To Bloom Among Weeds

I wonder if our parents can tell we've slept together from the way Violet and I are smiling in these graduation pics. They think we're still just besties, emboldened by the fiery fuel of female teenage camaraderie. We're not quite partners, but we're not just hooking up for the hell of it. It’s eating me alive.

Maybe it's better we're not "official." We're attending different universities in the fall. It's about 3,000 miles from Stanford to the Fashion Institute of Technology. We’ve only just expressed our feelings for each other, what with a pandemic keeping our crush virtual for several months. And it’s pretty difficult to come out as a lesbian when over 63% of the people in your county voted for Donald Trump in the 2020 election. Even harder when you attend a private Catholic school in said county.

Attentive St. Joan’s students can probably tell we’re closer than usual. Every famous queer couple has their code, right? J.C. Leyendecker hid his 1920’s advertisements with homoerotic aesthetics to express love for Charles Beach. The original Little Mermaid happened in Hans Christian Anderson’s life, only the mermaid was Anderson and his duke lover was forced to marry some rich chick instead of Ursula. For Violet and I, our code is in our matching graduation caps. She’s embroidered purple flowers into the top of mine, and into hers she’s sewn orange blossoms: an ode to my name, Marigold.

Anyways, it’s almost time to start this stupid ceremony. We’re outside on St. Joan’s dandelion-infested football field, the majority of us without masks because thankfully we’ve been vaccinated. Despite a bare face, I feel like I’m still wearing a mask. Not the medical kind, more like a costume one. Principal Hyde rejected my original Valedictorian speech. Violet and the rest of my classmates will be sitting on metal chairs looking up at me, on a podium, barking nonsense about my high school experience that was pre-approved by three other St. Joan’s faculty members.

As Pink Floyd would say: it’s just another brick in the wall.

“Break a leg up there queen,” Violet says as we part ways, her peroxide blonde hair shimmering in the June sun. She read my original speech and loved it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t approved. When I go up there and look into the crowd, I want to stare into her sea blue eyes so I don’t get anxious looking at anyone else. But I’m scared to know what will happen when that specific part of my speech, the part she knows so well, is swapped with other words for the “well-being of all attendees at St. Joan’s 2021 graduation ceremony.”

Too late to worry about it now. Principal Hyde kicks off the event with some stale jokes like the corny father he is, former teachers say some boring words into the microphone, and then it's my turn. I'm trying so hard not to hurl as I walk up to the podium. Damn, there are more people in my senior class than I remember.

"Our Valedictorian, Marigold Patel!" Principal Hyde cheers into the mic. He lays down a piece of paper in front of me. The speech. His speech.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Parents, friends and families, teachers and faculty, and the graduates of the class of 2021."

Some hoops and hollers. From the bleachers far away, I find my mom and dad: both recording this moment separately on their smartphones. Thankfully, Violet's right in front because her last name starts with an A. Principal Hyde sits right behind me. He's more than six feet away, but it feels like he's breathing down my neck.

"It's a blessing to see all of you in person instead of Zoom. For a year called 2020, I feel like I've gained some vision problems from looking at my computer screen too long."

Scattered laughing. Okay, maybe not the best joke. I look down below. As sucky as it may be, my pre-approved speech is here to guide me forward.

"I don't know if I'm the right 18-year-old to talk about the hardships of the pandemic. We've all suffered in our own ways, some of us more than others. But what I can talk about is the beauty of this class, this community. I always thought graduation was something that just happened. I didn't realize how much I was taking it for granted until it almost didn't happen for us."

Violet's smiling up at me. Are those tears in her eyes? I've never seen her smile so beautifully before. It's like the smile she flashed me after I impulsively kissed her for the first time in the girl's bathroom at prom. The gentle, brilliant smile she caressed me with when we woke up the next morning, still in the same bed at our friend's beach house - the sound of ocean waves adding harmonies to our melodic silence.

Yeah. I don't want that smile to fade.

"You all may know me as the shy girl who didn't speak much throughout these four years of high school. But despite my introversion, I understand the importance of community. Without it, not only would our lives lack the special joys friends have to offer, but we wouldn't get to know ourselves, either."

I take a quick glance up. Yes, Violet's happily crying. Oh no. I can't disappoint her. This isn't just my moment, but hers as well. It's not fair to take that away from her.

"On the lacrosse team, I learned the importance of collaboration and protection. By having my fellow Griffins' backs, I found the value in caring for others as a member of Big Brothers Big Sisters, and will continue to pursue the subject of social work as I study at Stanford University."

This is it. Do I turn away from Violet so I don't have to watch her happy face get crushed from what I'm about to omit next?

No. I can't do it. Eff it. Eff Principal Hyde. I didn't want to be up here making this dumb speech, anyways. Why should I make this audience "comfortable" when the pandemic's made us uncomfortable enough? I earned this spot on this podium, not them. This is my speech. This is Violet's speech, too.

