Ralph Archibold once said, “A speech should not just be a sharing of information, but a sharing of yourself.” This quote has various meanings, but to me it is about expressing myself and putting my heart into my passions. Speech is something of many types and shapes; it may be a class or a project, but the type of speech that I know best is high school speech, more specifically, group mime. Three other girls and I had signed up for speech, expecting some laid back, easy act. To our surprise we were signed up to perform a group mime act, a category which none of us had not even attempted before this. Although enjoyable, this performance took time and sweat, and soon led to the frights of performing at an All-State competition. We were unquestionably nervous. Our hands were twitching, lips trembling. Then it began.

Wiping the sweat off my hands, I tried to control my breathing as I stepped up to the starting line. The voices started to fade as I observed the faces they were coming from. I stretched out my legs before I placed my feet into the starting blocks, cracking my knuckles and then placing them on the painted white lines. I bowed my head to focus on the race. The starter readied us.

“Let’s do this,” I thought to myself as the anticipation built up, waiting to explode out of the blocks.

Performing in front of an audience, or even running in a track meet, appears to be simple and effortless, the words and actions coming to you just as easy as breathing. As you step onto the stage, even your lungs forget how to function properly. The world slows down. Voices turn into muffled noises. You cannot comprehend the things going on around you. Not only does a high school speech performer experience this sensation, but they also dread it. This performer is me.

Throughout the day my fellow mime group and I found various empty rooms that occupy the Fisher Theater at Iowa State University. We would go through the motions, forgetting a few small actions. This created a ginormous, almost visible, cloud of frustration. Each girl was extremely nervous and unable to forget the feeling of pits devouring our stomachs. It was suggested that we go to Hall A to watch a few of the other mime performances before performing, perhaps to catch some tricks and hints for our own performance.

As soon as we entered the theater, my eyes darted everywhere, attempting to take in the sight of where we were about to perform. I led the group to the second row, directly behind the judge, taking our seats as a girl with bright, blue eyes and long, blond hair pulled back into a pony tail walked to the center of the stage. As soon as the music started, she began to act out the scene with her body. It seemed as if she was holding a child, nurturing and caring for it with gentle fingertips. The music was calming, the type you would sway and rock back and forth to. Suddenly, the music crashed as if it was lightning, sending the mother and her “baby” twirling around. The way this performer moved was so precise and sharp, yet it flowed and looked so natural to her. My stomach dropped. This performance is amazing. What are we compared to this? What if we look like a bunch of idiots moving like one of those blow-up stick figure people at car dealerships?

Oh gosh. What do I do? I cannot do this! I look around at the other girls and see faces of similar thoughts. Josye suggests that we go outside of the theater to warm up, cool down, pump up, whatever helps us. We each express our opinions on the performance we watched, and what we can do to better ourselves.

Maddie and Josye are both firm believers of God, so before every performance we pray, asking God to help us do our best. We did this ritual as we stood in a close circle, shoulder to shoulder, heads all touching one another. We were all clearly sweating from both the anxiety and from the black clothing we are required to wear during mime. It was almost like you could smell the sweat and fear perspiring on our foreheads. A man with a clipboard approached us. It was time. Wiping the sweat off my hands I tried to control my breathing as the room’s clatter started to fade. I stood for a moment observing the people sitting in the squeaky red seats, listening to each scoff and breath of the audience as if I had suddenly obtained the ears of an owl. I walked towards the left side of the room to stand in a line with my fellow performers. Before bowing I took a sneaky side glance at Bre, who gave me a nervous look. “Let’s do this,” I whispered to encourage her, realizing it was a mental note of encouragement to myself. Silence creeped throughout the room before the up–beat music started. I forgot how to breathe. I moved my eyes to watch Josye act out her morning routine. I watched her brush her hair and begin to brush her teeth. Here it comes. Just a few more seconds. Josye stood on her tiptoes, cueing Maddie, Bre, and I to form a phone out of our bodies to create the illusion of swiping through Instagram as Josye did so on her “phone” in her hand. Maddie went first, making three goofy faces, then Bre, and finally me. My body was so tense. I was a second behind with my faces, and I am pretty sure the only expression on my face was one with wide eyes and a stiff look.

