12. Will Confess for Cookies #2
“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 was surprised 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 entire presentation 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.”
“Not the scariest, 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 stories about 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.
“Anyway, one day, I went over to his house after school. He and my grandma sat me down and told me that they had just found out he had stage four cancer and didn’t have long to live. He died a week later.”
Charlie gasps.
“I hadn’t realized how much of a source of stability he’d been in my life until he was gone.
But I had realized how much I loved and appreciated him.
And how much I loved spending time with him.
When he was gone, it made me realize that life isn’t predictable.
That it isn’t always stable, even when it seems like it always will be, and that the more you love someone, the more it’ll hurt when they go away. And that they will always go away.”
I feel the sting of his loss all over again, just telling Charlie about it.
Charlie doesn’t say anything right away.
She just reaches over and lays a hand gently on my arm.
“He sounds like the kind of person anyone would be lucky to grow up with. I’m so sorry you lost him,” she says softly.
“That kind of loss… it gets in your bones, do esn’t it?
You can move forward, but it never really stops mattering. ”
I meet her eyes, which are lit up in the darkness by the soft glow of the flashlight. I can tell that she truly gets it.
Before I get a chance to ask more, though, she says, “Okay, I think maybe it’s time to lighten things up. Tell me something you love about work.”
I swallow and then clear my throat. “Working with my hands. It reminds me that I have control over my own future.”
“Ooh, I like that. Okay, mine is when I’m in the zone. I just feel as if I can do anything. Like I have super powers.”
“I have no doubt that you do. Okay, tell me something that makes you smile.”
“Live, outdoor music.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “There’s the community aspect of it, of course.
Everyone coming together to hear the same thing, feeling the beat of the music deep in their chests.
But I’m also so impressed that the band is willing to get up on stage and have all eyes on them.
It’s inspiring. What’s something that makes you smile? ”
“Getting an opportunity to use my vast knowledge of obscure or random historical facts, whether it is for work, for writing epic poetry, or for winning trivia contests.”
“Really? I did not know this about you.”
“True story. I even won a trivia night once. It was highly prestigious. I think it took place in a bar called something like Ale’s Well That Ends Well, and my trophy was a taxidermied squirrel wearing a crown. I still have it in a box somewhere.”
She’s laughing, which makes me laugh, and now I think we’re both just laughing as a byproduct of the sharing of emotional things we just did. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt this close to someone outside of my family.
We talk some more, but the more we do, the more Charlie yawns. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just so tired from work.”
“You should get to bed. It’s the one thing that is easy to do during a power outage.”
We both stand and make our way toward the kitchen.
“Thank you for coming,” Charlie says. “I really don’t like being alone in the dark, and you made it so much better.”
“I’m happy to be your professional flashlight-holder slash emotional support neighbor anytime.” She smiles, and I add, “You made it better for me, too. Power or no power.”
We are standing in her kitchen, less than a foot apart, and for there being no electricity, I can sure feel a buzz between us. My flashlight is aiming downward, so I can’t see her face as well, yet I’m still searching it. I think she can feel this thing between us, too.
We both jump when Reese opens the front door and drops her keys on a little table.
“Why are you two hanging out in the dark? Oh. Power’s out,” she says as she tries to flip on a light.
There’s a small pause as she walks toward us, followed by, “ Oh! Sorry. You two were, um…I’m just going to head upstairs now.
” Then she practically races to the stairs and runs up them.
I smile at Charlie and then brush my knuckles along the side of her jaw. “Goodnight, Charlie.”
“Goodnight, Owen.”
I head to our door cut in the plastic, and just as I reach it, Charlie says, “Wait!”
I turn around.
“Do you want to be my date at my brother’s wedding on Saturday?”
I grin. “I would love to.”