Red Monologue

In the second grade, I had a crippling fear of my teacher, who loved to play, “Let's pick on all the students who aren’t raising their hands.” In my imagination, school was where carnivorous teachers scanned the classroom, looking to slaughter the most helpless creatures. And it seemed like this one had clear intentions of mounting my prized head on the wall. This meant that I suffered from a chronic case of rapid heartbeat, timid eye contact, and tense palms that left imprints of red crescent moons on my thighs.
Looking stupid has always been something I’ve been a master at. In my mind, the idea of being called on and not knowing the answer to a question was as terrifying as dropping down a 400 ft roller coaster ride with no handlebars. So
I could feel my confidence slowly going into hiding. Finally, one of the girls asked why I was so red in the face, to which I flushed even more so. In “playing it safe,” I consequently suffered the rest of the night replaying the horrifying scenario in my head. Why didn’t I speak up when one of the girls shared my love of baby animal videos? What if they all think I’m a weird mute who doesn’t talk at all? The judgments in my head attacked relentlessly, reinforcing my fears of future
Instead of proactively seeking out the host, I reasoned that her disliking me greatly outweighed the pros of getting what I wanted. I didn’t want to impose my needs onto this lady, whose very gregarious personality is what started these very dinner parties in the first place. Now, I don’t even like to speak, but let me tell you, at that point, I couldn’t speak. And despite my thirsty desires, wishing would definitely not make the host read my mind and save me from the daunting task of asking her where the drinks were. Instead, my dizzying sense of direction led me on a treasure hunt, tentatively opening a few cabinets, distracting myself by bonding with a couple felines in the corner. I remember thinking over and over again: when will someone acknowledge my desperate searching and save me by helping my helplessness and finding some water for me?
I finally stumbled upon a bright red cooler in the corner of the kitchen.
The treasure hunt, a success! And the player? Saved! To me, it felt like a victory of relief, not having to face my worst nightmare. I got to escape without even opening my mouth. Ultimately, this meant learning my lessons escaped from me and would confront me instead at a later date.
This has always been the pattern of my life. I have, since I can remember, been stuck on the kiddie carousel, unable to escape the cycle of not learning my lesson. While everyone had moved on to big kid