The Pressure (genre reflection)

 The day starts with a laptop. The laptop glows and shimmers underneath the lamp.

The lamp with its fluorescent bulb glows in the dark room.

Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. It is time to leave.

Big deep breaths, I tell myself

My shoes clipping and clacking against the smooth tile floors.

Clump, clump, I go up the stairs.

Big deep breaths

The halls are quiet. The halls are noisy. I stand there waiting for the class to arrive.

Big deep breaths. You’ve got this. You’ve prepared. This time it will be better.

The bell tolls. Grab your notebooks and textbooks as you enter the classroom.

I stand at the front. Eyes are on me. Agenda on the board. I stand. I wait.

Big deep breaths

Class has begun. The loudness is quiet. I can do this. Have confidence.

In one corner, my mentor teacher. In the other, my professor.

I am in the center of the ring. Textbooks open. My last  chance at success

I pace around the room, making sure no student stares at my back for long periods.

I stop. I stare. The silence is loud. It quakes in my ears. Thump. Thump.

The pressure weighs on my shoulders. They are writing. I need to step up. It needs to be perfect. I cannot fail again.

I pace and pace. Paragraph after paragraph. Silence. Silence. Silence. Not one answer to my question.

Big deep breaths

Sweat is shining on my hands as they grip the textbook. Throat dry as a desert. Gulp. Gulp. I look around me. Panic sets in. They keep scribbling. They keep staring. Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn to hours. My eyes flutter. The darkness surrounds me. I look up; three minutes remain. Tick. Tick. Tick. My head moves on a swivel looking at one student to the next then to the board quickly and swiftly moving slides to the next and the next until relief sets in as I made it to the end, and it’s the exit ticket. I tried to speak but was drowned by the bell.