Sun stroke

A is for angry alpacas.

B is for boisterous bananas.

C is for charismatic cabbages.

A small giggle escapes my lips before I force my face back into an amiable smile, my mind drifting back to my exercise. I face a high ceilinged auditorium, filled with hundreds of rows of velvety chairs. I,of course, am not granted the  privilege of sitting in such, and am left to my own devices: my legs. After all, speakers usually present standing up, unless the event is casual. And this event is certainly not casual.

 My eyes drift to the new people entering, following them as they scavenge for their seats. In the front row, an old man with a toupet stares me down. I meet his gaze, confidently and firmly, he holds it for a moment before looking away first. I take it as a victory. 

The auditorium is almost at maximum capacity, and I’m signalled by the technician to begin in one minute. My palms are warm with fresh sweat. Do I look okay? Is my makeup running? I feel myself take a step back into the shade of the curtains, away from the stage lights, away from my future. 

It's okay, everyone gets nervous. This is normal, this is natural. Just be positive, be proud.

A proud peacock.

I physically relax at repeating the simple, familiar phrase. I’m the proudest peacock out there. 

Above me, the lights dim, and I release a laden exhale as the audience settles and relax into their seats like fall leaves . They all look towards me, keenly. In one of those seats is mother, in another is Darlene. They are hidden within a sea of  eyes, a jungle of judgmental brains. But I have lived for too long afraid of people’s opinions, of their attention. It is time, now, that I make my best impression on both. I clear my throat before raising the microphone to my lips. And steadily, unwaveringly, I begin to speak.

    When I was 13 years old, my mother hosted a garden party in our backyard. It was a party of firsts for me: I wore lipgloss for the first time, it was the first party I helped prepare, setting up tables and such. But more importantly, it marks the day I adopted the doctrine that I was allergic to the sun.

 The party was mid day, the sun at its peak, and apparently, social interaction was too. I watched, helpless, as family after family walked through the gates into our yard, our haven. Out of the entire crowd, I knew only half. And I was terrified. I remember clinging to my mother the entire afternoon, a silent shadow. Mother told me to socialize with the kids by the food table, and I laughed at the idea as if it were implied as a barbaric joke. As the evening went on, I started getting shaky, nauseous, and “much too ill”, I whispered to my mother “to stay outside any longer.” Worried I was catching a flu, mother sent me inside, and I didn’t so much as peek out the window until I knew everyone had left our yard. “I must be allergic to something”, I mused as the guests hugged their goodbyes and walked back through our gates. “For I can never last outside for more than an hour.” It was then that my eyes rose lazily to the sky, specifically to that big yellow circle. Then and there, I concluded that I must be allergic to the sun itself.  It was the only logical explanation a 7 year old brain could hypothesize. 

    “Darlene, you look like a peacock”, I told my best friend as she stumbled over the trailing blue and purple dress.  

  “I have to agree with you,” she laughed, throwing her shoulders back and raising her chin high. “But at least I’m a proud one,” she beamed, glancing my way as if to make a point. I knew where she was going with this, and instantly regretted going out in public with her. 

“You see,” she started, “I’m not afraid to put myself out there, I’m not afraid to be bold and sociable.”

I said nothing as she changed out of the dress and brought it to the cash register, happily spending her well earned money on the flamboyant gown. 

“Look,” she lectured as we made our way out the mall, “sometimes you’ve gotta choose to stand out, to be proud and loud.”

“Uh huh,” I murmured, not really caring to listen.

We were almost at the car when Darlene pointed to a group of teenagers emerging from the mall, each with three or four large bags in their hands. 

“It's some kids from our high school! Let's go say hello.”

I stood motionless as my breath caught and my hands shook. 

“You go, I'll just meet you in the car,” I said carefully.

 “You can’t stay in the shade forever, you now,” Darlene said as she sighed and strode up to the group of kids. From  my standard Corolla, I watched as my best friend walked up to the teenagers and made effortless conversation. I raised my eyes angrily to the sun then, furious at what it did to me. It made me sweat, it made me shake, it made me nervous. It was all the sun's fault. Why else couldn’t I walk up to those kids? Why else did I avoid going social interaction and stay inside as much as I could?

The sun. It was the only explanation, 

wasn’t it? 

    “Ma’m, your results are all negative,” said a plump, rosy cheeked nurse holding a clipboard. 

  “There must be some mistake here,” I said firmly, completely convinced the doctors didn’t properly inspect my swabs. 

“You see, it's whenever I’m outside. My skin gets tingly, I start sweating, I just can’t tolerate the-”

“Whatever you're reacting to, ma’am, it's not the sun” the woman cut me off, obviously done with this conversation. 

“But it has to be the sun” I say stupidly, “It's the only thing that makes sense.”

And in that moment, as I explained to the nurse that people don't just feel sick at parties for no reason, that people don't linger in the shade instead of joining their friends in the sunlight, the realization I've tried to avoid became too immense for either of us to ignore. 

“You have social anxiety mam,” the woman said, her expression was cool, but her words were a wave of suffocating heat. 

“No,” I lied, “I certainly do no-”

-”I was like you too, you know,” she said evenly. “But I learned to accept it, that's the first step, then you can learn how to deal with it. I remember an exercise my father taught me,” she smiled, lost in the paths of the past. “Go through the alphabet, and come up with two words for each letter, A can be for Albino Asparagus, B for Bellowing Bride.”

I let out a laugh, how ridiculous.

“Just keep going down the alphabet in your mind, do this whenever you're anxious. It gives your mind something to focus on, and makes you laugh in the process. 

I didn't think it would work, I didn't even know if I would try. But I left that doctor's office feeling like there was some hope for my condition. It was time to step into the light. 

    The audience roared as I finished my presentation. I smiled and bowed, surprising myself by lingering on the stage for more than necessary. I walked off the stage, meeting my mother and Darlene at the stairs, their eyes teary with pride. 

“Come on,” Darlene said as she linked her arm through mine, “we’re going to celebrate.”

And as we walked out into the sun, towards a large group of our  friends, cheering and waving, I looked up at the sun,

 and I actually smiled. 

By Rebecca Pirritano