Risk/challenge recount

English

To the lucky few who’ve never had a moment so petrifying in their lives that it’s been permanently seared into your minds... I envy you. This is a pitiful tale of embarrassment which I’ll leave up to you if something positive was gained. I remember the day clearly, for temperatures were bipolar. Outside was a furnace whereas the school auditorium was an arctic hell. We were like penguins, huddling together in our little cliques, but so thinly-spread. The walls seemed pushed back, unaware that they were housing scarce fewer numbers from what they were accustomed to. Two classes were there on this fateful occasion: Music and Drama. 

There were two weeks set aside for performances and the order of performances was left up to chance. Why did it have to be chance? Lady Luck has never been so benevolent in favoring me once in my life, so it was ironic the decider of our fates was like a low budget parody of the two glass bowls in the Hunger Games. Two glossy green baskets beamed mockingly side by side one another; one for Music, the other for Drama. Despite the far similarities in looks, they still held the daunting impression behind them. At that moment I think I finally noticed the stage. Or maybe I purposely tried to repress it out of existence, because it became very real at that moment. A lone stool stood isolated in the middle, the spotlights blaring heavily down upon it. In front of the stage a camera was stationed securely, ready to capture any slip up that would be turned into digital evidence that couldn’t be suppressed. Regardless, I had to perform.

Suddenly, I became stricken with fear. The guitar I was playing confidently faltered in my hands and my heart was pummeling heavily inside my stomach. Facing that hard reality, altogether I was no longer present — my mind demanded my attention and I was too weak to resist. Insecure paranoia surged into my brain: I’m not going to do well, I thought, I’ll fail and slip up... I didn’t get enough practice time.

Then I heard my name. It was like some sick twist of fate because I went after essentially the best performance there ever was. I solemnly remember saying aloud in spite, “You’re not gonna make me go after that are you!?” No response. I slowly raised up from my seat in the back, cradling the guitar which already had the faintest marks of fog on the neck of where my fingers had been. My feet felt heavy, like I had cement tied down to my ankles as I inched my way to center-stage. It smelled metallic, despite being wooden. Though it was also plausible that was the smell of fear. Automatically, my back hunched against the chair as I shrank against the crowd I couldn’t see, yet feel their presence. I eyed the ring of microphones fencing me in.

“Start when you’re ready,” a voice called from behind the camera. 

I meekly nodded and through quavering fingers, started plucking a tune. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear it; my sound was muffled out by a constant ringing, but through the gaps — to my paranoia — I could hear slight whispers. After executing the first part of my song, a surge of reassurance promised me I was going to be okay. But like most promises, that was broken. I had started to sing and to my horror, I was out of sync with my guitar. My mouth grew uncomfortably dry and my heart was fracturing the insides of my ribs. I failed, my brain chastised me mid-way through the song, I told you. At that moment I paused for a brief second, time stretching out for an eternity. Desperately, I wanted to flee from the stage and curl up in a ball for the remainder of my life… but to my bewilderment, I stuck it out there.

The whole performance was off. At times my voice went fragile and at others it shattered like a thin line of glass. I can safely vouch my rendition of Titanium by David Guetta was nowhere up to par with the original. That alone ate away at me. I remember standing up composed and leaving the stage, purposely oblivious to the applause. My entire being reeked of shame on the inside and it was a wonder I hadn’t collapsed to my knees and started wailing.

After writing this, I’ve realized that there was something to be gained. As cheesy as this may sound, I overcame the urge to give up. Sometimes that is the only sense of self-achievement out there.