The task is 1000 words. Five down nine hundred ninety left. In fifth grade everyone in my class did a state report. I got Michigan. This is before I saw Roger & Me so I was a bit dismayed. I wanted one of the cool states like California or New York. Of course I didn’t get anything as bad as North Dakota or New Mexico. At least my state has a distinctive shape. I’d always wondered what that extra part of the state north of the lake is for. It’s like a skin tag hanging off the midwest. So I took my assignment on with resigned fervor.
The specific criteria for the overall project involved an 8 page written report, presentation to the class and an informative collage that remains displayed in the classroom for the rest of the semester. Most importantly, the project counts for 50% of my grade for the class. Publicly displaying my work combined with high stakes grading was my crack back then. I’m exceptional at preparation and that is the key to my success.
Presentations are scheduled for March but I had my written report complete with citations by the middle of February. I spent the latter part of my time painstakingly detailing the artwork for my 22×28″ poster board. I pencil-sketched a detailed white pine, the Michigan state tree. With colored pencils, I lovingly traced and shaded a life-sized American Robin, the Michigan state bird. I crafted a Michigan state flag out of felt and decoratively laid out various facts pulled from the most recent US census. I covered all my bases.
When the first day of presentations started, I was all set. Ms. Mitchell randomly selected students to present. I eyeballed my neighbors project on the state of Virginia and relaxed, knowing I had put together something better. The first called was Michael Diebold, a notorious underachiever. He set up his makeshift collage for Kentucky and I started to smugly tune out. As he stepped up to the podium to read his report, Ms. Mitchell snapped me back to attention. “Michael, you can’t read from your report. Hand it in before you start.”
For the first time in my life I felt all the blood drain out of my body. My jaw clenched and my chest felt cold. I hadn’t memorized anything! I needed that report. I started to sweat profusely and couldn’t move a muscle. In hindsight, this was probably my first panic attack. But wait, it gets better.
Michael mumbled his way through 5 minutes and slouched back to his seat. Sitting against the far wall from the teacher’s desk, I tried to make myself as non-existent as possible. Quietly chanting, “Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me. …” Of course, my name comes up next.
I’m suddenly thirsty and there’s a lump in my throat I can’t swallow. I robotically make my way to the front of the classroom. Heart beating too fast, I place my report on the podium. I leave it there, turning my back to the class, and spend a little too much time securing my presentation against the chalkboard. When I turn back to face my peers I feel their stares like laser-pointers on my forehead. Ms. Mitchell nonchalantly said, “Begin when you’re ready.”
I’m not sure what started it. I think it was the idea that I could be “ready”. A giggle started in my throat. It escaped just long enough to turn into a chortle. I tried to reign it back but at that point I was in a full-on fit. I covered my inane grin as peals of laughter seeped between my fingers. The entire room stared at me quizzically, not sure what was happening. I didn’t know either.
Based on Ms. Mitchell’s expression, I had to come up with something quick. There was a pressure on my chest making it difficult to breath. Desperately looking around my eyes settled on Nick James. Nick James was the quintessential popular boy. Tow-headed and a shoe-in for JV basketball next year, Nick was at the top of every girl’s list of cute guys. It just so happens that he’s also developed a bad-boy persona that landed him the second-closest desk to the teacher.
Randall, the deaf kid, was closest but that’s just because his brand of “trouble” was beyond the suburban comprehension of this particular private school. (They never even attempted to give him access to ASL or an interpreter.)
Nick James’s rep landed him directly in front of the podium we used for presentations. In my state of panicked hilarity, I decided to just point at him between chuckles. I went to my knees, laughing so hard at the ridiculousness of the situation but I wasn’t about to take the blame. My reputation as a “good girl” overrode his insistence that he hadn’t done anything.
Mr. James was scolded for distracting me and Ms. Mitchell sent me to my desk. She told me I could try again tomorrow. I took the pass, though I wasn’t happy with the outcome. That day, I developed stage fright that has stayed with me to this day. Nick never asked me about the incident.
His family moved away in sixth grade and at the homecoming dance he made it a point to ask all the girls to dance. When my turn came close, I hid in the bathroom. I just couldn’t recover that moment of panic where I pegged him for my failing. In retrospect, he didn’t even remember that fifth grade day. Probably no one remembers but me. I didn’t forgive myself for that incident until very recently.
I am trying to overcome the stage fright every day. My panic attacks feel like being buried alive, so I’ll probably suffer from taphephobia for life. All the more reason to conquer that fool.
I’m a few words short so I want to thank you for reading. I write a mix of fact and fiction that represents the skewed perspective I currently occupy.