A Little Goes a Long Way

All of the desks formed an arc around the room, facing a wooden lecturn in the center.  This room had only one exit, a door in the corner, that all the desks faced away from.  The walls were blank with no windows, other than those that separated the teacher's office from the room.  Each day for a month I sat in that desk, staring at the podium, feeling sick.  I observed the teacher each day leaning casually on the lecturn as he spoke to class.  He waved his hands animatedly as he spoke to us, telling us crazy and inappropriate stories as the smell of his blueberry candle permeated the room.  Eventually it would be me standing in that spot....this was speech class. 

I had never NEVER spoke in front of a class.  I never NEVER raised my hand to answer a question.  I always looked down, always occupied myself taking notes and trying not to be noticed.  I never made eye contact with the teacher, because they took that to mean that you wanted to answer a question.

I didn't know what I was going to do so I signed up for the latest slot I could.  As I watched the others go before me, I was in complete denial I was going to have to do this.  I considered transferring schools.  I could get up at 6 and get on a different bus and go somewhere, anywhere else.  Mother wasn't on board with this idea and I had to come up with something quickly.

A few days before my imminent demise, it was another student Sara's turn.  She stood behind the lecturn and began unpacking a bag placing things on a table next to the lecturn.  She took out ziplock bags of vegetables, a bottle of water and several bowls.  She took apart one of the bowls that had a strainer component, added the lettuce and water; and spun the device around with a crank.  She said the device was called a salad spinner.  My attention was entirely on that spinning object the entire time.  She was a genius.  She did a 'demonstrational speech' by making a salad and speaking as we watched her spin the lettuce dry.  I realized I could avoid all of that anxiety inducing eye contact simply by making them watch my hands as she was doing now.

A few days later, it was my turn.  I had to stand behind that old scuffed-up podium, with 20 sets of eyes upon me.   Before I could get more than a few words out, I nervously fumbled at the container to get it open and sent it flying across the room.  It hit the wall and fell to the floor.  The world stopped. 

From that day on, whenever I had to do any public speaking this memory immediately surfaced.   Each and every time.  I stuttered through everything I had to present with burning red cheeks trying to push the image away from my thoughts.

Yesterday I stood up and spoke about my life, autism, and treatments.  I didn't stutter once, my face was not warm and I forgot about the torturous high school speech class until I sat down to write this blog.

A little calming oil goes a long way.