts
T
he strains of
Pomp and Circumstance
echoed through the grounds of Reese College as a steady line of proud students slowly weaved to their seats. There were three hundred graduating in my class today. By the time I had slowly wobbled my way down the aisle between the folding chairs, I was pretty sure that I’d heard the classic graduation song fifteen times already. I was starting to sing along in my head. I had to almost bite my lips shut to keep from going
bum, bum, bum-bum, bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum
along with the music. There were photographers everywhere and the last thing I wanted was my face mid ‘bum’ splashed everywhere.
This just in, journalism graduate Karyn Jenkins has nervous breakdown en route to her seat at graduation. Yeah, that headline would make my career.
I was about five rows from the front when I heard my name along with screaming and cheering. I scowled in the direction of the noise, trying to figure out where it was coming from. I looked and saw my mom, Lynnie, and Brian jumping up and down and waving at me.
Ugh.
I did a quick finger wave in their direction and quickly returned my attention to walking as slow as was humanly possible without toppling over.
Oh man, I should
not
have thought that. Now I was picturing myself falling and causing a domino effect of college students. I could see the gowns fluffing up in the air in my mind as I pictured everyone falling forward.
I had to bite the side of my cheek to keep from laughing as this thought went through my head.
I finally got to my seat and realized that I already had a line of sweat trickling down the front of my chest in between my boobs. I wriggled around in my metal folding chair, trying to inconspicuously wipe it away without actually grabbing my chest in front of the camera person, my fellow students, and all the participants. Mom would just be so proud to see her daughter conducting herself in such an un-ladylike manner in front of the world.
I could tell as I snuck a quick glance around the audience of family and friends that had been steadily gathering for the past hour and a half that I should be grateful that the females of the class were wearing the white gowns. The poor guys in the shiny purple gowns were going to be dying from the heat in about ten minutes. I saw more than one already twisting around in discomfort, reaching beneath the collar of their shirt trying to loosen it up a bit. Finally, an event where it was harder to be a guy.
The last strains of music finally,
finally
faded away and I bounced in my seat a bit in anticipation.
“Good morning parents, family, friends, and esteemed colleagues. I am
thrilled
to welcome you to the two thousand and eight Reese College commencement ceremony honoring these fine students who have called this beautiful campus home for the last four years. Parents, thank you for trusting us with the care of your children. It has been our honor to stand alongside you and watch them grow, cheering them on as they take their steps towards the rest of their lives.”
Dean Petrullo stood before us all on the stage, draped in her black gown, black cap, hood, tassels, you name it. If I wasn’t mistaken, her gown appeared to be made of some form of velvety material, which must be even more torturous than our flimsy polyester. Poor woman. But good for us, if she was sweating her boobs off, she probably would keep this thing moving. Plus, she was a woman of a certain age, if a normal hot flash kicked in, she would probably become a puddle. This could get interesting.
I let my attention start to drift. I’d never really been one for long speeches or anything of that nature. I looked around at my fellow almost graduates, and wondered about them. I knew most by face and a good number by name. Having worked for the college paper meant that at some point in the four years I had probably spoken to everyone from my graduating class. I wonder how many other students sitting here could say that.
I was a part of their moments, and in turn, I shared their moments with everyone.
I wondered if they would even remember me after today, or was I just a blip on their radar.
I turned my attention back to the stage and was surprised to see a student at the podium, clutching an award and speaking to all of us. A quick glance at the program showed me that they had already advanced to Outstanding Senior awards.
Jason Michael Sloan, Salutatorian.
“In closing, I would like to thank my professors, my fellow classmates and of course my parents, for believing in me and supporting me. Thank you.”
A smattering of polite applause rippled across the audience, with the exception of some loud cheers from what could only have been Jason’s family.
Salutatorian. Second place.
That meant…
I looked down at the program.
Karyn Nicolle Jensen. Valedictorian.
I was up next.
I looked over and saw that I was being gestured forward to stand at the ramp near the stage.
