(A dear friend and fellow writer, unrelenting rain and wind, and the determination to speak our written words aloud - this is what brought us all together on a Sunday afternoon to the Galesburg Public Library.)
It's hard, on a bright sunny day like today to remember what Sunday was like. But I got soaked to the skin so many times that it's harder to forget that it poured all the live-long day. Any other time I would stay safely inside my warm cozy home curled under a blanket watching a tape of Corner Gas episodes and laughing until I fell asleep in my chair.
Thing is, I had to be at the Galesburg Public Library to receive the third-place winning certificate and ten bucks for my short story, Catching Up and Saying Goodbye. It was also expected that as a grown-up, I would read my work to the audience. Sure I would.
My friend and I left town an hour earlier than we needed to so we could stop at Big Lots to looks for Big Bargains. She found a few, and I proceeded to get sick. I never once thought to blame it on the weather because I knew the problem came from imagining reading in front of a bunch of strangers who would probably snicker, or worse, walk out as soon as I stumbled up to the podium.
We spent almost too much time at the store, and the longer we stayed the worse I felt. The rain was steady, and we weren't sure where the library was. Asking a clerk or two or three for directions didn't really yield the best results, so we headed out into the deluge.
As I pondered whether or not I was going to read or just pop into the library and grab my money, there was a knock on the car window next to my head. Some poor drenched woman was holding up a plastic bag. "Did you forget your paper plates?" she asked as she used the bag to cover her head. We thanked her, took the wet sack and I rolled up the window. Just then, another acquaintance waved through the raindrops and chatted for a couple of minutes.
We pulled out into traffic, and surprisingly we found the library rather quickly. There were no parking spots by the door, so I was dropped off with about ten minutes to spare. Once we got our bearings, we headed for the second floor to scope out the place. I would have to decide pretty soon, and that was enough stress to make me feel even worse.
The room was pretty big, with lots and lots of folding chairs, most of them empty. There must have been about 30 people or so, many of them young adults sitting at the front of the room. My friend and I headed to the back for cookies and juice. I grabbed a program. Maybe if I was listed in the top three to read first, I could get it over with and leave.
I found the thumbprint cookies (my favorite), poured some pink lemonade and opened the program. There I was alright - dead last. And there was an intermission. This was not going to work, and my friend knew it just by looking at the expression on my face. We approached the woman in charge, who apologized but said that yup, the program was right, I was last.
At about that time, it was decided that my story would be read, whether I did it or my friend did. Since she'd taken time out of her day to drive me there in her car, I hated to ask that of her too. And so we ate our cookies, drank our juice and listened to the other winners read their works. I couldn't be more thankful that we stuck it out.
The youngest were third, fourth and fifth graders and most of them were more than happy to read their poetry and stories in front of everyone. They posed for pictures, gave one another fist-bumps, and clutched their certificates and checks in their hands as they made their way back to their seats, grinning all the way. If they could do this, so could I.
We both were especially touched by the teen girls' poetry. One spoke of her grandmother, now in a nursing home, and she wrote with such heartbreaking tenderness that most of us were crying at the end, including the poet herself.
The two men who won first and second place were extraordinary storytellers. We won't soon forget the tale of the single dad and his two daughters, told by a man who had to have experienced this bittersweet tale. He wove word pictures that brought tears to our eyes. The second-place winner told a spooky story that was right up my alley, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of his topic.
I don't remember a whole lot about reading my piece except that people didn't leave or giggle at the wrong spots or even talk to one another while I spoke. They were all respectful and attentive, so it wasn't a horrible experience by a long shot.
When it was all over and the pictures taken, we took the elevator down, dodged raindrops and headed for a cup of coffee. We watched cars go by as we sipped and talked and tried to dry out. It was almost time to head home, and we were ready.
Those of us old enough to know better should realize by now that the anticipation of something is oftentimes far worse than than the event itself. That was certainly true last Sunday, and all I can do is give a big Thank You - to my friend for her support, to the judges for picking my story, and especially to the poets and storytellers that day who enriched our lives on that rainy afternoon in Galesburg.
Bravo.
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