Graduation

[SilverKnight]

--Now, this story was sort of derived from my horror story of the Senior Awards I went through. However, the actual events, such as the talking, scowling, and such, never happened. And before anyone says anything, I’m not knocking anyone who’s blind, or anything like that. Okay? Cool. Oh, and I just wrote this today, so I just felt like sharing what I have with my dear friends. Well, mock at your leisure.--

>>Graduation<<

I straighten my tie in the mirror for the tenth time, eyeing myself critically. I sigh. I know I’m an old man, but why do I feel like it right now? I shake my head at the futility of the question, instead checking my watch. I have a little less than fifteen minutes to make to the school before they lock the doors. Can you believe that? They actually *lock* the doors to the students’ graduation.

Probably so people won’t leave screaming.

Ace simply stares at me with those big brown eyes of his. I hate it when he does that. I motion to Ace to come with me. He ***** his head to the side. “Yes, you can come along, Ace,” I reply. He whines, standing apprehensively. “Yes I’m sure they’ll let you in.” His ears droop for a moment. I didn’t want to resort to this, but… “I’ll act blind if necessary.” He growls impatiently. I’m tempted to do so too. “Look, do you want to go or not?” He harrumphs, trotting in front of me.

What I do for that mutt.

---

I give my make-up a once over, checking my dress at the same time. The flower print is a bit faded on the somewhat shiny material. I run my hands down the knee length satin dress, trying to press out any wrinkles I haven’t already noticed. I sigh wearily. I feel so…*old* right now. True, I’m only in my thirties, but still…

My son’s graduating.

I mean, I’m happy, of course. My son’s *graduating*. And I honestly don’t know how. Terry’s very bright, but his grades somehow never proved it. I walk out of my room, clicking off the light. I hear Matt rustling around in his cramped room, and I stroll over, looking at my watch. “Matt!” I call. “Get ready, we have to go!”

“Aw, *mom*—“

“*Now*, Matt!” I’m in no mood to hear him whining about how he doesn’t want to go. He appears out of his room, turning the light off quickly. I can’t help but smile at the scowl he’s giving me. He’s so cute. “Come on, Matty, it won’t be *that* bad.”

He trudges past me. “Can’t I at least bring my pocket ga—“

“No,” I command, as I lock the front door. We both travel down the small hall, entering the elevator. “No pocket games, no little toys. You’re going to sit there and pay attention like an adult would, got it?” He sighs, leaning against the pale wall of the elevator. Rolling my eyes, I hand him a pen.

He looks at it in front of his face, and his eyes travel up to mine, bemused. “What’s this for?”

“Take it,” I say. He does so without hesitation. “If you get bored, you can write who gets what, okay?”

He smiles slightly, and nods. I silently swear to myself for not bringing a second pen. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to pay attention now.

---

I grab the pen from Mom’s hand, putting it in my breast pocket. I hate these stupid suits—I feel all hot and stuffy in them. Stupid Terry, has to graduate when the schwayest cartoon on earth—Martian Manhunter—is running an all day marathon. But do *I* get to see it? *NOO*. I have to watch “Terry the Twip” instead. I sigh.

Life is *so* unfair.

---

I’m graduating.

I’m *graduating*.

How? I’ll never know, but I’m *so* graduating tonight. This is *unbearably* cool. I look at myself in Max’s floor length mirror, adjusting the cap slightly. The tassels fall in my face, and I quickly swat them away with my right hand. I smooth down the midnight black robe—fitting huh?—as Max walks out of the bathroom in her robe. See, the robes are according to school colors—black and blue. Can you believe it? Black and blue. And they picked it *voluntarily*. Well anyway, the guys wear black and the girls wear the blue. All in all, it suits her. I can’t really say the blue goes with her flaming pink hair, but it *does* accent her ebony eyes and dark features.

As I said, it suits her.

Dana steps into the room too, playfully nudging me over to see herself in her robe. The azure robe suits *her* too, the material showing off her slender, sloping shoulders and her long, swan-like neck. She grins at me, and I notice something.

None of us are talking. I open my mouth in attempt to say that she looks beautiful in her “smurf robe” as she calls it—I dunno, don’t ask me. She told me it was based off of some *really* horrible show way back in the day. Dana simply, though, puts her finger to my lips, quieting me. The feel of her soft skin on my face sends a chill down my spine. I merely smile back at her.

I guess nothing needs to be said.

We all file out of Max’s cramped room, Dana going in Max’s car, and I—ever the rebel, huh dad?—going in my motorcycle. Which—as I get on it—I realize isn’t the smartest of ideas. But, Dana and Max are already gone, so I have no choice.

So, I peel the light robe off of me, being careful to fold it so not to leave any noticeable creases or the like. That would be so unschway. I take the cap off too, putting them both in the small compartment meant for the suit. Once it’s snugly inside, I close it, putting my helmet on. Okay, so driving in a dress suit isn’t the best of ideas, either, but hey, who cares? I’ll be wearing that robe overtop of it *anyway* when I walk across the stage. I can’t fight the mile-wide grin that crosses my face as I head toward Hamilton Hill High School.

I’m graduating.

How the hell did I ever manage *that*?

---

I head towards the door, Ace apprehensive beside me. “Calm down, Ace,” I mutter to him, my face still forward. “If this is going to work, you have to act like you do this all the time.” He whimpers slightly. I pat him on the head, scratching softly behind his ear. “Don’t worry, boy. I know what I’m doing.” Don’t look at me like that, I *do* know what I’m doing. Really.

Well, sort of.

I’ve been blind before—albeit for a few days—and I know what seeing-eye dogs do. Before I glaze my eyes over and dilate my pupils, I take one last look at the place. My God, the lines are already seemingly down the block. Yes, there are actually *lines* for a graduation. Although I can hardly see why; it’s like volunteering for the execution line. ‘Sure, kill me first. I don’t mind, really.’ Then again, *I’m* here, so I guess I can’t talk.

“May I help you, sir?”

I immediately put up the ruse, my eyes darting around. “Actually, yes,” I say, holding my arm out slightly. Dilating your pupils makes everything extremely bright and blurry, so actually, I *do* need his help. “This is Hamilton Hill High School, correct?”

“Yes, yes sir it is. Here for your grandson?” He asks; I can hear the smile in his voice, whoever he is.

