4th-grade speech meet
With every step, the inhibitions and insecurities I had hidden behind fragile confidence pressed in. As I mounted the stage, so did my anxiety. The fear I had thought myself safe from expanded. Spreading through my lungs devouring the air my frantic heart struggled to bring in. How would I find enough breath to speak? Not that it mattered. I had worried my mind would go blank but instead, it was stuffed. Panic filled every square inch. The lights shined on my glistening sweat, shaking legs, and the mic to carry my whisper of a voice with fragmented sentences.
Needless to say, I did not win the speech meet. Probably the most embarrassing day of my life. Afterward, I forbid my family from ever talking about it. So why did I choose this as my memoir? Well, the only way to measure how far you come is by where you started. Now that we have somewhere to start, let’s fast forward a bit.
7th grade.
It was love at first sight. No, it wasn’t a boy, it was the theater room. From the mirrors to the checkered tile floor I loved it all. Filling every inch of wall space were posters and pictures of plays and dramas and performers. I dreamt of one day having my photo on the wall. It felt like every crevice had a story to tell like why is the desk covered with Spider-Man action figures? Where are the desks? Is that a mannequin head? Even odder were the people.
At random they fell into song or dance; it was like entering a musical! There were lively debates on everything from everyone. Most shocking of all was that I was included. Me, the shy girl, the youngest of the group was happily brought into the fold. From that day forward I was welcomed. Part of every conversation taught every song because I was a theater kid.
That year was probably the most fun I’ve ever had. Every day after school we sat around the theater room trying on costumes, going over monologues, and fixing up old props. I remember my smile as I was handed my cast sweatshirt. Across it read Sense and Sensibility. This performance would come and pass but I would always have that. I remember trying not to cry and worrying about my mascara as our director told us how proud he was and that he loved us. I’ve heard empty I love you before but from the tears on his face, I knew he meant it. Most of all I remember the nerves. Before they had left me alone, cold and shaking. Now it was like electricity rushing through me. Yes, I was nervous but it hit differently. What had changed? As I looked around at all of us, fingers linked, standing in a circle, heads bowed in prayer all wearing ridiculous costumes, I realized everything had changed.
This memoir is dedicated to all of Grace Brethren’s Fine Arts Department and its performers. I hope you all know how much I love you all and the amazing shows we have put together. You are all my family.