“Our next outstanding senior award goes to a woman who has become an integral part of the landscape of Reese College. From the moment she stepped foot on this campus almost four years ago as a freshman, she has become an active member of the campus newspaper. She started in a lower level reporter position and quickly moved up the ranks to a senior reporter and senior editor. She became a member of Delta Phi Alpha, an academic fraternity dedicated to a life of service and academic excellence. Starting in her sophomore year, she spearheaded efforts to collect donations of necessities for those communities affected by tornados in November 2002. An eighteen wheeler was filled to the brim with packages containing shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush, toilet paper, soap and a personalized note of encouragement. These supply drives have become an annual event, and will continue moving forward for victims of natural disasters. Despite having a full course load as well as a full schedule with the newspaper and Delta Phi, Karyn has managed to maintain a perfect grade point average, and has earned the title of Valedictorian of the Reese College graduating class of two thousand and eight.”
Dean Petrullo ended that speech with a flourish, and I was a little surprised and embarrassed by the level of applause for my list of accomplishments.
I started walking forward, assuming this was my time to go and give my speech, but the Dean held her hand up to stop me.
“I am sorry, Karyn, but I’m not quite done yet. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait your turn.”
I heard laughter flittering about the audience.
“This past semester, Karyn apparently decided she wasn’t busy enough because she took on a prestigious assignment as an intern to the Senior Editor of the Boston Beacon. As part of this internship, she was assisting in editing articles written by seasoned journalists prior to being published. The internship program at the Beacon had a total of twenty five interns. Only six of them will be offered full-time positions with the paper. Karyn was given an ‘off duty’ assignment to attempt a feature article for the Senior Editor to review and use in consideration in her candidacy for a full-time role. I would like to do something
completely
out of the ordinary right now, and invite Senior Editor Marv Jenkins of the Boston Beacon up to the podium.”
Wait, what?
I looked on in shock as Jenkins ambled up behind the Dean. I hadn’t seen him hiding back there. He looked over his left shoulder at me, grinned and winked.
Oh, dear Lord.
“Thank you, Dean Petrullo. I was chatting with my old friend, Professor Statlin, of the Journalism department here at Reese last November, complaining about having to go through the annual intern review process. All I wanted was someone I knew was going to be amazing, without having to go through all the steps for a maybe. Statlin looked me in the eye and said, ‘I know just the person you need.’
The next day, three years of back issues of the Reese Reporter were delivered to my office. Within each of them were multiple articles written by Karyn Jensen. I won’t lie, I was expecting to read about social mixers, not national events. I was blown away by her ability at such a young age.
Together, Statlin and I petitioned the internship program and were able to secure Karyn’s position as my intern.
Last week, Karyn delivered a feature-length article to me, on assignment. I gave her this assignment knowing that she would also be preparing for her final exams at the same time. My goal was to see how she did under pressure. Well, she did amazing.
On Monday, please pick up a copy of the Beacon, your Valedictorian’s special assignment piece will be on the front page. Oh, and as of right now, your Valedictorian is the newest reporter of the Boston Beacon.
Congratulations, Karyn.”
Wow.
Just, wow.
I stood there, frozen, not able to fully comprehend what had just happened. I felt something damp on my face and reached up to touch my cheek, surprised to find tears there.
Dean Petrullo grinned at me and handed a plaque to Jenkins.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please mark this date on your calendar. It is the first time I have managed to render Karyn speechless. A momentous occasion, for certain.”
The laughter rang through the audience as I felt a small push from behind, forcing my feet to move forward towards my mentor and friend.
I gave him a tight hug and whispered in his ear.
“
Wiseass.”
“Congratulations, Karyn.”
I squeezed him one last time and glanced down at the plaque in my hands.
I turned to the audience and pulled out the piece of paper where my speech had been written.
“Four years ago, I came to Reese College with a dream. But I was not the only student who came here with a dream. Four years ago, I started buckling down, studying hard, and doing everything possible to succeed. But I’m not the only student who worked hard. We have all, together, pushed towards this day. We have laughed together, cried together, studied together, and sometimes, partied together. Sometimes a little too much party.”
I paused, expecting a bit of laughter from my fellow graduates, and I was not disappointed.
“And now, together, we will be walking away from here, no longer students, but as graduates of this esteemed institution. We have a thread that will forever join us. A shared history, that even if in thirty years you do not remember my name and I don’t remember yours, we will still have been a part of each other’s story. And I am beyond grateful for your part in my life.”
I stopped, and looked down at the paper, but could no longer see the words on the page as my vision blurred.
Looking back up at the audience, I just smiled.