The three of us stood up and walked to our four chairs arranged as seats in a car; Maddie taking the driver’s seat, and Bre and I in the back. We folded our hands in our laps, bowed our heads, and waited for the music to change. I could hear how loud my breathing was and became afraid the entire room could as well. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Calm down Sydney. There is nothing to worry about. The music changed to a pop song, sending Josye walking towards our “car” with a grin, waving to us. I waved back, trying to keep a smile on my face and act like a giddy teenager. My role was to be the cautious friend, pushing my friends to wear their seat belts and be safe. Maddie drove the “car” forwards a bit to mess with Josye as she got in. I rolled my eyes at her stupidity. I then fastened my seat belt and encouraged the others to do so as well. We bobbed our heads to the music and laughed, all the while we each were on our phones, sharing pictures and videos. Pictures were taken which distracted the driver, but for our performance, that is exactly what we wanted to do. The idea of our performance was to create an unsafe scene in a car full of teenagers, a scenario that occurs every day. We wanted to show the impact of texting and driving. That is why this was called “The Last Snap.” We were going to act out or mime the final happy moment of four teenagers’ lives that soon turn to tragedy. Oh my gosh, here it comes. Maddie, our driver, took out her phone to take a picture while still driving and encouraged us all to join in. We all moved to be seen in the camera posing for the picture. Oh my gosh. Crap, here it comes. Now. The music suddenly stopped, cueing us to whip our heads forward as if we were in an accident. We move our heads on beat, and the same direction to represent the car rolling. Forward. Now I have to prepare for the hardest part. Left. I moved my leg to the ground to steady myself. Right. Then I grabbed the chair to prepare for my role. Back. Then my body suddenly lunged forward. I wasn’t controlling this. It was an instinct from all the practice. I landed on my left shoulder and rolled forward. Waiting for a few moments before moving, I breathed in to focus. This was the part I dreaded the most. I dragged my arms toward my body to prop myself up, naturally shaking from how nervous and anxious I was. I am supposed to be hurt from the accident. I pretend to be in pain, propping myself up and holding my head, soundlessly screaming and crying out to whoever was there. With my final bursts of strength, I reached my hand out as if I was reaching to someone for help, asking for them to save me. My hand shaking and face with a pained expression. As if I had suddenly lost my life, I dropped to the ground, slumping over in a lifeless way. I waited and waited. I try to control my breathing because I can feel my stomach rising and dropping. I am supposed to be dead. I cannot move. I must stay still. I felt hands on my shoulders, whipping me to my back. Maddie put her hands on my chest as if to do CPR. I used my shoulders and back to move my upper body to make it look like I was being given CPR. No hope. I listened to the dramatic music. Because I knew what was going on in the rest of the scene with the other girls, it made me even more nervous. I hoped the girls were alright and performing their best. When does this end? It needs to end. The music came to a close and started to do a steady beat of the same note, building up to the last snap. The girls and I sat back into our seats and reenacted the final picture that was taken before our crash, as if it was a flashback to our last shining moment. The music stopped. I bowed my head. By the time I looked up, the crowd was already clapping. The weight on my shoulders dropped. I can finally breathe right again. This feeling is the complete opposite of what I just felt. The sudden change in moods was incredible, going from anxious to relieved. It was over. The judge began to congratulate us for our performance. I watched his expressions change and his mouth move, but not a single word he said registered in my mind. I was just so relieved to have this over with. I smiled and nodded at the judge, and thanked him for his commentary. I walked towards the door to escape the room that terrified me.

Although I was glad to be done with this nightmare, I suddenly was gloomy that something we worked so incredibly hard to accomplish was over in moments. It reminded me of the way I felt while running track. I work myself up and psych myself out to the point where I am a mess. In track, I start at the finish line and try my hardest, only to be disappointed it is over so soon. The worrying that I built up each moment was for absolutely nothing.