He looked down at the fabric.
“Three days before she died, she asked me to wear it if she couldn’t.”
He paused.
“I knew people might laugh.”
A few people lowered their heads.
“I almost didn’t care.”
Then he looked directly at the audience.
“But she told me something before she died.”
His voice cracked.
“She said being forgotten scared her more than dying did.”
A woman behind me started crying.
Eli continued.
“So if you’re going to remember anything about tonight, don’t remember me wearing a dress.”
He turned toward Maya’s photo.
“Remember her.”
The gymnasium rose.
Not everyone at once.
One person first.
Then another.
Then entire rows.
Within seconds, nearly every person in the building was standing.
The applause seemed to go on forever.
Mark wasn’t there.
That part still hurts.
But someone sent him the video before graduation ended.
When Eli and I arrived home, his father’s truck was parked in the driveway.
