The Name in the Beaker

I put my name in the beaker. I walk to my desk and sit down. I have a fluttery feeling in my chest. Why do I feel like I’m going to have to go first? I don’t want to go first. Sure, I practiced my presentation all day yesterday and before I came into class today, but what if I stumble? What if I get nervous and can’t even get a word out edgewise? What’s the teacher gonna think of me? What are my classmates gonna think of me? Will they laugh at me? Will Erica laugh at me? I don’t know, and I really don’t want to. As I sit in my desk waiting for the bell to ring, I just know in my head that the teacher is going to pull my name first. I don’t want him to. I internally beg the heavens for a miracle. How about you make Jessica go first? She’s a great presenter. She’s always anxious to stand in front of the class and talk to them about whatever she happened to research for a project. She loves it, and we all love watching her. Why can’t she just go first? Why not have Brian go first? Why not have Jared go first? That’ll stick it to him for making fun of my shirt the other day. Why am I so worried about it being me?

The bell rings. The teacher tells us all to quiet down and reminds us how today is going to work: he will pull a name from the beaker and whoever he pulls gets to present next. Yeah, yeah, we know. It’s pretty intuitive, you don’t have to repeat the instructions for randomly pulling someone’s name out of a glass container. We get it. He sticks his right hand into the beaker and wiggles his fingers in the pile of papers, trying to figure out which one he wants to grab first. He finally settles on one, grabbing it between his pointer finger and thumb and pulling it out. The paper is folded in half, so the teacher unfolds it and reads the name aloud. “Jacob Terence,” he calls. Yep. How did I guess? That’s me. I walk up to the front of the class. The light of the projector shines directly in my eyes, and I squint them quickly before moving out of the way. My hands are visibly shaking. I can barely look up at everyone. Why is this presentation particularly nerve-wracking? I don’t understand it, but then again, I’ve never understood how the universe works, so why bother trying now?

The teacher finishes setting up my presentation and cues me to start by pointing a finger gun at me. I start presenting. As I speak, I stumble on the lines of the first one or two slides. As I get further into the presentation, I mentally psyche myself up. It's just a presentation. You can get through this. Just say what you wanna say. You know what you have to say, so just… say it. I started calming down by the third and fourth slides. By the fifth, I was actually in a better place mentally. I felt that I could make it through this terrible circumstance. I could start this series of student presentations off with some sort of bang. I present four more slides, with my hands shaking less and less each time. At the end of the presentation, I get applause from the audience. It’s not the kind of enthusiastic applause that suggests I absolutely killed the presentation, but it’s enough applause for me to feel confident that I at least did a good job.

I walk back to my desk, feeling happy that I made it through that incredibly stressful experience. As I pass by Erica’s desk, she punches my arm and says, “Good job.” I smile the whole way back to my desk, and the smile stays on my face for the rest of the period. I see everyone else present their slides, and actually can’t help but think that everyone did a really good job. Usually, there’s at least one dud presentation from someone, but everyone was on top of it or at the very least acceptable in their presentation this time. However, despite everyone else giving a good presentation, I can only focus on mine and how well I recovered from my nervousness at the beginning. I did it. I conquered the presentation. I accepted my fate, I stood up there, and I gave my presentation. I survived putting my name in the beaker.