And stopped.
“She simply refused to let him stand alone in his embarrassment.”
“You have done that your whole life,” I told her. “You made room for people at their worst moments. You laughed first when someone needed mercy. You made everyone else feel safe being seen.”
The room held itself still.
“Over the last few months, you started telling us you might skip pictures. You might leave early. You might stand in the back. You said young people should be the ones everyone remembers.”
The room held itself still.
I stepped away from the center of the floor.
Mason moved with me.
“Today, everyone came expecting to watch us promise we would stand beside each other for the rest of our lives.”
I looked at him.
“But before we could make that promise to each other, we wanted to honor the woman who taught us how.”
Mason moved with me.
The microphone shook once in my hand.
I lowered it.
Mason’s mother brought me the ivory hairbrush.