I smirk. “Something like that,” I reply. “My seeing eye dog seems to be a little overwhelmed by the commotion,” I lie. I hope you heard that, Ace. You *owe* me for this. “Would you be so kind as to guide us towards the front door?”

“Oh, by all means.” He takes my arm gently, walking me forward.

“Are you one of the teachers?” I inquire, trying to make conversation.

I hear him chuckle. “No, no. You see I’m here for my son’s graduation,” the man next to me explains. I don’t hazard a look at him—too stupid of a mistake. “And you seemed to be a bit lost, I was wondering if you needed any help, sir.”

And who says chivalry is dead?

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Mr. …ah…”

“Annetta. John Annetta,” he shakes my hand. Healthy handshake, not bad. “May I ask your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘sir’, can I?”

“No, go ahead. I don’t mind,” I jibe, returning the handshake.

“You seem…familiar. Are you on TV or something?” He questions, guiding me toward the front door I vaguely see. You hear that, Ace? He recognizes me. You owe me *big* for this.

“Uhm, no, I don’t believe so, Mr. Annetta—“

“Please, call me John.”

Informality. Great. I nod curtly. “Alright, John.”

The wafting sounds of voice become louder, so I’m assuming I’m near the door. I hear several abject comments about me butting in line and such, but I ignore them. They can wait. They’re not missing much. Plus, can’t they see I’m blind?

Heh, talk about your ironic statement.

“Do you have tickets, sir?” A woman—presumably sitting at a desk, judging by the sound—asks John and I.

I fish the ticket out of my breast pocket, and give it to her. I hear a rustling of paper to my right as he grabs the ticket out of another paper. “Oh,” John mutters, shoving something into my hand. The program, most likely. I shift to let Ace in front of me, and the man guides me inside. Once in the large reverberating room, he stands in front of me. “So, are you going to tell me your name?”

I clench my jaw. Well, it’s not like I can give him my *real* name. I blurt out the first name that comes to mind. “Tim Grayson.”

“Really? Well, nice to meet you, Tim,” he exclaims, shaking my hand again. “Although, I have to say, you don’t seem to look like a ‘Tim’ to me.” That’s because I’m *not*.

“Well, I better let you go off with your family—“

“No, I wouldn’t hear of it,” he laughs. “Come; sit with my family.”

The one time I *want* a rude person to help me, I get Mother Theresa.

---

I park at the only available spot—the Happy Harry’s Department Store across the street. I practically drag Matt out of the car, grabbing his hand. “Cheer up, Matt, your brother is graduating.” God only knows *how*, but he *is*.

He snorts. “I don’t care. I’m missing Martian Manhunter, mom! *Martian* *Manhunter*! The most schway show in the *whole* universe, and I have to miss a *marathon* of it!”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very ‘schway’, Matt,” I reply curtly. “But this is even schwayer.”

He crinkles his nose at me. “Is that even a real *word*?”

I roll my eyes. Kids.

---

This sucks.

I mean, I’m happy for my bro, and all—mention that to anyone and you *die*, got it?—but still…Martian Manhunter, man! I mean, he is *SOO* schway! So much cooler than *Terry*.

Mom practically drags me across the busy street, unwillingly of course, and I follow her down the long stretch of road that leads to the school. The road doesn’t offer much as far as eye candy, so I look up to see—

Whoa. “Sch-way!”

I can almost feel Mom perk up when I say that. Whoa, there’s a whole *mass* of people there! They look like ants or bees. Probably about as annoying too, but I don’t care. What with all the different mass of colors, with the blue and black mainly intertwining—gotta love that word of the day toilet paper—through the crowd, it’s just…schway. I can’t explain it. It’s just—wow.

“Looking more forward to seeing Terry graduate now?”

I hide the evil grin that threatens to rise on my face. “Yup, mom,” I reply, patting my back pants pocket. The *only* good thing about these monkey suits is that they have *alot* of pockets. Wink wink hint hint nudge nudge.

“This is gonna be so much more schway than Martian Manhunter.”

---

I had to arrive earlier than most people waiting in line, being a graduate, and all. They wanted us here a full half hour before the doors even opened. And of all the slaggin' times my bike breaks down, it has to be *today*.

I manage to park my bike by the side of the road about three or four miles from the school, yanking out my cap and gown. I catch a bus at the nearest station, but the traffic is *horrible*—thank you, Hamilton Hill High—so I decide to get off and foot it. Okay, so it’s around a mile and a half, but I manage to get there in about…twenty minutes or so.

Well, I’m late, what else is new?

I hastily put the gown and hat on as I make a mad dash for the door, panting. I utter quiet apologies as I bump into person after person. I get to the door and the woman taking tickets stops me. “Do you have a ticket?” She asks, not looking up.

Uh, *hello*? “I’m a graduate,” I snap back. “I need to get in.”

Her eyes finally rise to meet mine, but her expression doesn’t change. “You were supposed to be here 45 minutes ago.”

And 17 seconds. “I know, I’m sorry. I got held up in traffic,“ I point to the piling cars around the parking lot. “As you can see.”

“You should’ve been here—“

“45 minutes ago, I know. But I’m here now and the ceremony hasn’t started, so I need to get in,” I explain as calmly as possible. I don’t think it goes over well because she turns impatient.

“Well, if you were listening to what the principal was saying during practice, you would’ve heard him say that if you came late, you had to wait in line.” My face falls. No way— “So, you have to wait in line.”

No freakin’ way. “You’re kidding me right? The line is three blocks long! There’s no way I’m gonna get in there in time!”

“Well, that’s your fault,” she replies snidely, her eyes traveling to the people behind me. “Get in line, sir.”

Oh, that’s a load a crap, and I’m about to tell her as much when another idea comes to mind.

This isn’t the *only* way into the school.

--More madness ensues in the next post!--

[Iceblade5]

Surely Matt won't do anything *too* horrible on his brother's graduation, would he? Then again, you never know with that kid. I like the four-point perspective thing...everyone's shocked Terry's actually graduating. Looking forward to more!
-Ice

[Daughterof_Evil]

Yikes, chaos insues? It has to with Matt, Terry *actually* graduating, Ace the dog, and Bruce Wayne pretending he's blind. I love that part. It was so damn hilarious.

