When she doesn’t move the flask, I’m tempted to take a sip just for the heck of it. But I don’t.
“No, I’ll be ok,” I tell her and stand at the edge of the curtain to look around. It doesn’t seem so bad from this angle noticing a ton of the audience on their phones not paying full attention. See? I only have to please some of the people. Like the important ones. I laugh to myself, yeah that makes sense.
The guy on stage is doing an elaborate beatbox and dance routine. He’s really into it and clearly not the least bit nervous. I recognize him as one of my former students who always had a quiet nature. If he can do it, I can as well. That’s at least what I tell myself. He’s just a student, I’m these students mentor, why is this giving me the worst anxiety? How did I ever become a teacher? Before I jump down a crippling rabbit hole of self-doubt I try to shake it off.
As the student on stage wraps up with an impossible spin on his head the crowd erupts into applause and I’m reminded how many people are actually in the audience. What if they don’t like my singing? What if the only thing I hear is crickets? You know, like all those horrific incidents on various television shows? The noise creeps into my head and my neck starts to sweat. I’m pretty sure this was a mistake. I’m pretty sure I can’t do this. The voices of all the children of my elementary school laughing invade my brain. I can hear them. I can feel them deep in my soul. All their faces cr
ystal clear floating around my brain taunting me to sit back down, taunting me to grab that flask! Anything than what’s about to happen.
Lila is standing right behind me as I start to back up. The brakes are screeching and I’m two seconds from backing out. It’s not worth it. I shake my head but she puts her hands on both my arms. I hear the principal come back out onto the stage and say some complimentary things about the guy before me. Then it hits me again and reminds me the true meaning of why I’m doing this. It’s a charity. This is worth it. I can do this. There my pep talk got a little better.
“Now a treat for everyone. Our own lovely music teacher, Ada Springfield is going to blow us all away.”
Why did he have to hype it up so much? I don’t know that I can even open my mouth. What if I just open my mouth and nothing comes out? What if my pitch is completely off key? The list of what could go wrong keeps playing in my head. The thunderous applause happens again and the little backstage area sways a bit. If I pass out at least I don’t have to go out onto the stage. But then I’d still get made fun of. Either way is a losing situation for me.
Lila shoves me forward like a good friend and before I know it I’m taking small steps towards the microphone in the middle of the stage. I seriously have to get my neurosis under control. I’m going to drive myself insane if I don’t.
One step in front of the other. Careful. Watch the chords. Oops, phew, that one almost got me. Careful now Ada. You’ve got this. Don’t fall. Your dress flying over your head to reveal your sensible cotton panties would be far worse as an adult than it would be as a fourth-grader.
I don’t look at the audience who are now cheering for me. The students are so encouraging. They are the only reason I agreed to sing and the only reason I thought I could actually do it. Now I’m on my way to sing and it feels like my legs are made of lead. I continue to move one foot in front of the other as I try not to think of how silly I must look. What are they thinking?
Slowly I make my way behind the microphone and still keep my eyes from looking out at the crowd. I focus my gaze somewhere at the back of the auditorium. It is a typical performer move for anyone that’s nervous and my students know this. I teach them that move so they are going to know I’m nervous but at this point, I don’t care. It’s all I’m going to do to be able to finish this. It’s dark back there, and I pretend that if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. However, I swear I hear the English teachers laughing at me. Their older deep laughter replaces the children laughing in my head. I’m probably imagining it. I’ve gotten inside my own brain which is never any good.
The English teachers are like the mean girls of the teaching community at Salmon Ridge. I can’t focus on their opinions of me right now. If I do, I’ll simply freeze. The music for my song comes on and I forget the words. I miss my cue and I can feel all their eyes on me. Heat races up my neck and settles in my cheeks. My face is flaming red and possibly going numb. The sweat building up on my hands makes the microphone slippery as I quickly run my hands down my dress to get the wet feeling away and now they’re just clammy. My face on fire gives me a sure sign that it is beet red and my makeup will no longer be doing me any justice. It’s just like fourth grade all over again, I catch myself saying do not pee in my head. I do the only thing that makes sense to me, I turn to the side of the stage. I make sure to take the microphone with me miraculously not making that horrible screeching noise everyone hates.
I glance back and notice Lila looking at me making circular motions with her hand for me to continue and smiling her biggest cheesy smile. Somehow that gives me the slightest bit of hope and I focus. Taking a deep breath and letting it out.
