Part 2: The Seats They Took
Dean Jonathan Bradley did not wait for my answer.
He lifted the umbrella higher over my head, snapped his fingers toward a security officer near the bronze doors, and spoke in a voice I had only ever heard during emergencies.
The security officer straightened as if the rain itself had given him orders.
I looked down at myself—at my drenched gown, my muddy hem, my trembling hands.
“Dean Bradley,” I whispered, “I can’t go on stage like this.”
His face softened for half a second.
“Clara,” he said, using my first name for the first time since I had entered medical school, “you could walk onto that stage wearing a storm, and this university would still stand for you.”
The words struck something deep in me.