I remember my brother's graduation and the boring stuff, too, so I can relate to Matt. When I pulled out a book to read, my mom yelled at me. Oh well.

[Supergirl]

I remember my brothers graduation, i had to play in the dang band for it...anywho!

This is great so far! Bruce, pretending he's BLIND? i love it! Can't wait to read the next part!

Supes jr.

[The_NewCatwoman]

Wow, this *made me feel all tingly inside* No seriously, I've never ever thought of something like this before. Really creative, and a damn good job. Keep up the writing!

P.S. Did ya read the first part of my new story called 'Broken'?

-bye

I haven't been to any high school graduations because I have no older brother's, and my sister is my twin soooo...

NEway, they all take place at like 12:00 in the afternoon, when I'm still in school. Oh well, too bad,...

[Panther]

I think the word of the day tolet paper made me laugh the hardest, although teh smurf reference is a close second. LOL! (but please tell me you made that product up! Ugh, gross!)

So, Terry's graduating. >Sniff< never thought I'd see the day! And like everything in his life, it looks like it won't come easy. Love the differing point of views. As Matt says - Sh'way

Keep going!

[SilverKnight]

Actually, panther, the smurf robe comment is one I used regularly when wearing my choir robe, which was--poigniantly--blue. I hated those robes, so they were so thick, and I felt like a friggin blue blowfish in them, because the arms were all puffy like a pirates. I mean, seriously, if you were blow up the arms, I felt like I could fly. and thus, I called it the "smurf robe" and I swore at that thing every single time I had to lug it around school. I'm fairly certain my teachers regularly heard me call the "smurf robe" too, because of the knowing little grins and them just shaking their heads at me when I brought the thing in.

So, there you have it. See, it's a funny comment, and I figured I just HAD to put it in here. >shrugs< Hey, if it's good material, why not use it, eh? Well, I'm gettin the rest out soon, don't worry.

[SilverKnight]

--Nope, not done yet, still. But I have a better idea of what I'm gonna do. >grins< So, enjoy.--

C’mon, Wayne, you’ve dealt with the likes of Joker and Two-Face, you can’t lie your way away from one simple nice guy?

Yeah, I’ve never *dealt* with nice guys before, I retort.

I blink. I’m arguing with myself.

I decide to go for something resembling the truth. “No, I don’t want to be a bother, really—“

He chuckles lightly. “Nonsense, it’d be my pleasure.”

I shake my head slowly. “You see, I’m waiting for my—family to arrive.” I force an impish grin. “They’re still outside somewhere. They dropped me and my dog off to go park, thinking I would be waiting in one of the lines. However—as I stated before—my dog seemed to be a little…confused by the commotion.” I pause, seeing if he’d say anything. “I’d rather not worry them further by sitting with your family. They may think I’ve had a heart attack or something. Plus, I don’t want to burden your family—“

“Oh, my family would be glad to have another person with us.”

My God, does this man *stop*? “No, really, sir, I’d rather not. Thank for the offer though,” I reply quickly, losing my patience. Dilating your pupils isn’t the most pleasant of things to subject your eyes to.

“Alright.” He sounds a little dejected. “Well, I’m glad to have met you, Tim.” He grabs my hand again.

“Same to you, John,” I say cheerfully, again giving him a handshake. From what little vision I have, I watch him turn his back to me and begin to walk towards one of the massive double doors, where people are being seated. I immediately bring my hands up to my closed eyes, rubbing them for a few moments. Relieved that the pain is now gone, I open my eyes again—

Everything’s still bright and blurry. I close my eyes again, counting to five calmly. Okay, it’s just because they’ve been dilated for so long. Yet again, I open my eyes…and everything’s white. Not bright and blurry. White. I feel like I’m either standing at the gates of Heaven or I’m in front of a freight train. Don’t tell me I burned the retina’s again…

Okay, I reason. The reason you have a pupil—more appropriately an iris—is to let in or keep out light. The movement of the iris is an involuntary reaction—you can’t control it. (Well, *I* can; I’ve had years of training, and I learned how to take voluntary control of involuntary muscles. It’s quite fascinating actually, but I digress.) If too much *is* let in, it burns the retina.

And since I thought up the oh-so intelligent idea of dilating my pupils to where they were wide open, I’m fairly certain that burning my retina is what I’ve accomplished. So, therefore, I’m going to get the same “bright spot” effect as people get when someone takes a picture with a flash camera, but instead of a dot, it will be everything—and instead of a few minutes, it will most likely last for a few *days*.

Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, don’t you think?

I pull out a pair of sunglasses from my breast pocket—better to be safe than sorry—and place them on my face. I reach down and pet Ace for a moment. “Now Ace, you’re actually going to have to be my eyes for a bit.” He whimpers. “I know, boy, I feel the same way. Are you ready to help me?” He barks quietly, my confirmation. I nod, pleased. “Good. Now find me the seat farthest from the stage as possible.”

I know what you’re thinking. But, I’m blind; the whole point you sit up front is to *see* your kid graduate—I can’t do that, so why waste a good space? Plus, Terry might see me with the sunglasses and…that would not be a good thing.

Ace tugs me forward with a jolt, and I almost lose my balance. “When we get out of this, Ace,” I start, “remind me to teach you the meaning of the word ‘finesse’.”

---

I sigh, checking my watch. We’ve been in line for almost twenty minutes, and I *still* don’t see the front door. Then again, I don’t see *anything* except for this guy’s back—he’s huge. I have to crane my neck up to look at his bald head. Which really isn’t anything to look at, believe me. So, I go back to taking in the surroundings.

Not much *there*, either. But the commotion—as Matt said—is really “schway”, I guess. It’s…entrancing. And in a line this long, entrancing isn’t a bad deal. The bulk ahead of me takes a few steps forward, which for the rest of us mere mortals would be a few *yards* forward.

Not that *I* mind, of course.

Hey, I see the front door, now! I hear people in front of me mutter the most obscene things about some guy butting in line. Hmph. That’s rude. “Stay in line, Matt.” He doesn’t seem to listen, but I don’t really have time to argue. I crane my neck around the tub of rocks and see…and see…a guy walking into the door, with a dog. Seems familiar, but I can only see his retreating back, so I dunno. Guess he’s blind. That’s not *too* bad.

