The Janitor Who Came to My Graduation

“We’ll Be There”

Ardith answered on the second ring.

“Mrs. Varga, it’s Maci. I’m sorry to call so late. I need to ask you something, and you can say no.”

“Honey, I’ve never said no to you in my life. What is it?”

“Graduation is the third Thursday in March. Family day is the Wednesday before. Fort Leonard Wood. It’s a long drive. I’d like to put you and Mr. Varga on my guest list.”

There was a little sound, like she had put her hand over her mouth.

“Otis,” she called out. “Otis, get in here.”

I heard him pick up the other phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Ardith said. “Maci wants us at her graduation.”

There was a silence on that line too. Then Mr. Varga cleared his throat.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked. He did not ask it mean. He asked it the way you check a gauge.

“She has Brecken’s tournament in Oklahoma City,” I said. “She’s against me being here. She won’t come.”

Another silence. I could hear him breathing.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll be there. What time do you need us?”

“You’d have to leave about four in the morning. It’s almost six hours.”

“I got up at four thirty for thirty-one years,” he said. “I’ll manage one more.”

I told him I would pay for their motel. He said, “Private, I outrank you by about forty-five years. You’ll do no such thing.” Ardith laughed so hard she started coughing.

I wrote two names on my guest list. Otis Varga. Ardith Varga.

Drill Sergeant Ellis looked at it when I turned it in. “Grandparents?”

“No, Drill Sergeant. My high school janitor and his wife.”

He looked at me for a long second. Then he nodded once, like that made perfect sense to him.

“Good people show up,” he said. “Get out of my office.”

Family Day

They left Hiawatha at four in the morning on Wednesday. Ardith told me later that they stopped twice, once for coffee at a gas station near Kansas City and once in Sedalia because Mr. Varga’s knees locked up.

They were at the visitor center before nine. Ardith said Mr. Varga showed the young soldier at the gate his old Army papers in a plastic sleeve, which nobody had asked to see, and the soldier said, “Thank you for your service, sir,” and Mr. Varga said, “You too, son.”

Family day starts with a short ceremony. We marched in, stood in formation, and listened to our battalion commander talk about what we had done. Then they released us to find our families.

There were hundreds of people. Moms with signs. Dads in camouflage hats. Grandparents with folding chairs. Little brothers running around in the cold. I scanned the crowd and for one stupid second I looked for my mother’s red coat.

Then I saw a lavender windbreaker.

Ardith was waving with both arms. Mr. Varga was beside her in his navy jacket, standing very still, with his hands at his sides. When he saw me he did not wave. He just lifted his chin, the way he used to at the side door every morning.

I walked over at the proper pace. I would like to say I did not run. I ran the last ten steps.

Ardith grabbed my face in her cold hands and kissed both of my cheeks. “Look at you,” she kept saying. “Look at you. Otis, look at her.”

“I’m looking,” he said.

We had six hours of pass that afternoon. We had to stay on post. Mr. Varga wanted to see where he had done his own basic, so we drove around in their old Buick and he tried to find it.