“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this. I’m going to be fine.”
Finally, it’s my turn. Everyone is still clapping for the last person who went up. I didn’t hear a word of what he said. I walk out onto the stage and force myself to smile. The lights are blinding and I can’t see a soul. Something about this experience feels different than the intimacy of my previous speeches. They were all in a room of about thirty people where I could see every set of eyes. Here, there are no individuals in the room. They’re just a sea of people. I take a deep breath and clear my throat quietly. I open the lid of my water bottle so that I don’t have to fumble with it during the speech if my mouth runs dry.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am extremely honored to be here and for this opportunity to speak about my friend, Hudson Hilton. For many years, Hudson and I were very close friends. We did everything together. Played with light sabers in our own third-grade version of Star Wars, played endless games of Release and tag, and slept over at each other’s houses until our moms grew concerned that we were getting too close for ten year olds. They had nothing to worry about, of course; we were only kids. Then we turned thirteen. Our feelings for each other grew and, eventually, during our junior year in high school, we started dating.
“Dating in high school can be a complicated thing for many. There are a lot of letdowns and mixed feelings, but Hudson and I never experienced these things. Once we were together, we were together for good. We were best friends and nothing could break us up. Then we got to college. Things were more complicated for us in college. For one thing, we broke up right before we got here and then found out that we were going to be roommates.”
I pause for effect at the end of the sentence and let the crowd take that line in. There’s a gasp that emanates from them. I smile, turn a flash card, and continue.
“Not the easiest thing to go through, as many of you can imagine. College was a time of change. Both for us individually and for us as a couple. We weren’t a couple for a long time, and then we were a couple again. Our togetherness didn’t last either. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m sure that many of you either heard me relay some of the more sordid ones in one of my unfortunate speeches in class or at least heard about it.”
The crowd laughs. I thought that maybe only a few of them would laugh, the people from my class, but the laughter spreads throughout the room. Juicy rumors do fly rampant.
“Well, anyway,” I say with a smile, “what I really want to talk to you about is not really our history, but friendship. In college, friends come so easily. You meet someone in class, they like the same music as you, they also like to go out on Thursday nights, and you’re friends. They come so easily, it’s easy to take them for granted. You think that it’s no problem; you’ll just make more friends, but what my relationship with my friend Hudson taught me is that it’s not that easy to make friends. It’s way too easy to lose friends. So, to close, I just want to ask you all to look at the people in your own life who you care about and give them value. Don’t fight over stupid things, and if you fight, at least forgive easily. Friendships are important because they define who you are. The people you meet here will be the people who will forever know you as a nineteen or twenty-year-old. So, when you’re an old fifty-seven-year-old, there will still be people in your life who knew you when you were fun and vibrant and full of life. No offense, of course, to all the fifty-year-olds out there. I hope you know I’m kidding.
“So, in closing, I want to say thank you to my friend, Hudson. No matter what happens to us in the future, you will always be special to me because you’re my oldest friend. You knew me even before college. You knew me as a third grader and I knew you. I will always value that. Thank you.”
The auditorium explodes in applause. I smile and nod and smile again. I can’t believe that I actually did that. I gather my notecards, which are limp with sweat, grab my water bottle, and walk backstage. A warm sensation spreads throughout my whole body. Relief. My heartbeat returns to its normal rhythm.
“You were great,” someone tells me.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, that was really good,” someone else says. I’m not paying attention to anyone who’s talking to me. I’m simply nodding and smiling and walking further backstage toward the exit.
I take a big sip of my water, but I don’t stop at one gulp. Suddenly, I’m thirstier than I’ve ever been and I drink the entire bottle without stopping.
“You were amazing,” someone says.
“Thank you,” I mumble and walk past him.
“Alice?” the voice says again. It’s mildly familiar.
“Yeah?” I turn around and see Hudson.
35
Hudson is standing backstage with his foot propped up on the wall. There are wires and poles all around him, but he’s standing so casually that it looks as if he’s back in our dorm. His arms are by his sides and his face is tilted slightly toward me.
“You came,” I say. Still on a high from my performance and the crowd’s response, I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.”
For