I turn to say something to Matt, but I completely forget what as someone rams into me from behind. “Sorry,” I hear him mumble, and I’m barely able to turn around before I see a figure in a black cap and gown running for the side of the building.

*He* seems familiar too, but I can see even *less* of him than the first guy. Hm.

Weird.

---

Dude, I so could be watching Martian Manhunter now, in the cool shade, in my normal, worn in—Mom calls them “ratty”, but she’s a girl, what does she know?—clothes. Instead, I’m stuck in this black monkey suit, standing in the scalding hot sun in a mile-long line, behind a mammoth of a guy that you’d *think* provide shade.

Somebody up there hates me.

I hear people mutter something about somebody butting in. That’s unschway, man. I mean, what makes *that* guy so important? Mom turns around, about to say something, when someone bumps into her. Mom jerks forward, using my head to stop her from falling. I’m able to glance from the folds of her dress—

*Terry*? Why would the dork wanna go around the back? Is he getting to the back of the line? I think about the possibility for a moment. Nah, he’d never get inside in time—that and he’s too impatient to wait, unlike us normal people. Plus, the way he ran off makes me think that he doesn’t want to be seen. An evil grin forms on my face without me asking my mouth to do so.

“Matty,” Mom says in a far off voice, “did he look like someone familiar to you?”

“Nah,” I reply. He doesn’t want Mom to know, that much is for sure. Blackmail galore.

This may turn out to be a fun event yet.

---

I turn the corner, ducking behind a dumpster. Crap, I think I just ran into Mom. If she finds out I had to do this, she’s gonna be so mad at me—breaking into your high-school to get to your own graduation isn’t exactly on the tops of the “acts mom should be proud of” list.

I slide along the wall, until I’m sure no one can see me. Using some techniques Bruce taught me, I vault myself up onto a small lip of the wall, balancing myself on the two inch overhang. Okay, I had some help from the dumpster to get up here; ya happy now? However, doing this was a lot easier in a skin-tight suit than in a cap and gown…

My foot slips—rookie mistake—and I begin to plummet back down, but instead manage to grab the small overhang on the other side of the wall. See, this is almost like an alley—albeit a very, very thin alley, but an alley nonetheless. I dig my fingernails into the cement, using all my upper body strength to pull myself up, to keep myself from a nasty fall about fifteen feet down. But, lucky me, there’s nothing to grab onto, so I have to do that nice little balancing act again—only this time on my knees.

Get your mind outta the gutter, okay?

What I’m about to do I didn’t learn from Bruce, either. This is straight me, when I was running with the gangs. Whenever we had to climb over a locked fence, Big Time always sent me to go first. They’d push me up to the fence—sometimes just centimeters thick—and I’d balance myself on my knees, because I’d never been able to master this with my feet…as you can see by my display before. Well, anyway, I’d balance myself on my knees—don’t ask me how I was able to, but I did—and use my legs and all my strength able to kick myself up into the air, and land on my feet. As soon as I landed on the fence, I’d leap over, sometimes somersaulting in the air. Why didn’t I just climb over like any sane person? Call it overkill. And what sane person would dress up as a giant Bat and fight crime? I rest my case.

Now that isn’t exactly what I need to do. In fact, there’s a lot different here. One, this isn’t a fence—it’s a wall. So my balance is gonna be off. Two, this isn’t a fence, it’s a wall. Therefore my feet aren’t going to be placed in the same way. Three, I need to jump *backwards*, because the roof is within jumping distance of the overhang behind me. Here I’m screwed. Well, enough musing, because I can feel my balance starting to slip. I concentrate, and jerk my legs downward the same time I pull my upper body back. I immediately bring my knees up to my chest, my shoes touching the cement. As soon as I feel that, I push out with all my strength, sending my flying backwards. I gotcha now, you lousy, stinkin—oh crap *twist*—*TWIST*!

As I planned the soles of my shoes hit the other lip. Too bad I’m not in ‘em. Who’da thought you’d need to check to see if your shoes were tied before you try death defying acrobatics?

The wind’s knocked out of me when my back collides with the heap of trash in the dumpster. Well, at least it wasn’t the ground. I hazard to open my eyes to check for any debris coming my way—and promptly close my eyes as my shoes land smack dab right between eyes.

Somebody up there hates me.

--There ya go!--

[Daughterof_Evil]

Can someone say" That was freaking hilarious!"!?

I loved the part about Matt blackmailing his brother and Terry's "acts mom should be proud of" list. Geez, give the guy a break! He dresses up in spandex and fights crime and *actually* graduates! It's a miracle!

[Batgirl]

I usually don't go for BB fic, but this is great! I can't wait to see what Matt has planned, and Terry! I hope he gets in on time! I can see it now, "Terry Maginnis(sp)"... "Terry McGinnis(sp)"... no Terry... gee, this is great, post soon!

[SilverKnight]

--Yay! Part 3! Big long part too! Sorry for the delay folks! --

Why he leads me to the middle of the aisle, I’ll never know. But he does, and I feel him sit in front of me, giving me the not-so-subtle cue that this is where he wants to sit. And right about now, I have little choice. So, I sit, preparing for probably the most aggravating three hours of my life. After all, I have nothing to look at—literally—and I have no one to talk to.

‘Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into *this* time, Wayne,’ my ever-working mind gripes. ‘This is truly pathetic. I mean, you’ve survived—what?—three decades fighting the worst the world has to offer, and what do you do at someone’s graduation? You blind yourself. You put yourself into such a horrible situation(on your own, mind you), because you were too stupid to think of putting the sunglasses on *beforehand*. What a way to show off your intellect.’

I promptly tell my brain to shut up for a little while.

Ace whimpers slightly, and I feel someone sit next to me. “C’mon, Myrtle—“ There are people actually named *Myrtle*? “—sit down, already!”

“Buck,” Myrtle I’m assuming simpers, “I’m trying to…it’s just that—“

“Just what?” Buck scoffs. “There are plenty of seats around. Pick one and sit *down*.”

“Buck—“

Oh for the love of— “By all means,” I reply, standing from my seat, and taking the one next to it. Ace isn’t in the best of moods, considering he was comfortable where he was, but he slides across the few feet of floor and settles in front of my feet again.

