In those moments, all was silent. In those moments, all was still.
The sight of my fellow pupils lining the sidewalks outside of the high school filled my sight. We stood shoulder to shoulder amongst the hundreds of American flags. We waited noiselessly. Minutes passed. Our gazes fixed on the clouded horizon, where we knew he would soon pass through the quiet drive. A son, a student, a role-model, and a fallen hero.
The clouds began to part above us,and I felt a warm sun creep up against the back of my neck. His procession was nearing our presence. Slowly, boys removed their hats and groups of girls joined hands as if to somehow offer strength to one another. That's when the lights of the motorcade appeared. Instinctively, I pressed my hand to my heart. As I stole a glance beside me I saw my best friend do the same with tears in his eyes. The girl beside me took my hand. It didn't matter that we had never spoken; in this moment, we simply needed one another.
One after the other, squad cars proceeded into the drive. A black car made its way into view, and a quite and collective gasp was heard from all.
Teachers openly sobbed around me. Boys who I had known to be utterly emotionless cried silently with their eyes cast downward.
And, in an instant, the disproportionate black car was right in front of me.
Stunned, I bowed my head and watched as it inched away from me. Several more cars passed carrying grief stricken family and friends. I cannot find the words to describe the expressions on their faces. Soon, the procession was on the horizon once more. The clouds moved in place over the sun as they had before, and a quiet wind rustled the trees around us. No one spoke. Teachers now clung to each other for support. I noticed my hand was still over my heart although the cars were far out of sight. We all remained like this for several minutes.
Eventually students began to return to the building silently. I made my way to my next class of the day, and sat at my desk as others filtered into the room. Just as before, no one dared to speak. Some held their head in their hands and cried. Others busied themselves mindlessly with English work. Our teacher entered the room and I exchanged a solemn glance with her. Her red rimmed eyes looked incredibly sad and troubled. "Okay everyone," she said, her voice trembling. "I've decided to post-pone the test until . . ." a blank expression crossed her face, and she suddenly turned her back to the class as sobs broke over her. Grabbing papers from her desk she turned back to us, and attempted to hand them out. "Let me give you a hand with those, Ms. Grey." a boy quietly said. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine." She repeated to herself, until abruptly leaving the room.
The class remained silent for several more minutes until she returned and picked up where she left off, emotionless. The rest of the class period continued. Bells chimed from the PA and a voice came over the intercom. "I would just like to thank you all for your respect and professionalism today during the ceremony for Sergeant William Daubert of the 2007 graduating class." The principal calmly stated. "Please stop." Ms. Grey whispered, her voice trembling again. "It's over now. It's over."
