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"Ring of Fire"
By Deborah
Sharp, Ft. Lauderdale FL
Finalist
I’d like to tell you when I faced my fear of karaoke that the stunning beauty of my voice brought a reverent hush to a crowded bar.
But why add lying to a very long list of my personal shortcomings?
Instead, I’ll explain how a woman who cannot sing a lick and fears few things more than public humiliation landed on a karaoke stage in front of a bar full of strangers.
It’s all part of a plan I hatched upon turning
50. I wanted something to shake up my middle-aged self. So, in order to slow the slide into fuddy-duddyism, I vowed to try one thing a month that terrifies me.
Enter Mount Karaoke. To scale it, I needed to find a song. Forget Celine Dion. If I tried to hit those heights, dogs would howl and children would hide. I also bypassed newer artists. I’m too old to learn the difference between Jay-Z and J-Kwon.
I briefly considered ""Crazy,'' by Patsy Cline, but the symbolism seemed a tad obvious. The people in the bar would know I was crazy as soon as I got on the stage and opened my mouth.
After much hesitation and liberal amounts of liquid fortification, I ultimately chose Johnny Cash’s
"Ring of Fire.'' I knew there'd be no threat of high notes from the Baritone in Black. And the imagery seemed fitting. Just thinking about having to sing, I was ablaze with embarrassment and the fear of failure.
When I headed for the stage, it felt like I was walking through the fires of hell. Or, maybe it was just a hot flash. In any event, I was burning up.
"Ring of Fire,'' indeed.
Repressed childhood memories bubbled to the surface. I remembered church, where my little brother covered his ears as I belted out hymns. I remembered a birthday party, where the honoree insisted, “You don’t have to sing. No, really. You Do Not Have To Sing.’’
And I remembered high-school chorus tryouts, where the whole room laughed as I croaked out a painful version of “I Feel the Earth Move.’’ The songwriter, Carole King, should have sued.
But then I thought, “Oh, what the hell? I’m
50 now. High school was a long time ago.’’
So I climbed on stage and said a prayer to the late Johnny Cash.
I closed my eyes. I began to sing. Then I forgot the words and had to open my eyes again to find the karaoke screen. I lost a line, misplaced the tune, and mostly mumbled through the song.
But I killed on the chorus, if I do say so myself.
I took a bow and left the stage. One guy at the bar even gave me a high five. He was staggering drunk, and I think he confused me with a woman who’d been up earlier, and who could actually sing. But a high five’s a high five, and I'll take what I can get.
The point is I was terrified. And I was terrible. But I conquered a personal terror.
As for next month, I plan to shed
50 years of inhibitions -- and my swimsuit -- at a Florida nudist beach.
Maybe when I face my fear of naked exposure, the stunning beauty of my body will bring a reverent hush to that crowded slice of sand.
Nah, probably not.
But at least I won’t have to sing.
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