A Scandal in Reading

November 29, 2022: there was a sharp chill in the air. I trudged along, wind whipping across my face, sweeping my hair in violent gusts as I headed toward the Student Union. My face held a splotchy flush by the time I reached my destination, eyes squinting, adjusting to the bright lights. Clopping down the stairwell, all too aware of my boots thudding against the tile, I scanned for Marley, finding her at the exact same table she had obtained at the last Lumen event. The echoes were lining up, but I was set to shatter one precedent: remaining silent. I greeted both her and Matt, sitting myself down. We all waited the remaining minutes until the clock struck six; Dr. Brown immediately jumping up, excited to begin. He beckoned us all forward, initiating the bundle of bodies that settled on the couches, the podium a gleaming death situated before us. 

My heart, dormant before, began to quicken, reality sinking in. It is the feeling that settles within me whenever I've resigned myself to something, assured that I will go through with it. In my previous post, I made a promise to shed my cowardice, seeking to absolve my fear with speech. This was the night, the time, the place, to pay my dues; however, I certainly did not want to go first. It appeared that my peers felt the same, for Dr. Brown had to encourage in the beginning, "threatening" to read his own works should participation not occur. A steady, sometimes stoppered, stream of people began making their way up, their voices resounding in my head, goading me to stand up. I remained rooted until another lull began, in which I mentally prepared, then stood. 

Focus: a sudden, clarifying thing. I had made myself the spotlight. Me, who prefers to curl in the shadows, listening to others, was about to grasp everyone's attention. Stop, don't think about that. 

The podium was now erected between myself and the audience: a buffer, a barrier, a shield. I seized its sides, phone tucked in the center, and began. I channeled my "poetry voice," a cadence flowing from me naturally. This, I could do, and so I read, and read, and read, until there was no poem left to read. I exited as quickly as I had entered: a wisp in people's memories. I doubt many remember the reading at all, and doubt even more that they took much away from it, and honestly, I can't recall exactly what I was thinking in the moment either. Perhaps nothing, the poem's lines consuming my mind, rendering me blank. That can't be right though, because there was a slight tremble to my fingers, my eyes darting up and meeting hers. If there was anyone in the room I wanted to impress, to do well for, it was her. 

I reached the couch, a raft amongst a roiling sea, to a smile on her lips, a gleam in her eye. I needed nothing more. 

Note: Thank you for attending, Dr. Reed! The dramatics of my internal battle aside, I enjoyed the event, and would love to see you at future Open Mics!