Winner of the 2017 Common Read Writing Contest
“I’m staring out into the night, trying to hide the pain.” The words run through my head over and over as I stare out into the dimly lit auditorium. Scanning the room, I can faintly detect what appears to be hundreds of department store mannequins, all positioned perfectly as if I was looking into an American Eagle store. Everyone always said to imagine the audience in their underwear, so I try it. However, after seeing the grotesque images of what a teen might imagine, I begin to drape them all with scarves and parkas, with matching hats and gloves. “Why me? I’m only 13, and way too young to die,” I say to myself. I take a deep breath, and somehow manage to transport myself back to a few months earlier…
***
Since I was 8 years old, I can remember playing football, basketball, and baseball. Every sporting season, I would begin practices with the preconceived knowledge that I would not get much playing time when it came to the actual game. I went through the motions every practice and game because I knew it made my father and mother happy, so I remained silent.
Continuing through the motions, I found myself turning 13 years old, on the first day of 6th grade. I walked into the school, where I was notified by my guidance counselor that my homeroom teacher had changed and I needed to report to room 103, and that the name of my homeroom teacher would be Mrs. D. I lurked down the hallways, on the hunt for room 103.
I eventually found myself standing at door 103, but to my surprise, it wasn’t your typical classroom; colorful, desks, whiteboard, and motivational posters hung along its walls. Instead, room 103 was black. Instead of desks, foldable chairs sat in horizontal rows. Most importantly however in the front of the classroom a whiteboard wasn’t hung, but a flowing red curtain perfectly set behind the sleek black, Steinway grand piano. As I walked into the room, I looked around to take in the unusual and yet intriguing atmosphere. On the piano revealed a fan of folders with the names of my other classmates. At first none caught my eye, but then I began to notice a few familiar names, and then more, and more! All of my teammates’ names were plastered across the front folders. I rolled my eyes, and proceeded searching for my name, which I finally came across. I began to extend my hand to reach for the folder but I detected motion out of the corner of my eye. Behind the piano sat a middle aged woman, maybe in her middle 50’s, looking up at me from behind the bent Burberry frame of her withered glasses. As she opened her mouth to say something, my fellow classmates/teammates walked in. I never really asked what she was going to say, but nonetheless I anxiously grabbed my folder and headed toward a seat. As my friends filtered in they grabbed their folders and sat alongside me in the row. The homeroom bell rang, and our 6th grade year was about to ensue.
The woman stood up from behind the piano, looked among the pubescent display of young men and women and began her speech,
“Good Morning! I am Mrs. DeLozier, but you can all call me Mrs. D. I am the chorus instructor here at Penn Cambria Middle School, and at the High School. I filter back and forth every day to teach my students. Before I call roll call attendance, I would like to pass around a signup sheet for the chorus program. We get together every morning during first period, and we practice songs from many different genres, which we then perform for the student body and community members twice a year! As well as our annual talent show. If you have any interest please sign the sign up sheet!”
As the sheet floated through the sea of teens, it stopped very seldom to be signed, but kept fluttering amongst my classmates. Then the paper made its way to my row, where it was passed along without a second glance by all of my teammates. When the piece of paper reached me… I lingered. I examined the page and really began to think that this may be something for me. I looked up to ask someone for a pencil, but then I noticed all of the guys staring at me. It was if I had a bomb detonator in my hands or something. So without hesitation, I passed the paper on.
The days continued into weeks, and I was still doing the same old routine. Participating in athletic activities I wasn’t good at, nor enjoyed, but I knew for the sake of my parents, and my social status I couldn’t back out. I went to each class every day like a shadow of a person, but one day humanity seemed to glisten once again. I went to my music education class one morning where we were learning to play the guitar. We had to share guitars amongst everyone because the school didn’t have much funding, so needless to say no one became a Jimmy Hendricks. Anyway, my teacher Mrs. Show said, “Class, today we are going to learn, ‘Danny Boy’, so if you can listen to the song, and then try and play it on your guitars. If you don’t have a guitar sing along with the tune.” She began to play with the other students in my class who had guitars, and I began to sing. All of a sudden she stopped playing, and soon enough the entire class began to fade out. At this point I noticed that I was the only one singing, so I immediately closed my mouth. What happened next was a total blur, and the class seemed to end as quickly as it had begun. As I was leaving class, Mrs. Show pulled me aside, “Ian, you have a beautiful singing voice. Are you involved in the chorus?” To which I could only squeeze out a simple, “No.”
She then asked me to follow her. I felt like I was being taken on an official police escort. People were moving out of the way as Mrs. Show plowed through the halls of crowded students, as I followed like a stray puppy dog. She brought me back to room 103, where I was met by Mrs. D.
“Mrs. Show how nice to see you!” she said with a gentle smile.
“It’s good to see you too.” Mrs. Show replied
“May I ask why you brought Ian in to see me? Did he forget something in homeroom this morning?”
“No that’s not it at all, I wanted you to sign Ian up for chorus, and for this year’s talent show.”
I must have looked as if I’d just seen a ghost. Mrs. D said that she would sign me up if I wanted, and that she would work with me on a piece for the talent show. All I had to do was sign up. She then grabbed the same paper she handed out on the first day of school and a pen. In the back of my head I began to think of what all of my teammates would say, “You’re such a girl.” Then something changed, all of a sudden I lost my hearing, as if I was suffering from temporary deafness. All the negativity was silenced, and instead of thinking I just acted. Without hesitation, I extended my hand and signed along the dotted line.
***
I instantaneously snap back into reality from the static of the microphone giving feedback. I then hear a voice announce, “Up next we have Ian Brumbaugh performing ‘Home’ by Chris Daughtry,” the back track begins to play. I close my eyes and open my mouth. As quickly as I had started, I find myself reaching the final note of the song. I take a deep breath and sustain it longer than the music could hold out for. I open my eyes and close my mouth, to be greeted by utter silence. All of a sudden, like a wave, a tumultuous roar of applause comes flooding toward the stage. The lights came on to reveal a crowd of people standing on their feet, of all things. I look among the crowd to see my parents, both with smiles on their faces, and my teammates cheering on their feet. I finally found what I was good at, I finally found something people would remember me for. At last, I finally found a way to be heard!