Open Mic Night-Personal Narrative

Despite her initial hesitation, she finds herself sitting on a battered, paint-chipped stool facing a makeshift stage for “Open Mic Night.” Mindless chatter floats above the heads of the myriad of people attending the event. I’m glad you could make it out this time, Cindy. How’ve you been, Steve? Did you get that promotion you were hoping for? How are the kids? Hey, did you watch last week’s episode yet?
He shifts in his seat, the anticipation and anxiety swirling together in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he should have made a few more edits, worked the words over a few more times. Maybe he should’ve picked up his other pair of jeans. Less flashy.
She orders a beer. It’s been a while since her last one. Maybe she should have stayed home, given herself a little more time to think—more time to process. But then again, thinking hasn’t been doing her much good lately. Thoughts can be toxic sometimes—suffocating even.
One of her friends tilts her head back in laughter, her bright features illuminated by the fuchsia tinted bar lights. Giggles are exchanged
The words of a book he once read run through his mind, tugging at an emotion he wasn’t quite sure how to identify. “We can never make proper goodbyes. It was your last ride in a Checker cab and you had no warning. It was the last time you were going to have Lake Tung Ting shrimp in that kinda shady Chinese restaurant and you had no idea. If you had known, perhaps you would have stepped behind the counter and shaken everyone's hand, pulled out the disposable camera and issued posing instructions. But you had no idea. There are unheralded tipping points, a certain number of times that we will unlock the front door of an apartment. At some point you were closer to the last time than you were to the first time, and you didn't even know it. You didn't know that each time you passed the threshold you were saying