The Sign in the Stands

Journal

I told her not to make a sign.

She made one anyway, on hotel stationery, letters too big.

I found her in the stands before they called my row.

She was already crying in a practical way.

When they said my name she didn't yell.

She just lifted the sign until I had to see it.

After the hats went up she held my face like she was checking I was real.

"We did it," she said, though I had done the papers.

We ate in a diner that still had graduation specials.

She kept the tassel in her purse.

At the airport she handed me the sign, folded small.

"For your wall," she said. "Don't be cool about it."