Fiction | Short Story | Poetry Slam
This isn’t what I signed up for.
Mikaela was confused. The signup sheet at the university had said this was a poetry class. Yet, when she entered the bar, she saw a boisterous group of people seated at a eclectic collection of tables. Smoke from the Hookah bar drifted around the room. The neon bar signs reflecting off of it making the smoke appear as if it was pink. The room was small. Cozy even. And it was warm with all the bodies inside. The place was packed. Near the front of the room was a small stage and a single microphone.
Mikaela looked down at her plain blue notebook, she noticed no one else was carrying a notebook. It certainly seemed like she was in the wrong place. What kind of poetry class was this? Curiosity got the best of her, and she took a seat near the back at a small empty table. Waiting to see if she was just being punk’d, she watched as a man with a brown leather jacket and small goatee approached the microphone.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He announced, smiling and nodding his head towards a few who waved back. At least one person shouted out, “Let’s get this slam started!”
Slam? Mikaela thought. Is this a poetry slam? She racked her brain for what that meant. It meant that everyone here was competing in a competition, and more importantly – they were going to be reading their poetry in front of a live audience!
Mikaela swallowed-hard. Public-speaking was not her forte. She got nervous just answering the door at home to strangers, let alone speaking up in front of a crowd. And what’s worse? She’d have to read her poetry out loud.
I mean, part of her was prepared to share her writing, but reading it, and getting potentially laughed at for it, terrified her. However, there was a large part of her that was curious to listen to the other poets and hear what they had to say.
Mikaela debated in her mind for several minutes, and finally she stood to leave. Unfortunately, she also stood when the man at the mic was calling for volunteers to go first.
“You!” She heard him say, she looked at the floor, praying it wasn’t her, but when she looked up she met his eyes.
“You’re up!” He said, excitement gleaming in his eyes, and waving her towards the stage.
Mikaela felt the eyes around the room on her. She didn’t have a choice. She walked towards the stage, breathing in the smoke, and taking in the encouraging claps that were rooting her on.
She was terrified.
This isn’t what I signed up for. It was the first thing out of her mouth when she reached the microphone. Small audience laughter followed, but she ignored it. If she was going to do this, it was going to have to be quick. She opened her notebook to the first page.
It was her favorite poem. She wrote it about anxiety. It was emotional and daring. She looked out at the crowd and began reading it. Her voice shaking as her nerves inside were, just added to the reading. The entire room was silent while she read. It didn’t take her long to finish, but when she did. She looked up with tears in her eyes, her vulnerability all over her face. She turned to walk away, and leave the stage, but the man with his goatee came forward, putting his arm around her.
“What’s your name?” He asked her.
“Mikaela.” She answered quietly.
Looking out at the audience he turned and said, “Now that – is how its done! Good job, Mikaela, and welcome to the club!”
And with that the crowd erupted and Mikaela blushed. This isn’t what I signed up for, she thought, but it seems it is just what I needed. And with that thought in her mind, she returned to her seat in the back, ready and open to listening to the other’s poetry.
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