“Sir—sir, it’s quite alright—“ She stammers. “I—I don’t want to be a bother—“

“Nonsense, it would be my pleasure,” I reply instantly, trying to be as charming as possible. And, no the irony of what I’ve said is not lost upon me. For a brief moment, I wonder where John is in the crowd. I wonder if he sees me, and thinks this ignorant oaf next to me is my family. I contain a shudder of disgust.

She’s silent for a moment, and then utters a quiet, “thank you.” I hear her sit down.

I barely manage to take my seat before that Buck guy pipes up again. “Myrtle, move.”

I suppress the sudden urge to roll my eyes, and then figure, “what the hell” and roll them anyway. “What? Why?” She asks, confused.

“Look, we’ll switch seats, it’s just this woman’s hair has a big poof—“ I hear a distinct “hmph!” from the poofy woman. “—and the seat in front of you doesn’t have anybody there.”

“Buck, it’s not that bad,” Myrtle rebukes. “Plus, if you *couldn’t* see over it, what makes you think I *could*?”

“You’re resourceful. You’ve sat behind ‘em before,” he replies, deadpan. A small snort escapes my lips, and I quickly turn my head the other way. What a jerk.

“Then why’d you sit there in the first place, Buck?” She questions, her soft voice tinged with annoyance.

“Because the lady wasn’t there before,” he retorts pointedly, his voice patronizing. “Now she is, and I can’t see.”

I’m surprised the “poofy-haired lady” hasn’t turned around and slapped him in the face yet. Or moved out of his way, just to shut him up. Guess she’s too stubborn. Spite…don’t you just love it?

“Then we can move to another part of the aisle, Buck,” she explains calmly. “One poofy-haired lady is not going to keep me from watching my son graduate.”

“Good. Then you can switch seats with me.”

Frankly, I’m surprised *she* hasn’t slapped him in the face yet.

She sighs loudly, and I hear her stand again. Shuffling noises are made as I assume they switch seats, and the rather large man I figure to be “Buck” sits next to me again. Just then I realize that I’ve moved farther into the aisle, making any “escape” as it were impossible should I need to leave in a rush.

Great.

More people sit next to me, and the outright chatter quiets. People are shushing eachother all around, which leaves me to assume they’re starting. One good thing about being the middle of the aisle—Terry couldn’t see me even if he wanted to.

“Looks like you have company, Buck,” Myrtle giggles. Ah. The “poofy-haired lady” must be giving him her regards for his eloquence.

I hear him growl in annoyance beside me. I hide the grin that’s tugging at my lips. I make a mental note to shake the woman’s hand after this is all over. Someone as vengeful as her I have to meet.

“Hey, Mac. Move,” the reproachable Buck addresses me. I want to say ‘like hell’, but instead I give him no visible reaction, and keep my head turned the other way.

Hey, I’m blind, I might as well act deaf too.

He pauses for a moment, befuddled. (Yes, that’s an actual word.) “Hey…hey you!” The only way I know he’s waving his hand next to my head is because I feel the small wind he’s making send a chill down my spine. I would normally never let a person do such a thing to me, but I’m trying to keep my patience, and thus continue to pay him no mind. He pokes me in the shoulder, and it’s all I can do to keep from shoving my foot so far up his a— “Waddaya deaf?”

“If I told you yes, would you shut up?” I snap, still facing the other direction.

He pauses, and sounds almost shocked when he retorts, “hey old man, didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”

My reply is immediate. “Yes my mother *did* teach me manners, but apparently yours *didn’t*.”

I hear a few snickers of laughter behind me as he replies distastefully, “so, what? Are you blind or just stupid?”

I finally pivot my head around, so it’s facing somewhere around his, and let him see the sunglasses on my face. “I dunno…” I start, mimicking his urban drawl for a moment, much to the amusement of the people behind me, “you tell me.”

I wish I could see the look on the man’s face right now. I know it had to be something…amusing, because the figures behind me break down into hysterics. I believe I even hear the woman Myrtle chuckling softly, gasping, “he gotcha there, Bucky,” between fits of laughter.

This may not be so bad, after all.

---

I stare into the mammoth room, a veritable mob swarming about the stage. Well, so much for sitting in the front. I pass my gaze over the seats(all fifty-million rows of them) and my eyes lock upon the nearest open seats—all the way in the back of the auditorium.

I *knew* I should’ve brought binoculars with me.

I grip Matty’s hand tightly as I weave through several clusters of people blocking the aisles. Out of sheer curiosity, I strain my eyes about the chairs, seeing if Mr. Wayne is here. However, I don’t see him. Hmph, I’m not surprised. A vampire like him would never go out into the light of day. No, that’s mean, I tell myself. Mr. Wayne’s a good man, and seems to be a real positive influence on Terry. Still…a little walk now and again…

‘Shush, Mary,’ the voice chides. ‘You’re being rude. How the man wants to conduct himself is entirely his business.’

Well, it *becomes* my business when my son is around him, I tell the snide little voice. Plus, Terry is gone all night, doing God-knows-what, coming back with such bruises and gashes that I’ve never seen him endure while in those awful gangs of his. Not to mention it’s affected Terry’s school performance—

‘He never did good in school *before* he met Wayne,’ the little snot says. ‘At least he’s *graduating*. Be happy the old man got him to do *that* much.’

Oh shut up, you little twit.

‘Touchy, aren’t we?’

I sigh. I hate my conscience sometimes.

---

I’m itching to get out of this suit. Literally. It’s made of wool—*wool*! Of *all* things to wear in the middle of June, she gives me *wool*.

I’m hot, sweaty, annoyed, and tired. And of course, Mom has to drag me around a bunch of people who have a really weird smell to them, and to top the slaggin’ cake off, we won’t even be able to *see* the twip graduate. I mean, the people standing near the stage are dots.

I’m missing Martian Manhunter for *this*?

This blows. The only thing semi-redeeming about this is the fact of what I’m gonna do to liven this joint up. Maybe everybody here will appreciate what I’m doing for them. I mean, hey, you only live once, right?

Plus, *Terry* was a delinquent, why can’t *I* be? I don’t hide the demonic grin that crosses my face. Payback’s a you-know-what. (I can’t swear. Got my mouth washed out with soap the last time I did. And to let you know—lemon-scented Palmolive does *not* taste like lemons.)

