I was at the ceremony today.” A pause.
“I was also in the faculty lounge afterward.
I heard something, and I — I couldn’t just not say anything.”
“What did you hear?” I asked.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“Professor Holt was talking to two other faculty members.
He was laughing about you.
About the fact that you graduated today.” Her voice tightened.
“He said it was an embarrassment to the department.
That the university had lowered itself by letting someone your age enroll.
He said your thesis was — I’m sorry, I’m going to use his exact words — ‘the most mediocre piece of writing we’ve passed in a decade, and we only passed it because no one wanted the optics of failing a sixty-eight-year-old.'”
The garden was very quiet.
“He said that,” I said.
“Yes.
And then one of the other professors laughed and said, ‘At least he won’t be back for a master’s.’ And Professor Holt said, ‘God willing.'”
