(Maisha) Eating > Public Speaking

There’s this café on my way back from Nerva Srec Highschool.

It’s cluttered but cozy, and it’s been my favourite study spot since I stumbled upon it the very first day of 9th grade. 4 years later, I’m probably not mentally prepared to start studying anywhere else, especially not at home.

The owner’s a little crazy and the muffins are average at best, but it’s better than getting stared down at the library for having 50 stacks of notes sprawled everywhere. I’m not sure who, but someone at the café always tidies my notes for me when I leave to order something or use the washroom. I guess they know I’m a regular. At Café Eris the people may be a little strange, but no one bothers you since there’s always something else going on. That’s just the charm of the place I suppose.

That environment was exactly what I needed after the day I had so far. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, literally. I accidentally dozed off studying for my math test today, got yelled at for oversleeping, and crumpled all my notes beneath my arm. I definitely flunked that test. At lunch I spilled juice on my favourite green flannel.

But it gets worse. Mr. White, my stupid English teacher, called on me to answer his stupid questions, when I didn't even raise my stupid hand. Everyone turned to look at me, expecting me to save them since they didn’t do the homework themselves. I never understood why teachers punished their best students like this, it’s so illogical. For me, the café was a sort of salvation from those prying eyes, and the ordinary nuisances that plagued my daily life.

I dragged my feet all the way through the front door hoping to plop down in my regular corner spot near the bookshelf. The girl who I’d seen observing the shelf before I entered the café, seemed to have left already. I was eager to sit down and start revising but Jimmy, no... Pimmy, yes that’s her name, was in my way.

She had poor barista Wabong by the collar. “Where did he sit? What did he order? I’ll order that please. Please give me his order.”

She wore a reddish plaid skirt and a normal white dress shirt. That was her idol group’s signature outfit, but it just looked like a school uniform. That’s probably part of the reason her group has trouble standing out. Right now she just looked like a regular student. Well, a regular student acting like a creep.

She was currently sniffing napkins and stuffing them in her backpack. Coco-chan and his overbearing (but very stylish) mother must’ve dropped by earlier today and Kimm-, Pimmy had obviously purchased that info hoping to collect some… souvenirs.

I sighed, fumbling to take my wallet out and purchase yet another average muffin, and that’s when I saw him.

I caught a glimpse of his blond hair and froze in my tracks. I must have been shaking, or screaming, or something because Lucky aunty shoved a plastic container of sliced watermelon in my hands telling me to calm down.

Hold on. Nothing makes sense.

This is my café, my safe spot.

WHY IS HE HERE?

Now I have to find a new study spot and disappear from the face of the planet. I’m sure Scanta could get me a forged ID from the basement. A comforting presence placed their hand on my shoulder, but there wasn’t anyone beside me. I’m sure I’m just going crazy. I can’t believe the past has come back to haunt me. Let me explain who “he” is.

That fateful day 9 years ago changed the course of my life forever. Ok, a tad bit dramatic, but I will literally never live it down.

I was just a stupid kid! A dumb little 8 year old with a crippling fear of public speaking and public anything really.

For some reason my teacher used to say all these things about “opening up” and “putting myself out there” in a very sweet voice, always, but I KNEW she hated my guts. She always smiled at me with those beady eyes and forced me to like, speak to people. An absolutely terrifying woman.

In third grade, she gave us a speech assignment where we had to go up in front of the entire class and tortu- I mean, introduce...ourselves for 3 whole minutes. As if anybody in that class was interesting enough to hear about for that long.

Me, being the great student that I am, wrote something for the day. But I could feel the nerves settling in with each tick of the clock. The sweat on my forehead started trickling down, my tiny 8 year old hands became clammy as I glared at the clock and the noises in the background melted together. Tick tock tick tock. I did not want to do it.

But then a brilliant idea struck me!

For some reason my underdeveloped 8 year old brain thought the perfect solution was to simply eat - yes, eat - the paper with my speech on it so that I wouldn't have to present. Yes, I ate the whole paper, the whole 9 x 11 piece of paper. I was a real genius for that one.

Unfortunately, everyone else in my class was monkey-brained and loved being loud, and obnoxious, and talkative, and very, very unaware of personal space. While I was watching the clock, blondie (I can’t remember his name, it’s probably Trevor?), had swapped my paper with his because this idiot thought it was so funny to steal the quiet kid’s work.

Hahaha, NO.

As the last of the paper disappeared, he tried reaching his grimy hands over at me and kept saying “Wait, I think that’s mine,” but of course it was too late. His paper was probably already soaking in my digestive fluids.

The sinking realization that my written speech was still existent in the world and not soaking in my stomach acid was mortifying enough, but then I came to the realization that now I had involved blondie. I had eaten his paper!

I was more than mortified. I was devastated.

What if he tells my future boss about this? This isn’t even my fault! It’s because he swapped the papers! Oh my god. I’m going to be unemployed because I didn’t want to do a speech in 4th grade. Oh my god. Nononono. This can’t be happening.

The mere thought of being unemployed at 30 was enough to make me hurl all over blondie’s desk. And I'm not just saying that. I really did throw up. 

''EWWW!!! MS. WYMEN! MAISHA BARFED ON MY DESK! SHE VOMITED ALL OVER THE PLACE!!!” he cried really big tears and said he hated me.

Good. I hate me too.

And now that same idiot that compromised my future was standing 3 feet away from me on a random Monday, 8 years later. I was about to hurl all over again, right in the middle of the café.

He turned around because I must’ve caused quite the commotion. My hands went cold, my face felt numb, and I wanted to scream again and run away, but I couldn't, because that would ruin my reputation even more.

Blondie walked up awkwardly with a glass of water. It was then that I noticed.

Oh. Wait. His eyes are blue, not brown… and he doesn’t have a mark under his eye...

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked shakily.

“Uh, Tristan… like it says on my nametag,” he said, pointing to the little square of plastic.

Ugh, so embarrassing, I didn't even think to read his name tag. I could have avoided speaking to him completely.

“Hm, are you sure it's Tristan? Not Trevor?” I asked, squinting my eyes suspiciously at him.

“Yep. 100% positive,” he replied.

“Ah. ok. Sorry about that. Thanks,” I said, taking the water from his hand and chugging it down.

I waddled away, gathering my papers, and sat at the farthest corner away from the main counter.

I don't think I had the stomach for a muffin today.