Nerves
First published in "The Moon: The Publication for Writing & Art" Volume 8, Issue 9 (September 2010)
Jim stares at himself in the mirror, staring into his own bloodshot eyes. Then he smiles and winks at himself. He straightens his bowtie and anxiously smooths his tuxedo jacket with his perspiring hands. He takes his notes out of his pocket and reads them over one last time. His stomach is in knots, and even though he hasn't been able to eat anything he feels like he might vomit. He puts his notes back in his pocket, and quickly opens a stall door, hunches over the toilet and proceeds to dry heave.
This helps with the butterflies somewhat, and he tries to laugh at himself. He walks out of the stall and out of habit turns on the faucet and washes his hands. He pulls a paper towel from the dispenser, wipes his hands dry, and then uses it to dab the sweat off his forehead. He stands up straight and again looks at himself in the mirror. His hands nervously re-straighten his already straight bowtie, and his eyes lock onto those in the mirror. "You can do this," he whispers to himself. He smiles and gives his reflection a parting wink, then turns and walks out through the bathroom door.
THE END
Jim stares at himself in the mirror, staring into his own bloodshot eyes. Then he smiles and winks at himself. He straightens his bowtie and anxiously smooths his tuxedo jacket with his perspiring hands. He takes his notes out of his pocket and reads them over one last time. His stomach is in knots, and even though he hasn't been able to eat anything he feels like he might vomit. He puts his notes back in his pocket, and quickly opens a stall door, hunches over the toilet and proceeds to dry heave.
This helps with the butterflies somewhat, and he tries to laugh at himself. He walks out of the stall and out of habit turns on the faucet and washes his hands. He pulls a paper towel from the dispenser, wipes his hands dry, and then uses it to dab the sweat off his forehead. He stands up straight and again looks at himself in the mirror. His hands nervously re-straighten his already straight bowtie, and his eyes lock onto those in the mirror. "You can do this," he whispers to himself. He smiles and gives his reflection a parting wink, then turns and walks out through the bathroom door.
THE END