Still Alice Page 0,85
you doing up here?” he asked.
She looked at the items on the bed.
“Looking for something.”
“I have to run back to the office to pick up a paper I forgot. I’m going to drive, so I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
“Here, it’s time, take these before I forget.”
He handed her a glass of water and a handful of pills. She swallowed each one.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll be right back.”
He took the empty glass from her and left the room. She lay down on the bed next to the former contents of the drawer and closed her eyes, feeling sad and proud, powerful and relieved as she waited.
“ALICE, PLEASE, PUT YOUR ROBE, hood, and cap on, we need to leave.”
“Where are we going?” asked Alice.
“Harvard Commencement.”
She inspected the costume again. She still didn’t get it.
“What does commencement mean?”
“It’s Harvard graduation day. Commencement means beginning.”
Commencement. Graduation from Harvard. A beginning. She turned the word over in her mind. Graduation from Harvard marked a beginning, the beginning of adulthood, the beginning of professional life, the beginning of life after Harvard. Commencement. She liked the word and wanted to remember it.
They walked along a busy sidewalk wearing their dark pink costumes and plush black hats. She felt conspicuously ridiculous and entirely untrusting of John’s wardrobe decision for the first several minutes of their walk. Then, suddenly, they were everywhere. Masses of people in similar costumes and hats but in a variety of colors funneled from every direction onto the sidewalk with them, and soon they were all walking in a rainbow costume parade.
They entered a grassy yard shaded by big, old trees and surrounded by big, old buildings to the slow, ceremonial sounds of bagpipes. Alice shivered with goose bumps. I’ve done this before. The procession led them to a row of chairs where they sat down.
“This is Harvard graduation,” said Alice.
“Yes,” said John.
“Commencement.”
“Yes.”
After some time, the speakers began. Harvard graduations past had featured many famous and powerful people, mostly political leaders.
“The king of Spain spoke here one year,” said Alice.
“Yes,” said John. He laughed a little, amused.
“Who is this man?” asked Alice, referring to the man at the podium.
“He’s an actor,” said John.
Now, Alice laughed, amused.
“I guess they couldn’t get a king this year,” said Alice.
“You know, your daughter is an actress. She could be up there someday,” said John.
Alice listened to the actor. He was an easy and dynamic speaker. He kept talking about a picaresque.
“What’s a picaresque?” asked Alice.
“It’s a long adventure that teaches the hero lessons.”
The actor talked about his life’s adventure. He told them he was here today to pass on to them, the graduating classes, the people about to begin their own picaresques, the lessons he’d learned along his way. He gave them five: Be creative, be useful, be practical, be generous, and finish big.
I’ve been all those things, I think. Except, I haven’t finished yet. I haven’t finished big.
“That’s good advice,” said Alice.
“Yes, it is,” said John.
They sat and listened and clapped and listened and clapped for longer than Alice cared to. Then, everyone stood and walked slowly in a less orderly parade. Alice and John and some of the others entered a nearby building. The magnificent entryway, with its staggeringly high, dark wooden ceiling and towering wall of sunlit stained glass, awed Alice. Huge, old, and heavy-looking chandeliers loomed over them.
“What is this?” asked Alice.
“This is Memorial Hall, it’s part of Harvard.”
To her disappointment, they spent no time in the magnificent entryway and moved immediately into a smaller, relatively unimpressive theater room, where they sat down.
“What’s happening now?” asked Alice.
“The Graduate School of Arts and Sciences students are getting their Ph.D.s. We’re here to see Dan graduate. He’s your student.”
She looked around the room at the faces of the people in the dark pink costumes. She didn’t know which one was Dan. She didn’t, in fact, recognize any of the faces, but she did recognize the emotion and the energy in the room. They were happy and hopeful, proud and relieved. They were ready and eager for new challenges, to discover and create and teach, to be the heroes in their own adventures.
What she saw in them, she recognized in herself. This was something she knew, this place, this excitement and readiness, this beginning. This had been the beginning of her adventure, too, and although she couldn’t remember the details, she had an implicit knowing that it had been rich and worthwhile.
“There he is, on the stage,” said John.
“Who?”
“Dan, your student.”
“Which one?”
“The blond.”
“Daniel