37. Tiffin Talks The Presence of Wonder
The sand has nearly run out of the hourglass for the sixth-formers.
In a matter of minutes, the ceremony will end and the people we’ve all looked up to—Charley, East, Davi, Royce, Taylor, Hakeem, Dub, Madison J.
, Willow, and Olivia H-T, among others—will no longer be Tiffin students but rather, Tiffin alumni.
But not quite yet. The last row of graduating students is called, ending with Sophia Zachary, a person whose most relevant moment at Tiffin is right now. Sophia gets a thunderous round of applause simply because she’s last.
We all expect Ms. Robinson to step up to the podium for final remarks, but instead there’s a flurry of whispers, and then… Dub Austin takes the stage.
We hoot and whistle. Everyone loves Dub. What an arc he’s had this year!
He steps up to the mic, but instead of looking triumphant, he looks somber.
“Before my girlfriend, Cinnamon Peters, died”—Dub bows his head, and our eyes immediately seek out the empty chair at the end of the first row—“before she died, she sent me an email with an attachment, and strict instructions not to open it until the morning of our graduation.” He sighs.
“That was one hell of a request, but I obeyed her wishes.”
Wow, we think. Not a single person among us is sure we would have been able to do the same. Two years is a long time to wait and wonder.
Dub’s expression brightens. “If it’s one thing we can count on, it’s that time passes.
I opened the attachment this morning… and now, I’d like to share what she sent with all of you.
It’s what Cinnamon wanted.” Dub looks to Mrs. Spooner, who’s lingering at the back corner of the stage with the laptop, which we now understand is Dub’s laptop.
Davi nearly leaps out of her chair. Cinnamon sent Dub an email attachment?
Davi can’t believe Cinnamon didn’t send the email to her; she was Cinnamon’s best friend.
It only takes a moment for Davi to realize she’s glad she wasn’t burdened with this secret—and who is she kidding?
She would have opened it on day one. Cinnamon obviously understood this. She was right to choose Dub.
Hakeem also can’t quite believe it: On top of everything else, Dub was carrying around this monster secret? Is the dude superhuman? Hakeem looks at Taylor, who seems unfazed by the revelation.
He leans in. “Did you know about this?”
Taylor doesn’t answer. Her eyes are fixed on Dub, who at that moment gives Mrs. Spooner the thumbs-up.
We all expect an answer from the email attachment.
Some of us are hoping for a lurid revelation: Did an uncle, or a family friend, or maybe even a Tiffin faculty member, groom Cinnamon and then abuse her?
Did one of the upperclassmen from that year bully her?
Did Cinnamon feel she couldn’t tell Dub because he would have gone after the person—and gotten kicked out of school, or worse?
We’re all waiting for some kind of explanation. But that’s not what we get.
Over the giant speakers comes the sound of Cinnamon’s voice, saying, “This is for all of you. I love you so, so, so, so much. Especially you, Dub.” She pauses. “And you, Davi.”
Then we hear the strumming of an acoustic guitar, and Cinnamon serenading us: May you have auspiciousness and causes of success, may you have the confidence to always do your best…
The song is a stripped-down, coffeehouse version of “Have It All” by Jason Mraz.
It isn’t a confession at all. It’s a benediction.
As Cinnamon implores us, in her lilting, crystalline tone, to always lead from the beating in our chest, to win prizes shining like diamonds, to own each moment to the next…
and as she toasts the hearts that we’re going to break and the lives that we’re going to change, tears stream down Dub’s face, Davi’s face, Ms. Robinson’s face.
The voice is so clear, so close, it feels like Cinnamon is here, hiding behind the stage—or present, somehow, in the ether.
Davi reaches a hand in the air, believing she can touch her friend one more time.
She vows she will listen to Cinnamon sing this song on the milestone days of the years to come.
She will listen to it when she graduates from college, she will listen to it on her wedding day, she will play it when she holds her baby for the first time, and again when that baby graduates from high school.
Soon everyone in the tent is both crying and singing along, because whether we were Cinnamon’s boyfriend or best friend, whether we knew Cinnamon from Mrs. Wully’s English class or saw her in the school musical, or came across her as she was giving a campus tour, whether we had never known Cinnamon Peters at all but had only heard about her, the message of the song lands: She wants us to have it all.
After Cinnamon’s voice trails off and the echo of the last guitar chord fades, we sit in stunned silence.
Then we hear another sound: the tolling of the chapel bells. Twenty-seven times, for the Class of 2027; we count along in our minds.
Finally, Ms. Robinson steps up to the podium and takes a breath. Her eyes are shining from the bittersweet end to the ceremony, we think, and also with pride. We know how much she loves the students in the sixth-form.
“It is now my enormous privilege… to introduce to you… the Tiffin Academy Class of 2027. Congratulations, Thoroughbreds. You have graduated!”
The sixth-formers jump to their feet and toss up handfuls of confetti, filling the air with glints of Tiffin green and gold. We cheer louder than we’ve ever cheered before, surrounded by our people—a community who have seen us, heard us, understood us, accepted us, and loved us.
The realization warms us like the afternoon sun: We already have it all.