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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1375068-Why-Should-I-Be-Nervous
Rated: E · Short Story · Comedy · #1375068
I have a audition for a play coming up soon. This is my worst fear of what might happen.
         “I am not nervous.”
         This is what I say almost every time I do a presentation, a speech or a song in front of other people. Every time, I say to myself that I am not the type to get nervous and get stage fright. But in every moment I say that to my half-confident and half-nervous mind, I can’t help but feel the rest of my body quiver or make some sort of rumbling noise in a disagreeing response.

         In this documented occurrence, I am singing a song for an audition of Annie Jr. There are few people trying out for singing roles, but the people who are trying out are quite good. I have had three years of experience in a choir, so I think I should have a chance of making the musical. But, as I said before, I am always divided between being gut wrenchingly nervous or perfectly calm and collected.  I choose to be calm and collected, as that is the path that leads me to success.

         As I am waiting for the teachers who are judges for the audition, I am eating a crackers and cheese dip snack. I’m very used to eating right after school. Because the audition is after hours, I am starving and cannot wait until after the audition to eat.

         Finally, the teachers come to the gym door, letting all the eager students in. I feel the adrenaline bursting out of me like a shaken soda bottle. I throw out my crackers and cheese snack, which is half finished.  After I hand in my permission form, I sit on one of the given chairs and tap my foot spastically with anticipation.

         I feel like I am transferred back into the fifth grade as one of the teachers asks eagerly who wants to go first. I remember the days when I was younger and prejudice and criticism from students did not exist.  I sigh as I put up my lanky arm and raise my hand.  I figure if I don’t go first, I’ll never get the guts to go up.

         The teacher flashes a smile that makes her looks like a Barbie Doll from when I was little. She smiles at me for a little too long, when I realize I should be getting up now. I think about how unprofessional that makes me look for a brief moment, but then I banish all negative thoughts from my brain.

         When I get to the front of the room, I take a measured breath as my sister taught me to, and I begin to sing. I make it through the first verse singing smoothly and perfectly on key.  Then the chorus comes.

Far away,
Long ago,
Gl-urp!

         A noisy, unholy, disgusting and mortifying burp punctured my so-called angelic singing! Without a thought of what to do next, I simply examine the teachers’ and other students’ faces, trying to read their expressions. The teachers’ faces are blank, and I am scanning them over and over again right to left. I am hoping for some indication on whether I should stop or continue. I should finish the song. I am partially wondering whether they can smell the cheese that I ate previously.

         As I finish, my voice is shaky, a little bit scratchy and my breaths are extremely audible. I sound as if I am gasping for air and trying to swallow a sword at the same time. When I finish, I walk to my seat and there is obviously no applause. As I walk, students are looking at me with smirks on their faces.

         When I finally sit down, I take about a dozen or so deep breaths. I repeat these words to myself quietly.

         “I am going to make the musical. Everyone is going to forget this.”
         
         I keep saying these over and over again, hoping by the end of the tryout, I can believe them.

         As soon as the teacher’s release us from this lightly cheese scented prison, I bolt to the exit. Paying no heed to when the cast list will be up. But before I can escape, the Barbie- smile teacher stops me with a look of concern and amusement on her face. She quietly tells me that I did a good job for the first part of the song, which makes me smile, and then hands me a package of TicTacs.



         

         

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1375068-Why-Should-I-Be-Nervous