Mom shoves through the crowds sitting us in the middle of the rows. Who knows why, I mean, the edge would be much easier for me to get out. Then it hits me. Maybe that’s why she went in the middle, to keep me from escaping at some point. Geez, why do I feel like a caged animal all of a sudden? ‘Bad tiger, you’re supposed to jump *through* the loop of fire, not run *from* it.’ Sheesh.

I sigh. I think I just found the bigger, fatter, uglier sister of the bulk that stood in front of me and Mom in the line. And of all places the freak has to land, she has to be in the chair in front of me. Maybe I’ll take this as a bad omen of the time to come. Then again, if I wanted to start believing in bad omens, the words “Terry’s graduating” should’ve set off all kinds of warning bells right from the get-go.

In my boredom, I suddenly wonder if Mr. Wayne’s here. But, with the Incredible Bulk in front of me, I can’t see anything other than a pink flower-printed muumuu. I hate life. Then my hand brushes across my jacket pocket as I rearrange my tie, and I perk up. Again.

Ugh, I hate this suit though. I’m so hot, I just want to fall asleep in my chair. I mean, I could be—no, don’t go there, Matt. Stay focused. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts…think of all the people laughing at Terry. Think of all the times he called you “twip” and talked down to you and—think of all the schway episodes of Martian Manhunter you’re going to miss. *There* we go…

Now just sit back and enjoy the ride. Terry, I hope you’re enjoying yourself, ‘cause come your time to walk across the stage, you’re gonna wish you were never born.

---

I want to scream.

‘Nice one, McGuiness. Of *all* the times your Godforsaken luck has to come back to bite you in the butt, it has to *now*. At the most important night of your life.’

Oh, it is *not*. Taking down Blight was a big thing for me, too.

‘Yeah, but it didn’t take you thirteen years of work to *get* there, did it? It took you a few years of practice at breaking and entering and a suit you had to steal from a senile old man.’

Hey, he’s *not* senile, you idiot! If anyone’s senile, it’s you—

‘You mean *us*.’

I growl. I hate my conscience.

I pry myself out of remains, standing calf-deep in possibly the nastiest stuff I’ve ever seen in my entire life. *Without* shoes. Ugh. Life hates me. Life *so* hates me. This is disgusting. This is nasty. This is—

‘Annoying. Shut up and just find your stupid shoes.’

Shut the f—

‘Ah, watch your language.’

I want to kill somebody.

I dunk my hand into the mess again, grinding my jaw. It’s just a bad day, shake it off. Just a bad day, it’s just a bad day, it’s just a bad day…

My grime-covered foot hits something hard, and I turn my gaze over to the offending object. I freeze, in a precarious position to say the least—in a dumpster, half bent over in my graduation gown with my butt up in the air, and my hand dipped almost elbow deep in garbage. If I could kick myself in the head without falling face first, I would. ‘Yeah, smart one, your shoes hit you in the face, remember?’

Yeah. *Now*. I take a deep breath, immediately regretting it. Dumpster, Sherlock, dumpster. Of course it’s gonna smell. I close my eyes, calming myself. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean…

I wrench my hand out of the muck, grab my shoes and hurriedly hop out of the pile of trash. I haphazardly drop my shoes on the gravel, and proceed to wipe off my gown. Then I remember one of my hands is covered in filth, and change the tactic.

You know what? Screw it.

I take the gown off, and shake it thoroughly, most of the chunks flying off in a matter of seconds. Then again, I’m also getting out pent up frustration, so I’m surprised I haven’t ripped the collar to shreds yet. I don’t know how long I whip the midnight black material in the air, but I stop when I no longer feel my arms, dropping them to my side for a moment. I check over the robe, and when I surmise that there are no stains noticeable from a long distance, I slip it back on.

Some Batman, huh? I get locked out of my own graduation, attempt to climb up on the roof, and fall right smack dab into a dumpster full of ooey-gooey goodness. My nose tickles for a moment. Oh come *on*…

I can’t help it. I squeeze my eyes shut and let loose with a huge sneeze.

Ugh. And to top one of the worst days of my life off, I’m getting a cold. Why me? What did I do? Sure I picked on Matt a lot, and I forgot to bring home milk whenever Mom asked me, and sure I never listened to Bruce when he gave me a direct order but *C’MON* already! I always paid for those mistakes—Mom yelled at me(for both number one *and* number two) and *Bruce* yelled at me. With a man like him bellowing at the top of his lungs specifically at *you*, trust me, you get the point fast. I learned my lessons…sort of.

But, man, this isn’t *fair*! This is total crap! I sniffle, and catch a whiff of how I smell. Literally, in my case. I mean, everyone’s expecting to see me all happy walking across the stage and *where* am I? Standing barefoot, covered in gunk in front of a dumpster behind my school.

I want to get this Godforsaken day *over* with.

---

False alarm, I guess. I don’t hear that god-awful graduation song—can’t stand it. I despise it. ‘Like it matters, you rarely heard it. Especially when it *counted*.’

Shut up. I had work.

‘Right. And I warned you about how well it would go over explaining to your son that some petty thug was more important than him.’

I never meant it like that and you *know* it.

‘*We* do. He *doesn’t*. Big difference.’

I rub my unseeing eyes wearily. Ace whines, pressing up against my feet. I stare down in his general direction blankly. “Oh, bored already I see?” He harrumphs, setting around my ankles. Hmph.

Thanks for the confidence booster.

So far, this night is not boding well at all. Gulping back a sigh, I think of ways to stave off certain insanity. Y’know, I could go for a drink right now. I know what you’re thinking and no I don’t drink. But in a situation like this, I’m sorely tempted to start…

“Terry *McGuiness*? He’s *graduating*?” Buck sneers.

Yeah, I could *really* go for a drink right now. Or a twenty-pound sledge. Either or.

The very music I despise starts blaring, drowning out all other sounds. Complete sensory deprivation was less maddening than this. I barely manage to make out the two arguing over the boy. My luck. “Buck…he seems like a nice boy,” Myrtle snaps.

“Heh, that wimp,” he replies indignantly. “Never even *fought* with my boy, even though he was given the chance. I think he was *scared*. Nelson could’ve wiped the floor with him.”

I literally bite my tongue to keep from spewing out what this man *obviously* needs to hear. I bet I could wipe the floor with *you*. I’ve been taking down boorish morons like you since your *father* was in elementary school. Of course I don’t say that, but God I wish I could. They continue to bicker, and I massage the bridge of my nose.