There is a hush and by some miracle, the stagehand knows to start my music over. This is it. It’s now or never. If I miss this cue again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it. I listen to the flow of music, the ebb and flow of the melody, and then, here it comes it’s time for me to sing. I take a deep breath and it’s a miracle sound that comes out and I am singing. However, I am still facing the side of the stage where I can see no one. It’s utterly ridiculous, but hey, don’t judge me. It’s all about taking small steps. It’s one or the other. There is no in between when it comes to having stage fright. It’s serious business. The words come back to me and flow from my lips like it’s the most natural thing ever. I hope the students are at least happy I’m singing. I won’t look to find out.
I wrap my clammy hands around the microphone and the words carry me away. Everything melts away. As the melody builds in my chest and flows free, I pretend I’m in my shower. Everything finally clicks into place and all the students respond with wild cheers, applause, and whistles. Their reactions encourage me further. This is my moment and now everyone knows how I sound and from the response, it must not be that bad. It’s erasing some of the anxiety and I almost smile as I sing a song that means a lot to me.
Still, I can’t bring myself to turn towards the crowd. I tell myself at least I’m doing it, so what if I’m not facing them. They can still see me. So, I’ll just sing to the people on the side stage. They’re part of the crowd too, right? Maybe crowd adjacent?
There’s an instrumental break in the song and I sort of sway, but it's awkward. I need to turn and face the crowd. It’s a must. Ready? Here I go. Willing myself to turn, I rationalize that if I can sing in front of a classroom, I can do this. It’s not different. Slowly I turn and without missing a beat, the notes flow perfectly from my lips.
I can feel the flow of the music through me. It’s pumping through my veins giving me the courage I need to do this. Adrenaline urges me further. I’m soaring now, this is what I was meant to do. For just a few minutes I’m invincible, and the world is my stage. I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling of the gym. I’m afraid if I allow myself to see the crowd I’ll lose whatever confidence I’ve somehow found. There’s a basketball stuck up in the big white pipes. It gives me something to sing to, something to focus on. Hey, don’t judge. If Tom Hanks can talk to a volleyball, then I can sing to a basketball. So, I belt out the lyrics perfectly. The bridge is coming up and it’s particularly tricky, testing my vocal range like nothing before.
Deep breath and here I go . . .
I nailed it. Maybe. At least I think I did. The song comes to an end, and I just stand there, wishing once more I had pockets to cram my hands into. Now that the song is over, the nerves decide to make another appearance. What do I look at now?
I can’t possibly look at a silent crowd. I don’t know where to look so I glance over to Lila who has a grin plastered on her lips. She probably hasn’t stopped smiling. I hold my breath, waiting to see if I’ve flopped or the crowd is happy. It’s completely silent. I swear I can hear crickets. Did I just hear someone cough? Why isn’t anyone doing anything? Do they not know the song is over? The silence is the scariest thing I’ve faced and it seems to go on forever.
Finally, someone claps and then others join in. One by one I watch as people climb to their feet. The applause gets louder, and I can feel it vibrating the stage beneath my feet. That’s for me. They are all clapping and cheering for me. I did it. I take a chance and drop my eyes and see everyone still standing and clapping. Even the English teachers sitting right in front are clapping for me. I manage to smile. They’re actually standing up for me.
I feel a sort of high that outweighs the fear. I bow slightly, smile, and rush off the stage into Lila’s arms. It’s a mix of nausea and adrenaline rushing through me that causes me to allow her to support my weight and guide me into a chair.
I’m in between riding a high and sweating with nerves. My whole body feels like Jell-O and my head sort of throbs with the dizziness of panic that had been threatening me on stage. Now I can feel everything all at once and will myself not to throw up. Wouldn’t that just be awesome? Puking after the fact. Well, I guess it’s better than doing it while on stage. I’ll take it as a win.
Chapter Three: Charlie
I watch as Thomas Mason scan
s the crowd of high school punks around me. My agent is looking for talent, and not in a sexual way. I’m not his only talent, but I’m the only one who is actually booking gigs at the moment. He’s a younger guy, only six years older than me. At thirty he prides himself on still having all his hair and an ability to pull tail. That’s what he characterizes as a successful look.
“Models can be discovered just going about their business,” he says to me, “models that bring me my big break.”
“I thought I was going to bring you your big break,” I say a little hurt but mostly frustrated we are here.