The List

It’s been years since I’ve felt this way. Empty pit in my stomach, shaky hands, scanning a list of names, looking for mine. Did I make a top spot in the writing competition?

The senior choir name list hangs on the wall outside the room where tryouts were held the night before. Mine isn’t there. It wasn’t even considered for call-backs. Sure, there are over 50 students who stand in the same shoes as me, but there was a hope, a wish, that I’d somehow make it. I didn’t. Numbness radiates from my chest, all the way to my fingertips. I walk away from the rejection, determined to never let a simple list ruin my life.

My friend’s name is on the list. We’ve cheered for each other from the beginning. Critiquing, editing, offering words of wisdom. I question myself. Wasn’t my story as good as hers? What did I do wrong? I’d hoped we could both make it. Be in this together, like we were from the beginning. But hers got chosen. Mine didn’t.

I text her how proud I am, even though anguish pounds through my veins, because that’s when true character is created. Facing defeat, telling it to get lost, and supporting those you love, no matter what. I wash away despair with the words that make all the difference in the world, because even if I didn’t get chosen, she did. She, a person and friend. Her words, which are powerful, and can change the world. They matter, not the opinions of others, who are written on a simple list.  

Names are called for the State High School Rodeo Queen Competition. The crowd cheers as the girls step forward. My district queen, who has been my partner through this whole competition, wins. My name is never called, not for the 7 different categories. I feel the crowd’s judgement, hold the smile on my face as a shield, remaining strong on the outside while my insides twist into a knot of nausea.

I pick out my parent’s faces in the crowd. My mom keeps a reassuring smile on her lips, while my dad's purse in concentration. They’re masking their disappointment, just as I am. Years of investing in lessons, interviews, clothes, makeup, and contest fees, come back empty handed. I don’t wear the crown I worked so hard to earn. I’ve failed not only myself, but them too. That knowledge hurts worse than losing.

Questions cloud my mind. Did I do the right thing by spending so much time on a story that pulled me away from my kids? Are all the late night and early morning writing sessions worth it? Is it healthy to survive on such little sleep?

All I can do is wait. Wait for the judge’s comments. I want to know what I did wrong. What I need to do to improve.  

Just like Lindsey Stirling, who got publicly humiliated, rejected on America’s Got Talent, but never gave up, neither will I. She kept going, knowing she had something on the inside, the world needed to hear on the outside. I am one of those people, gaining inspiration through her compositions. She's taken the music from my heart, and put it into song.  

Determination burns in my soul. I’m going to enter another contest. Learn from more rejection. Do better. Be better. Never give up. Watch out judges, you can’t get rid of me that easily. ;) And even if my name never ends up on "The List," words still make a difference. I will try to make a difference with mine.

You can read my story here:

http://shortfictionbreak.com/until-my-dying-breath/