“What exactly the essay said wasn’t important. The important thing for you to remember is that the essay was about my fear of being seen.”
I nod. She’s telling the story with a big smile, so I’m smiling, too, just hearing her tell it.
“Anyway, I turned the essay in. I had really bared my soul in it, but it was just words on paper, you know? I didn’t think anyone would read it. I didn’t even think the teacher would—I mean, she had a lot of students! Who would want to read all those papers? If I had thought it might get read, I probably wouldn’t have turned it in.
“But… I found out that my teacherdidread it, thought it was great, and entered it in some district-wide writing contest without telling me. I didn’t even know that she had until she told me that I had won.”
“Oh, sweet! Why wasn’t this in your proudest moment story?”
“Because winning meant that other people had read it, too. And that wasn’t even the worst part—there was an awards ceremony, and I’d need to be on stage with the other winners.In the spotlight. And I’d have to read my essay.”
“Okay, okay. I’m seeing now why this is your scariest moment story.”
“I still can’t believe I ever agreed to do it. What can I say? I was a people pleaser. And everyone at school was just so excited for me. I didn’t want to let them down.
“Three other people went before me. The whole time they were at the podium, reading their essays, I was getting more and more nervous. It was like my body got its signals crossed and sent moisture to my hands instead of my mouth, so I was wiping my hands on my dress constantly and licking my dry lips.
“My parents knew I was nervous and had gone over breathing techniques with me before, so I practiced those. Plus, those spotlights were really bright, so I managed to convince myself that no one was in the audience. And it worked for a while.
“But then it was my turn. I walked up to the podium, my legs so shaky that I wassurprised they even got me there. I was barely breathing. I squinted at the crowd, which helped me to see that there were actual people out there. I was feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable, so I looked down instead, at my essay, which was all about a time when I felt exposed and vulnerable.
“I glanced at the crowd again, and everything got blurry. Then I full-on passed out.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah. It was probably because of the extreme stress and, you know, not breathing, so it didn’t take long for my body to regulate, and I came to. But I was out long enough that the other winners on the stage with me were already to me. So I woke up, saw I was lying on the ground and surrounded, and I reacted by windmilling like I was being attacked by invisible bees.
“My parents were almost to me, and they got the crowd to give me space. My dad picked me up and carried me off the stage and out of the spotlight. Once we were out in the empty hall, he set me down, but I held onto both parents tightly for a while.”
“I can see why ‘Attempting to read an essay’ came to you so quickly when I asked about scary moments.”
“Yep. I got better, though.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “Once in college, I gave an entirepresentation on the impact of social media on society, and I didn’t even pass out once.”
“And no paramedics were involved? See? Now that’s what we call growth.”
“You know it,” Charlie says, grinning. “Okay, now let’s hear your scariest moment.”
“Pass.”
“You can’t pass after I told that whole story! Come on. Where’s the reciprocal soul-baring through the darkness of a power outage?”
“Still pass.”
“Notthescariest, then. Maybe the second scariest.”
I shake my head. “You had a full stage faint, some surprise ninja moves with that windmilling, plus a dramatic rescue. That’s going to be tough to follow.”
“You’re not going to leave me emotionally vulnerable out here alone, are you? I’ll have to file a complaint.”
“Okay, in the interest of reciprocal soul-baring through the darkness of a power outage, I’ll share the second scariest.” I take a deep breath. “My grandpa died.”
Charlie sits up straight. “Oh, Owen. I’m so sorry.”
“It was fourteen years ago. I’m okay. I was thirteen at the time—apparently, that’s the age for scary moments. My grandparents lived next door, and he and I were really close. I hung out with him almost every day, and he used to tell me storiesabout where everything came from. Like, he’d point to a dent in a banister and say, ‘That was your dad, age six, trying to skateboard indoors.’ He made every scratch feel like part of a legacy. That’s probably why I got into restoration. He helped me to see that life wasn’t just about fixing things—it was about holding onto the stories.
