Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

Just as he had long ago, he caught a train to Chicago, then on to Philadelphia and up to Portland, Maine. Again, he perused the classified ads and bought a used car—this time a 1976 Chevy Nova—and drove to Waterville.

As he made the short drive, he remembered how he had felt when he had last made this same drive—uncertain, nervous, wondering if he could go through with the life he had planned. Now, almost seven years later, he knew the answer to that question. He could, and he had. Now he wanted to see the results of what he had done.

He wasn’t certain how he would do that, but he knew he could accomplish it better on the scene than he could from far away. If nothing else, he would have access to the local newspaper again.

Scott knew he was running something of a risk by showing his face in Waterville again. To lower the risks, he had let his hair grow long and shaggy. He had let his beard grow out. In addition, he knew that the previous seven years had been hard on him. He guessed he might look fifteen years older than he had in 1974.

He also stayed in a different motel, on the other side of town from where he had stayed his last trip through.

First thing the next morning, Scott went back to the Waterville Library. Same building, same smell of books, different librarian.

Scott went to the area where they kept the last few months of the Waterville Morning Sentinel. He intended to start with the most recent issue and page through, again not sure of what he was looking for, but believing he would know it when he saw it.

On the front page of the Local section of that day’s paper, there was an announcement about the graduation ceremony for Waterville High School, Class of 1981. The ceremony was to be held in the high school gym and the public was invited. There would be speeches from the pastor of the local community church, an address from the mayor, and the valedictorian, Brenda M. Jenkins.

Jenkins? That’s gotta be more than a coincidence. And valedictorian? Pretty damn good. That’s one speech I’d like to see. But do I dare? Her mother will surely be there. Would she recognize me after all this time? The last time she saw me, I was dodging her gunshots.

Scott flipped idly through the rest of that day’s paper and opened another, but his heart wasn’t in it. He realized that he had found what he had been looking for on the very first try. He returned the newspapers back to their proper location.

I’m gonna risk it.

Walking into the gym the next night, Scott felt a little out of place. He had worn the best clothes he had with him, or that he owned, for that matter, but he still felt underdressed. His blue jeans, boots, and chambray work shirt stood out a little in the crowd of people dressed like they might be going to church.

Still, no one paid him a second glance. All sorts of people attend high school graduations—parents, relatives, friends, community leaders, and people that just want to be a part of a happening in their town. Scott did his best to look like one of those.

He accepted a program from a young volunteer when he walked in, then found a seat three-quarters of the way back and settled in.

The seats filled up quickly, and the ceremony started on time. The principal made a few opening remarks that stretched into a few-too-many opening remarks. The pastor of the local community church was much briefer in his blessing of the occasion. Scott approved and believed that brevity in these events was a positive.

The principal returned to the podium. He talked about what a special class this was for a few minutes, while the parents in the crowd glowed a little and silently agreed. After pumping up the crowd, he introduced Waterville High’s Class of 1981 valedictorian, Brenda Jenkins.

A tall girl with long, straight, dark hair approached the podium. To Scott’s eye, she looked nervous, but determined. The whole gym applauded for her, but two rows in front of Scott, and just to his right, a small group whooped, and a man whistled loudly.

Holy cow, that’s got to be her family. He stared at the back of the head of the woman.

Scott’s eyes flitted to the two other Jenkins children that sat with her.

Seeing them there, hair combed, dressed in their Sunday best to celebrate their sister’s accomplishment, brought a tightness to Scott’s throat.

Brenda Jenkins was not the most naturally gifted speaker, but she was sincere. Her speech was titled “The Gifts We Are Given,” and it focused on finding blessings everywhere. It was a standard-issue graduation speech, with homely homilies and lessons well-earned.

Scott sat on the edge of his seat anyway, absorbing every word.

At the end of her speech, she paused, and looked up from her notes.

“I think most people know that my father was killed the summer before I went into sixth grade. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through.”

Scott leaned back slightly, glancing slightly to his left and right, wanting to see if anyone was looking at him. They weren’t.

“Out of our greatest pain,” Brenda continued, “can come new gifts. A few years after my father was killed, a new man came into our family and helped to heal us all. He has been a gift to all of us. I love you, Dad.”

The man who sat next to the woman Scott guessed was Sylvia Jenkins took out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. People around him chuckled.

Brenda paused for a moment, then added, “You too, Mom.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the gym.

The ceremony went on.

Scott would have liked to get up and make an escape before it was complete, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he sat quietly.

Finally, it came time to hand out the diplomas. When each student’s name was called, their own personal rooting section would stand for a few seconds and shout encouragement for them.

When Brenda Jenkins was once again called to the stage, the people two rows in front of Scott stood, applauded, and shouted her name.

Immediately, the next name was called and the two children and the man sat back down. The woman who had once been Sylvia Jenkins did not. She remained standing and slowly turned around until she was looking directly at Scott.

She held eye contact with him for several seconds.

Scott wanted to look away, but could not break her gaze.

She didn’t look alarmed, or angry, or surprised he was there. It was as though she had simply sensed him.

Finally, she gave him the slightest of nods, then turned back around and sat with her family.

Scott’s heart took a few seconds to start beating again. Again, no one around him seemed to notice anything.

That’s impossible. How would she know I was here? She hadn’t so much as looked this way all night, but she turned and looked directly at me.

Scott wiped a sudden burst of perspiration off his forehead.

But then, it didn’t seem like she cared.

When the graduation ended with one last prayer, the families all drew together into tight bunches for photos taken with Kodak Instamatics or Polaroids.

Scott did an end around into the least-crowded area he could find, smiling and saying, “Excuse me,” time and again.

He saw an opening and stepped toward it when he saw that the younger Jenkins children were surrounding Brenda right in front of him. They were smiling with excitement and happiness. Scott veered to the right and escaped into the cool night air.