Average

I was never much of a talker. I was never much of a people person. Sometimes I loved to smile, sometimes I was afraid to. I preferred to be in the background, never draw too much attention. I just wanted to write a story, a script for a narrative in people’s heads. Yet here I was, standing in front of a mob of flashes and voices, eyes following my every move. I shifted the novel that I held and tried my best not to crack under the pressure. I should be grateful. How many people got the privilege of getting their story published by a major company? I looked to Margaret for some semblance of reassurance and she gave me a tentative smile. She had been on this year long journey by my side as my agent. She knew me as well as she could. She was hoping this would be the first step to me finding my confidence. No one wanted a public embarrassment on their hands. I inhaled deeply, held it for several seconds, then slowly let it out. I focused on the air tenderly caressing my lips. Only a few more minutes of photos then I would be able to run inside. At least then I’d be able to compose myself before tackling the next obstacle: interviews.

I was hiding, I knew it. I was just being a coward. The bathroom was surprisingly quiet despite the music softly thumping its way through the walls. I pulled my cell phone out of my tiny clutch and pulled up the text messages screen. I wanted nothing more than the comfort of my fiance. But it was MIA. It wasn’t out of the norm I guess. He was a tech guy, a gamer guy. His mistress was a bright screen. I had begged him to attend this event with me but he stated he had too much work to do back home in Maryland. He had wished me luck and kissed me at the airport. I didn’t really know why I put up with his passive love. It felt like he had only proposed to shut me up and keep me around. I had always been nothing. Worked hard to live a paycheck to paycheck life. He had looked down on me previously for not doing as well in life as he was. But now I have finally elevated myself. He barely had an ounce of pride. The bathroom door swinging open snapped me out of my thoughts and I threw the phone back into the bag. Facing my reflection, I quickly tried to fix my hair. The style had started to melt but at least my makeup wasn’t running. Yet. No tears were allowed here. This was supposed to be a time of celebrating, I had actually accomplished something. Two giggling young women filled the stalls behind me and I decided to make my exit. 

I just have to socialize. Talk about the book. That is what everyone is here for anyways. So I focused on the fantastical world and characters I had thrust into this world. I tried to keep the conversations short, passing from one person to the next. There were fellow authors from the company, they congratulated me, told me it was going to be a crazy ride from here on out. Hold on tight and don’t lose yourself. After about an hour I found myself standing at one of the corner bars, my fingers drumming along the counter. My eyes were focused over my shoulder at the crowd even as the bartender asked for my order.

“Um, a margarita please. The strongest tequila you have.”

I could hear the clink of ice in a glass, the liquid pouring, the shaking. It started to drown out all the noises I was surrounded by and I tried to remind myself to be polite and make eye contact. The bartender route had not gone well for me and I got out of the business after only a year. Some people were just naturally charismatic, and others could just fake it really well. But not me. The man’s face came into focus as he placed my drink on a napkin in front of me. His curly brown hair just brushed his shoulders. His face wasn’t clean shaven and he had a pleasant smile. The skin around his eyes crinkled. 

“So you are the star of tonight’s show I presume?” he asked, a slight Southern accent evident in his voice.

“N-nice guess.” I stammered out. 

“No guess,” he chuckled. “I’ve seen a couple articles on you.”

“Oh?”

He wiped his hands on the towel hanging from one of his belt loops and looked around suspiciously, as if he was letting me in on some kind of secret.

“Yeah, they all read the same. Normal girl goes from below average life to potential literary stardom. The pre-orders are off the charts.”

I couldn’t decide whether or not I should be offended by his below average life comment. It didn’t seem like he meant any harm, and it literally was just the truth. I had barely had anything. I lived with my boyfriend who made all the money, drove a car that was falling apart, and had debt up the ass. 

“I just hope the story is as well received as people assume it will be.”

I took several sips from my drink as he excused himself to serve a few more people. I could feel my shoulders start to relax. I spent the majority of the night leaning against the bar talking to this stranger. He actually made me feel more at ease than I could have imagined. I forgot about everything else going on around us. He told me how he was a student at NYU. He did some freelance journalism. He had a love/hate relationship with the city.

“It is way different than home. North Carolina is a lot quieter.”

The laughter and stories were interrupted only by the occasional customer and then eventually my phone ringing from inside my bag. I held up a finger as a “one moment” apology and looked at the screen. My fiance’s picture lit it up and as much as I had been waiting for this all night, I no longer felt I needed it to survive the next few hours. He should have just been here with me. I shoved the phone away and the man cocked a curious eyebrow at me.

“I’m perfectly content for the moment,” I answered, smiling.