Behind the Scenes

      My mind begged for this conversation to be over.

           “And the thing is—”

           Tyler’s words turned dull.

           “And the other thing is—”

           Other thing? There’s another thing?

           My hearing began to tune him out.

           “So what do you think?”

           I almost drew a blank before replying:

           “Just keep plugging along. You’ll get there.”

           I followed up with a pat on the shoulder and a flaccid grin. Which was all I could muster at that point.

As soon as Tyler walked off, I quickly surveyed the hall to make sure no one else was approaching or watching me. I quietly tiptoed into a corner and slipped into the adjacent room and shut the door. I slumped into the nearest chair, breathed a hard sigh, and let the Office Host melt away, freeing up my tired eyes, my burning facial muscles—which were inflamed as if they had been put through a time-under-tension workout—and my frazzled and plucked nerves.

           My social battery was tapped.

           It had been some time since I had played host, and when I had been offered the opportunity, my voice spoke yes while my mind simultaneously said no. I didn’t understand why they weren’t on one accord—and which one had my best interest—but it was too late. I just grinned at Lou and told him I had it in the bag and not to worry about it.

           I had forgotten everything that hosting required: the smiling. The posturing. The elevated, jubilant voice inflections. The pretentious clothing.

           And most fatiguing: the high levels of social stimulation. Thinking about it after saying yes had caused my mind to swell against my skull, and I thought a hemorrhage hadn’t been too far behind. Still, I had made myself ready by reaching into my mental closet to try on Office Host and see where tinkering had been needed. I had planned to wear a suit for the first time to the office. Then anxiety had ripped me. Lou had counted on these yearly events for departmental funding, and he had selected me. I guessed that’s why I accepted it despite myself.

But would people see through my act?

The fear had shuddered through me for nearly twenty-four hours and didn’t leave until the hall’s doors opened.

           But I was spot on the moment people had entered. The right tone and projection. Everyone greeted had fallen over my graceful words and enthusiasm with surprising reactions. Perhaps I had been too spot on.

           “Wow, I didn’t know you could talk.” Ashley had said with elated surprise.

She had caught me off guard with direct eye contact. I barely rated any glances when passing each other down hall or at or weekly meetings. But in that moment, her eyes had devoured my figure while her fingers feverishly more than grazed my firm arms.

“You should dress like this more often.”

           I had questioned whether I should’ve been flattered, then had remembered the locked screensaver on her phone with her and her chiseled boyfriend and became more confused.

           For two hours, I had shaken every hand while my inner germaphobe clawed and yelped. I had smiled despite my social battery alerting me through chilled adrenaline it needed recharging, forcing my eyes to reset from irritated to inviting each time. Memorized conversational pieces had randomly dropped like phone calls and left uncomfortable voids of silence, leaving me to muster up whatever practiced charm I had.

           I replayed all of it while massaging my cheeks as the room’s solitude recharged my battery.

           “Do I hate people?”

           No.

The answer was quick, and I thanked God for that.

           But I hated what they made me do.

All of this energy. All of this effort. For what? To walk among and impress people who claimed silence was golden…unless it inconvenienced them?

Was I any different? Did I cause people to don masks when their natural character didn’t appeal to me?

A knock on the door interrupted my pondering. My social battery felt manageable so I responded.

“Yes?”

Lou walked in, eyeballing me with a raised brow.

“Why are you in here?”

           “Need a moment.”

“I think you’re good. Need you to greet some more people.”

“It’s been two hours. Who else is here?”

“A chairman of…some company I can’t remember.”

I groaned.

“You’ve been doing a good job.”

His attempted assurance did nothing for me.

“Give five more minutes.”

Lou sighed.

“Look, I get this isn’t easy for you. But the more you do it, the more out of your shell—”

There’s no shell...

He didn’t get it. Most people didn’t. To them, a quiet presence meant antisocial. Or alien. No possible way that was a person’s natural inclination, and that that was how a person wanted to be.

So to get along, I occasionally played along. Office Host today. Presenter another day. And so on, as the situation needed. Irregardless of how I felt.

I had explained it to Lou before when I previously did a presentation—one of many times—and laid out how socializing too long left me drained; how I wasn’t shy, just reserved—another distinction many didn’t grasp—and I preferred listening over talking. That quiet periods weren’t dull, empty times but restorative mentally. And that when I did act outgoing and boisterous, it wasn’t natural for me.

After I had finished, Lou had become a blank slate, frozen with no movement. Cognitive dissonance had grabbed hold of his face as he struggled to comprehend my words. Eventually his eyes had returned and gazed at me.

“Nah, that’s not it.” he had replied. “That outgoing, bubbly guy you are? That’s you. You don’t know it yet. But I can see it.”

My heart hadn’t sunk, nor had I felt disappointment. By that point in my life, I had realized most didn’t care even after providing an explanation. It went too much against the grain for them to comprehend.

To them, the mask was the real person. The performance. And yet the quiet side was the shell. Not because it was, but because it fulfilled their assumptions.

I felt tempted to explain to Lou again—to give myself more time—but it would’ve been a waste of my already exhausted mind. I pushed myself to my feet.

“You get what I’m saying?” he asked urgently.

I made a face that would make a Cheshire cat jealous.

“Sure.”

“Just a few more people.” he insisted.

“Just a few more people.” I repeated.

My social battery went off, then stopped. It must’ve decided it was a waste of its time too.

The End