My Parents Demanded VIP Seats at My Graduation

on taking my picture under every sign that had the Harvard crest on it, we walked out into the New York evening.

My cap was in my hand.

My feet hurt.

Jennifer still had the roses, though they looked like they had survived a bar fight.

At the curb, she touched the stitched name on my white coat.

Emma Rivera, M.D.

She ran her thumb over it once.

“They saw,” continue reading …