So instead of talking about how the science club helped me switch to a more sustainable lifestyle, I say this:

"Thanks to a supportive best friend, I've finally found pride in my queer identity. At first, I thought I had to go through this facet of my identity alone..."

There's some babbling, a gasp or two below. But I just keep my eyes on Violet. She looks as determined as I feel. What are our parents thinking right now?

"But she made me realize in order to love who I want to love, I must first love myself, and for this lesson, I-"

Suddenly, my echoed voice turns into quiet chatter. Faces in front of me scowl. Confusion. The phrases "what's going on?" and "oh no," keep repeating. No one can hear me. I tap the microphone. The batteries must be dead.

My eyes find Violet's in this embarrassing situation. But instead of looking at me, she looks at something behind me. Turning around, I get the answer.

Between his hands, Principal Hyde holds the wire to the unplugged microphone I was speaking into.

Is he even allowed to do this? I can almost see the newspaper headlines: Another Idiot Principal Silences Valedictorian During Speech. I'm looking to the crowd for some kind of guidance on how to feel, how to react, but everyone looks as stunned as I am. Should I just end the speech here?

Principal Hyde walks up to the podium, places a grimy hand on my shoulder, and quietly orders...

"Stick to the script. Got it, Ms. Patel?"

Got it? Oh I got it, all right. Like the patron saint for which this school is named after, I'm getting burnt at the stake for apparent heresy. I wonder if Joan of Arc also wanted to rip her perpetrator's eyes out when they tore her down in front of a crowd. Maybe she was queer, too. She wasn't afraid to cross-dress, after all. But she had more patience than I do.

Maybe it doesn't matter what Joan of Arc thought during her persecution, because unlike her, I have friends here to help.

"Let her SPEAK! Let her SPEAK!" Violet hollers, starting a chant in the first row. More voices join in. Even my parents are shouting from the bleachers. Soon enough, the whole football field is encouraging me to keep going in the same tempo as Queen's "We Will Rock You." All we need is stomping and clapping and we've got a rock concert on our hands.

Screw fear. I'll be their Freddie Mercury. I'll go on, even if it means getting attacked by a homophobic, 50-something-year-old high school principal.

"She made me realize in order to love who I want to love, I must first love myself!" I shout to the heavens. I'll break my vocal cords if I have to. In a weird way, it feels so good. It's liberating.

"And for this lesson, I will always be thankful for her."

Applause, cheering from all my classmates. People I've never talked to in the hierarchy of high school, suddenly on my side.

"Ms. Patel," Principal Hyde warns sternly. He looks like he's about to choke me to death as I gaze into his crocodile green eyes. But he doesn't know I achieved this 4.0 GPA because of my brain's secret weapon:

"I'm sorry, Principal Hyde. I memorized the original speech."

I keep going, projecting as loud as I can, until a bald-headed sound guy in a black polo shirt carries out a fresh new wireless microphone. He brushes past Principal Hyde, as if to block him from interfering with my moment.

"So through accepting my queer identity, I've learned the importance of having good friends, as well as a supportive community around you. The world sucks, you know? It's not going to get any easier with student loan debt, taxes, maybe even raising a family one day...and of course, a global pandemic. There are people and things out there that want to darken our light of happiness," I glare at Principal Hyde for dramatic effect. Okay, this is more fun than I thought.

"But high school taught me you don't have to face the darkness yourself, even in a year that forced us to socially distance. It's individually up to us to make the world a better place, but we cannot forget the significance of the people who make up that world."

Time passes, I prattle on some more. And soon enough, I'm signing off with, "congratulations to the Class of 2021!"

Just like that, fellow students are giving a standing ovation to the hardest part of my high school experience. It wasn't necessary of them - I'm just happy to be far away from asshat Principal Hyde. Sayonara, sucker.

I walk down the elevated platform, look up to find my parents in the bleachers. Mom is smiling proudly, holding up a pair of heart hands. Guess that means she approves. And if she does, Dad probably does, too. I'm sure we'll talk more about it in the car ride home.

Before I take my seat way in the back where the rest of the 'P' surnamed students are, Violet leaves her chair to meet me. She touches my shoulder.

"See?" she says with a playful smirk, "wasn't it cathartic to get that off your chest?"

I try to copy her coquettish tone. "Yeah, maybe. But if it hadn't been for Principal Hyde, don't think it would have been as much of a hit."

She giggles, and suddenly our lips are planted into each other. Kissing her is better than receiving a government mandated diploma, that's for damn sure. It's like we're alone in an ocean of people, drinking in the golden summer as it begins. Maybe we'll bloom in other directions come fall, but at least we have right now while it lasts. xxx

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Inspired by fellow NJ native Bryce Dershem and his beautiful Valedictorian address. Don't let anyone try to steal your star.

-Katy