“To our professors, I say thank you. You have pushed each and every one of us to our best possible selves. To our parents, thank you. There were days you had to give some tough love, and it is appreciated now, even if it wasn’t appreciated when given. On a personal note, thank you, Professor Statlin and to Jenkins. You really shouldn’t surprise a girl like that just before she has to make a speech. I am beyond grateful for the belief you had in me, and for the amazing opportunity that I was given. I’m excited to extend my stay at the Beacon. Fellow graduates of the class of two thousand and eight, congratulations to us. We have totally earned this day. Thank you.”
I stepped back from the podium to the ringing sound of applause.
You know what? I wasn’t really someone who enjoyed public speaking or the limelight, but that feeling was pretty awesome, when the applause sort of just rolls over and envelops you in its warmth. I could seriously get used to this.
I turned and went back to my seat, stopped several times for hugs and high fives. I sat there, hugging my award and grateful for that moment.
Reading the words on the plaque occupied my time before I walked across the stage, receiving a piece of paper that announced to the world my successful completion of four years of study.
I had done it.
Exhale.
“
J
enk, I swear to God on the world’s largest stack of Bibles that you are trying to kill me with that damned red pen.”
“Well, you’d think after two and a half years maybe you’d finally write an article without any errors.”
Two and a half years? Damn, that had gone by fast. I did the math in my head. Started as an intern early two thousand eight, hired that May. Now it was the end of November, two thousand and ten.
Holy crap.
“Jeez, has it already been that long? That seems impossible. I guess I must be having fun with your old ass or something.”
“Who are you calling ‘old’, young blood?”
This was a conversation we seemed to hold every time I turned in an article.
It really had been two years. Two crazy, stressful, fun-filled, deadline driven years. I thought back to when I first met with him, nervous as all hell but confident in my ability to write. I remember him saying something about the internship being more of an education than I ever had in college. I was offended then.
I totally got it now.
I found an intern wandering the halls yesterday searching in a panic for the kitchen because she was on a coffee run.
I laughed and helped her out.
“So do all of the reporters come and sit with you personally to have their work ripped to shreds, to have you tear their heart out of their chest while you do some form of mariachi dance on it?”
He held back a laugh.
“You know they don’t, it’s just me back here, all by my poor, lonesome self.”
“And your intern.”
He gave me a ‘what, are you crazy’ look.
“Uh, Jensen, you were the only intern I’d ever let help me with editing, and only because you came highly recommended from an old, old,
old
friend.”
I gave him a half smile and shook my head.
“You should really give them a chance, Jenks. You never know, they might surprise you.”
I walked to his side of the desk and snatched my butchered article from his hand. Leaning over, I gave him a side hug.
“I’ve got to go fix this article, and then bolt. The Governor is holding a conference defending his support of Project Labor Agreements. His feet have been held to the fire after all the overruns on the Big Dig.”
“I thought that was old news.”
He was talking about all the stuff that has happened since the massive construction project allegedly wrapped in ‘06. Since then, state police had raided the offices of one of the concrete suppliers, where they found documents that proved that they’d covered up the poor quality of concrete that they had delivered to the sites, and the Attorney General had sued a list of about fifteen companies that directly or indirectly linked to the construction of the project. In two thousand and eight, the state won $450 million in a settlement that would be put towards cost overruns.
And holy shit on a stick, there were cost overruns. The thirty year project which was initially supposed to cost only $2 billion was actually $15 billion. I swear, politicians were as good with money as I was.
“That
was
old news. This is
new
news. A lot of people are claiming that the Governor hasn’t learned his lesson from the Dig, and we are positioning ourselves to hop back into the fire by supporting project labor agreements.”
Jenkins leaned back in his seat, with his hands together in a classic thoughtful pose.
“People are saying that the Big Dig was cursed.”
“It probably was.”
I shrugged my shoulder in a way that said ‘what can you do’.
Jenkins laughed a little.
“You know, your friend Brian probably blamed that on Babe Ruth.”
I laughed at that thought.
“Nah, he’s pretty sure that curse is gone and his ghost was
finally
laid to rest when the Sox won the World Series twice.”
Jenkins sat quietly for a few moments, you could see his mind working because his eyes were darting around looking at images, thoughts, and figures that only he could see.
“What’s the angle, Jay. What’s the ‘why’? What benefit do politicians see in supporting project labor agreements in public works projects when the recent years show that they don’t offer the project safety that they promised?”
I leaned forward, getting excited about this upcoming article I was going to be writing.