Where’s a gun-toting psychopath when you need one?

---

I lean back in the hard metal chair, trying to relax as much as possible for the wait ahead. The lights dim down to the point where I can barely make out my skinny white legs in front of me. Trust me, for my legs to be almost unseeable in *any* light, is a feat to behold.

Then again, that may not be a bad thing.

However, no music booms in my ears, though. My eyes follow up to a screen flowing down from an unseen compartment in the ceiling of the auditorium. For a moment, I forget about all that I’ve been squabbling over in my head, and my eyes focus upon the images in front of me.

Baby pictures.

They made a vid with baby pictures of the graduating students. That’s…cute. The screen fills with various photos of snaggle-toothed smiles and kids wearing cheesy grins. Beside the picture the person’s name is written in those cheap text graphics. Despite myself, I smile. Everyone—all the people sitting and chatting and laughing—were once children, like the high school students.

Like Terry. And like Matt. My little boys. Even Matt’s incessant whining seems to have subsided for the moment. I blink, remembering something suddenly.

Terry asked where I put the old family photos.

My grin brightens a couple of shades as the photo pops up alone upon the screen. He’s eight, wearing his favorite Superman T-shirt, wearing the largest grin on his face I’ve ever seen before or since. He *still* loves that thing. I guarantee you if he could stretch it out and wear it, he would. In his much smaller hands he holds a plaque, his only prize. A gymnastics award. Yeah, I know, hard to believe. But Terry was actually an aspiring gymnast. Oh, he’d come home from practice and talk to me and his father for *hours*, showing us the new moves he learned. He was so *happy*.

Then we divorced.

And Terry…just stopped going.

And a few years later, he started with the gangs. I felt so…*responsible* for him running into the law. My smile falters, the pain and guilt flooding back. No. He’s off that lifestyle now. Terry would *never* do that again. Not with a father figure like Mr. Wayne behind him. The smile began to rise from the ashes.

*Then* I heard some snide voices a few rows behind me. “Terry *McGuiness*? He’s *graduating*?” I’m about to turn around, when the graduation song screams through the room, making me momentarily deaf. Anything I could or would say now would be totally lost upon whoever said that.

Well, we’re here, and it’s starting. Now I just need to find a way to stay awake—not to mention sane—until he walks across the stage.

Joyous day.

---

An uncountable amount of people in a room, and *none* of them have heard of deodorant? Everyone in this whole giant place reeks, except for mom, who always smelled like a cross between cinnamon and cereal. I’m about to fake—well, embellish anyway—nausea when the graduation song screaming over the speakers. I can barely hear myself think, much less talk to mom about sneaki—er, going to the bathroom.

So much for that idea.

Spots of light flood the dark room as the graduates start filing in. For a second I wonder where Terry is in that very *very* *VERY* long line outside. Then I remember—it’s Terry. He wouldn’t be in the line at all. He would’ve found a shortcut in or something like that.

Or he could just *break* in.

Pfft, yeah right. *That’d* be funny if I heard that. Mainly because Terry would be burnt to a crisp for pulling a stunt like that by Momzilla. (Momzilla is my pet name for Mom when she has the evil-eye look…thing going on with Terry. But never with me, ‘cause I’m not stupid enough to get her *that* mad.) ‘Well be prepared to. Because that’s no worse than what you’re pulling,’ my conscience-thingy tells me.

Shut up, I’m eight, and it’s not even my graduation anyway.

‘And if Terry were to do this on *your* graduation as retribution?’

I snort. I’d like to see *that* one happen. Nobody’s that flexible. Except for Batman maybe. But he wouldn’t show up at my graduation, so what does it matter?

‘You ever heard of karma?’

No. Wait—how do *you* know what it is?

‘Because I’m the part of you that actually *listens* to what people say.’

Hey, cheap shot. My mind wanders—

‘Yeah, whatever helps you sleep.’

It does, thank you. Why’d you bring it up anyway?

‘Karma is your spirit. When do you something bad, you’ll wind up paying for it, but it may not always be in this lifetime,’ he explains.

Mom. It has to be from mom. No way Terry would ever tell me that. When it comes to keeping information in that pea-brain of his, he’s worse than I am. So what, I shoot back. It’s in another life, I don’t have to worry about it ‘til then.

‘It *may* be in another life, I said,’ he corrects. Stupid technicalities. ‘But with Terry, you know full well he’ll never wait that long.’

Hm. You got a point.

‘Darn right I do.’

Hmph. Aren’t we full of ourselves?

‘No more than you are.’

Shut up.

---

Okay, let’s try this again, shall we? This time I take the time to carefully put down the lid to the dumpster, so if I fall this time, I’ll just break a couple of ribs. Hey, at least it won’t mess up my robe as much.

Déjà vu. I stand on the lid, vaulting up to the ledge, pulling myself up on the tiny overhang. I don’t waste time with thinking about my actions, and just act out of instinct. Before I lose my balance and land in another heap on the ground, I push off the cement, outstretching my hands. I stare up, and it seems like forever as I near the overhang of the roof. And it seems like forever and I start to plummet back down.

Oh crap, I’m falling!

Instinct. Gotta love it. I tuck into a ball, and an instant later push my legs out with all my might. I know I know, I did this last time and landed in the dumpster, but hey, I’m a quick learner. I twist to face the other wall, pulling my knees up to my chest, repeating what I had done before. I launch off the wall, and some stupid little saying pops into my head. “What goes up must come down.”

Yeah, well, been there, done that. And I have the bruises to prove it.

I can’t keep bouncing off the walls, though, because of that nasty little thing called gravity. But I don’t think I have to. I whirl around in mid air, stretching out my arms; I hope the cap that’s been nestled between my pants and shirt won’t fall out. Luck—finally—is with me, and I skid across the roof without a hitch. Well…if you don’t consider falling into a dumpster a hitch, I guess.

I pull out the cap, to find it relatively unscathed. I wipe off the stray bits of dust and grime that has amassed itself on my gown as I hold the cap in my other hand, shielding the waning sunlight from my eyes. I’m starting to hate sunlight more and more, thank you Mr. Former-Batman-Bruce-Wayne. Sheesh. And people think farmer’s tans are bad.

