I’m shy, a little
overweight and wear glasses. I’m eleven
years old. I’m smart, but I don’t raise
my hand in class. I don’t volunteer to
read aloud. I don’t want to be included
in a school play, even as the narrator reading from a script. I’m not like my older sister who relishes
being center stage. When appointed to be
the narrator, I’m too scared to object. I practice reading the lines at home,
again and again. My sister is my audience. Rehearsals go smoothly; there’s only the
teacher and the other kids in the play.
On the day of the show, there’s lots of encouragement from the teacher and big sis, but now there is an audience.
“You have to do it,” my sister says
“You do it,” I say. I
give her the script and go sit in the back of the auditorium.
She does it beautifully, not merely reading the narrative,
but reciting it from memory.
spring snowfall
daffodil buds delayed
another day
One Hundred Gourds,
March 2012
2 comments:
Love the haiku! Spring can't come soon enough for me.
Was that you in the story? It reminds me of the time I played Prudence Pettingill in the Thanksgiving play when I was in the fifth grade. I ran off the stage leaving my paper bonnet behind.
yes, Sandy, it is my story. My sister loved the spotlight and I wanted the shadows.
Adelaide
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