“It’s two thousand and ten, Jenkins, and we just had a big state general election. All of the House of Representative seats were up for grabs, as well as the Governor’s seat, the Lieutenant Governor and the Attorney General. That’s a big deal, and the construction unions have a lot of political campaign fund money. They just need a politician to stand behind.”
Jenkins let out a low whistle.
“This is a mess, Jay. It’s going to continue drag on for years and cost millions in litigation. And if politicians are putting the safety of the public at risk in order to get a couple of dollars for their campaign? I don’t see an end in sight.”
I smirked at him.
“You know what this is? It’s called ‘job security’.”
He shook his head at me, smiling sadly.
“When did you become so jaded?”
I shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes.
“Karyn?”
Ugh.
He actually used my first name. That was the equivalent of a parent using their child’s full first name and last name together.
“What?”
He paused, trying to find his words. Words that I expected that he’d been wanting to ask but wasn’t really sure how to go about asking.
“How is it going?”
“Listen, Jenks, I really have to get going. Article to revise, press conference. You know the drill. The news doesn’t stop for anyone.”
I gave him a side hug and practically ran out of his office.
I was avoiding it.
Still.
After two years I was still avoiding a conversation about how I was doing mentally.
Truth was, as long as I kept busy and worked insane hours, I was fine.
If I had too much alone time for introspection and deep thoughts, I wasn’t fine.
So, I worked.
A lot.
Since I had started as an intern with the Beacon, my cubical had been moved about four times. I was now almost at the other side of the building from Jenkins.
I thought back to the first day I was here; when I was at least smart enough to wear a pair of flats as opposed to heels. I now wore white shirts and khakis like just about everyone else, and I usually paired the look with a pair of sneakers.
Every once in a while, I got a raised eyebrow at the sneakers, especially when they were my neon highlighter yellow running sneakers, but I really didn’t give a crap. They were comfortable and truth be told, sometimes you had to run from one end of the building to another. Or run to a press conference because the T was running behind… again.
I sat down at my desk and opened up the article that I had submitted to Jenks on my laptop. I took quick note of the time and set an alarm on my phone to remind me when it was time to pack up and leave for the press conference at the state house. I’d learned a while back that if I didn’t set my alarm, I would get too absorbed in what I was doing, and completely miss my meeting. It only took three times of missing a meeting to figure that out.
I looked down at three pages of black ink and red scribbles.
Ugh.
I truly hated when my work was edited. It was so necessary, though. It was frustrating because I would always do a read through about three times, including reading it out loud, but I still managed to miss so much stuff. Nothing like an amazing editor to make you feel like you have no right to be a reporter.
As I read through his notations, I had to admit it.
He was right.
I would never admit that to his face because I would never hear the end of it.
Ever.
‘Beep’.
I look down at my phone to see that I have a text from Lynnie.
I smile, happy that I had stayed close to my friends.
Lynnie was now working across town for an ad agency as a graphic designer. It was much more her speed than being in the advertising department of a newspaper. She and Brian had been dating now officially for about a year and a half. I still had my theories that the hookup had started a little further back than that, but I couldn’t get either of them to fess up.
I seriously had to work on my investigative reporting skills.
I opened up the text.
Tonight. You, me, Bri. Rosemary & Thyme.
Holy shit.
You highly overestimate my pay here.
Rosemary & Thyme was one of the nicest restaurants in the city. And in a city like Boston, that was saying a lot. Like, a lot of money. It was nothing to blow through a couple hundred with just two people having dinner.
Our treat.
I started to type out a million questions but my phone beeped again before I could hit send.
And don’t bother trying to ask your questions. Just be there at 7pm. Change into something other than khakis and a button down, please.
Ha.
Bitch!
I waited three seconds.
Takes one to know one. Love u, see u tonight.
I shook my head and put the finishing touches on my article about some of the bloodier fights that took place over the weekend with Black Friday and all, and sent it once more to Jenkins.
I picked up my phone and looked at the alarm.
HA!
Finished up with about two minutes to spare.
I did a celebratory fist pump in the air, with a little happy dance for one.
It didn’t take that much to make me happy.
I grabbed my thin wool coat, my phone, and my tablet and ran to go catch the Silver Line to get to the State House.
With luck, everything will be running perfectly on time and I’ll get there early enough to get a front row spot.
Snort.
The T almost never ran on time.