Now if I remember correctly—which right now I’m *really* hoping I am—the doorway that leads to the auditorium is a few yards to my left. And a couple levels up, and then down. Stupid multi-level school.

Surprisingly enough, the trek to the doorway goes down like clockwork. Not one slip up, literally or otherwise. Which means I’m going be in for it whenever I *do* get to the stairwell. I drop to the ground, feet from the door, and my stupid brain has to start acting up on me again. What are Dana and Max doing? What would Mom and the twip think of me if they found out I did this? Geez, what would *Wayne* think? I shudder to think of his punishment. I near the door and hear—

Oh no. I strain my ears, hoping it’s not what I think it is. Oh, please don’t let it be, *please* don’t let it be…

Slag it. Slag slagslagslagslag. I’m *SOOOO* dead.

---

The couple to the left of me whistles loudly, I’m assuming at their son, “Nelson”. I recognize the name as the same punk kid that was always giving McGuiness a hard time at school. And if they do turn out to be the same person, I won’t be surprised. His father would be a spitting image of him. Well, a bigger, fatter image of him, anyway.

I wonder where Terry is?

---

I scan the myriad of faces that appear from the various doors, but have yet to see Terry enter. Well, I tell myself, it’s a big graduating class, Terry’s just farther back, that’s all.

That *better* be all, because this is *his* graduation. I mean, he’s missed a lot of important events due to Mr. Wayne, but…he wouldn’t miss *this*…

Right?

---

I don’t see Terry yet. I grin evilly. He’s gonna be in *so* much trouble...

---

I’m so screwed right now, it’s not even funny. Well, it isn’t funny in the first place, which makes me feel even worse. Stop panicking, I hiss to myself. You’re right here. Just go in and sneak inside. I reach for the door, and my heart drops. ‘Okay. *Now* start panicking.’

The door’s locked. The lousy stinkin’ door’s locked!

They lock the doors when the students start entering. Great. *Now* I remember that. Frustrated, I kick at the door several times. Still, I only manage to dent the stupid thing. Where the hell’s a strength enhancing suit when you need it?

This is so *not* been my day.

By now, I’m sure Mom and the twip have noticed I haven’t come through yet, so I’m gonna have to make a speedy entrance. My eyes dart wildly around the surrounding area, searching for something—anything—that could provide me with a way to the auditorium.

The old vent at the roof. You breathe on that thing wrong and it breaks off. Problem is, it’s on the other side of the school.

I sigh. Well, it’s better than nothing. I clamber up the iron rungs of the ladder, sprinting to the little ray of hope left for me making my graduation. “Stupid multi-level school,” I mutter as I clear the gap between two levels. In other circumstances I’d be proud of my acrobatics right now. In the back of my mind, this reminds me of when I was little, before my folks split. All I ever wanted to do was jump from tree to tree in parks or impress the kiddies in gym class by doing the most cartwheels.

I skid to a stop, springing to the highest point of the school, the home of “Old Smokey”. Our nickname for the vent, because after school, you’ll see a thick smoke pouring out from it. See, the reason they never replaced the vent with a new, more secure one—like the rest of the school has—is because this vent leads directly to the incinerator. And no one would be crazy or dumb enough to break into school through *that*.

Well, what can I say? Stupidity at it’s finest.

--There ya go!--

[M'ral]

Silverknight, this is fabulous! Poor Terry! I'm eagerly awaiting part 4! Like I said, LOL!! Keep it coming!

[M'ral]

Oops, sorry, I forgot to say please! Please keep it coming! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEEEASE!!!!!

[SilverKnight]

thanks, M'ral. Y'know, you can call me Krugie. I don't really mind. >grins< Don't worry, I'm writng more. I just have to make sure it sounds halfway decent. Don't want to disappoint the masses now!

By the way, did you read my little Playing God thing? It's a column thingie, and nobody's said anything about it. >shrugs< Okay, I'm a review hound. Deal with it.

[Isis1]

Dear Silverknight, (sorry, I always try to be proper! )

You probably don't remember me, since we haven't talked since "Mental Lapse" on the Batman-Superman.com boards. I was one of the ones egging M'ral and Remicis on! I read your stories with my big sister M'ral, and I enjoy them a lot! Please keep going on "Graduation"! It's sooo funny!

Your fan,
Isis

PS: I also love "The Terror that Flaps in the Knight". Please sontinue it soon!!! Please?

PPS: Your "Playing God" column was really good too. It was well written and very true. Thanks for sharing it!

[Isis1]

Please sontinue it soon!!!

I meant continue. Really!

[M'ral]

Hey, Krugie! *whew* God, that feels good! I don't think I'll ever get used to calling you Silverknight! Thanks!

Anyhoo, yes, I did read your "Playing God" column, and I loved it! It was just so...different. I never really thought about writing that way, but you've definately got a point. I know I can be too much of a "Soap Opera God" sometimes, but I'm trying to break that habit. Anyway, it was very interesting, and it really got me thinking, which is always a good thing in writing! Bravo!

One more thing, I hate to be a slave driver, but KEEP WRITING, GIRL!! ...Please.

[SilverKnight]

>grins< I'm working on it, I'm working on it...

Isis I remember you. I remember when you used M'ral's account to egg me on to writing more. Speaking of which, how's Remi doing? I *still* haven't drawn his pic......but I will once I find where the hell I stashed his description...if I did, that is. >nervous laughter<

Well I'm glad you've found your way here. And don't worry, both Terror and Graduation are coming along. And I even have a sequel to ML in the works. Seriously. But I want to finish these first. Well, I'm off, but I'll be back! Don't worry!

[M'ral]

We're not worried, Krugie! We have faith in you.

BTW, I tried to email you that Remicis description...three times. It was returned twice. I hope the third time was the charm, because it's been fifteen minutes and it hasn't been returned yet. So please let me know if and when you get it.

A sequel to ML?!! Sounds like fun! I promise Remi and I won't mess this one up! I can't wait! (But I will, so no pressure! )

[The_NewCatwoman]

Hey, *sings* It's been awhile.

NEway, I'm loving this, it's hilarious, especially the parts with Bruce, but then I've always had a fascination with Bruce's inner working's. Do me a favor would ya? Tell me what you think of Perfect Dark huh?