I sat there, nervous and sweaty. I remember clearly, those cold beads of sweat that trickled down my forehead and that silence ÔÇô that bone-chilling silence. Sitting there, I marvelled at the confidence I had woken up with that morning. I had been waiting for that day for weeks, picked out an outfit way before I even knew I would be invited. But now that I was finally where I wanted to be, I felt like running away and hiding in my room.
Then the door squeaked open, and Bethany poked her pixie-like face in, “You doing good?” she asked empathetically. “Miss asked me to check on you. Don’t worry; you’ll have fun, and it will be over before you know it.” I nodded in response, focusing more on her button-down shirt, the hem stained with bright blue ink.
I waited silently for the next 30 minutes, cursing myself for coming so early. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Beth notified me to enter the auditorium, and the “Authors’ Convention” finally began.
So many people, so many strange faces, some of whom I recognized, some I did not. With a lurching feeling in my stomach, I realized I was unfamiliar with anyone here. I was all alone.
I did not make things easier for myself either. Some people tried talking to me, introducing themselves, and asking me questions about myself and how I made it to the convention. But I felt really awkward around these new people, so much that I couldn’t even carry on the conversation for more than 3 minutes. I cringed every time we would lapse into those horrifying moments of silence, and they would make excuses about talking to and greeting other people and escape.
To make me at ease, I got myself a drink and sat back to observe everyone. I intended to make myself feel better by doing this but only succeeded in making myself feel worse. Everyone, I realized, knew someone, was familiar with and friends with someone, but me; I was just a lone wolf, not belonging to the pack I thought would be mine.
So I waited eagerly for the convention to end, and when it did, I was the first to leave. I even ignored Bethany’s constant tries to get me to tell her how it all went, even though the answer was clearly written on my face. Instead, after leaving the convention, I stormed into the aesthetically pleasing and caramelized popcorn-scented “office” of my closest friend, Linsey. She was sitting on her desk, blonde hair, perfect as always, and trying to calm down her manager ÔÇô updating the manager on whatever had gone wrong. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she motioned for me to sit near her desk.
As soon as she hung up, I began talking, and for the next 13 minutes, I talked, and she listened. Then somehow, she managed to calm me down, saying I had tried my best. Although it was a feeble attempt, it worked, and I drove straight home, changed, had a hot chocolate and went to sleep, as per Linsey\’s strict orders. The memory of that day still makes me cringe though I\’ve attended several conventions since then.
