When I was a kid at preschool, I remember sitting in the backseat of my favorite’s teacher car. Right beside me was another teacher whom I wasn’t too familiar with. I had no idea where we were going until my favorite teacher told me that we would be going to a recording studio. I didn’t know what a recording studio was so I kept wondering what it would be like as I look at the changing sceneries by the window car.

Soon we arrived and I found myself in a room with a microphone on it and a script on a stand. I looked at the man from the other side of the glass urging me to read my line.

Apparently, I was cast on a major role in a play without knowing there was even one. I didn’t know why they chose me.

So, I did what the man told me. I read my line normally and silence filled the room.

The man’s voice echoed through the room making me repeat my line. I did so. He told me to do it again and again and again. My throat was dry, and I was already sweating, but the man still urged me to repeat the line again with his voice getting louder and fiercer.

I was getting nervous, and I began stuttering each repetition. I looked at my teacher for help, but my teacher watched by the side doing little to ease my pain.

Everything that went that happened was a blur.

On the day of the play in a large open gymnasium filled with students and families, I was there, and I wasn’t. I arrived at the gymnasium in a pickup truck with my parents as we were about to leave, I cried and started begging my parents to let me stay in the truck. I don’t know what happened but they agreed and I was left all alone in the car as my parents watched the play.

Soon the play started and it was leading up to the point where I was about to say my line, then my voice echoed through the gymnasium reaching the truck.

Inside I was crouching with my hands over my ears crying dampening the noise of my line. I cried because I didn’t show up and failed my teachers and classmates. I cried because I wasn’t there. I cried because I was too afraid. 

These memories are buried deep within my head. It was only recently that I took the time to explore my childhood and writing them down in my journal. I pitied the kid inside the pickup who was too afraid of the stage and failing. I could only send future hugs and tell him that’s it’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to fail. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I can only stay by his side.