An Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat

By Esme Rivera

Our headlights were the only thing lighting up the empty highway at 5 am. As I nestled into the passenger seat and strap myself in, I heard the voice of my favorite band on the radio. My tiredness magically evaporated from my body and my face lit up with excitement. The beat drops matched the potholes we kept hitting, but I was yet to be hit with the best realization of my life.

During middle school, I hardly ever paid attention in class. It wasn’t even that I had no clue on how to do the work, I was just simply too busy burying my head into my notebook, writing with my headphones in. Physically, I was in the classroom, but my mind was closing the blinds and transporting me somewhere else. I would envision myself writing at the top of a Sherman Tree, hearing the wind gush through my hair and flipping the pages from my notebook while my legs wrapped around a branch, so I didn’t fall. My teachers never found me a distraction, and I surprisingly still ended up getting on Honor Roll and becoming a member of the National Junior Honor Society....hard to believe right? I’m honestly not sure how I still managed to do that.

One day without warning, I walked into my English Class and looked over at Ms.Rockiki’s empty rolling chair.

“Maybe I’m just early,” I told myself.

An older woman with round glasses and black hair tied up walked in. The classroom was filled with windows but the second she walked in, it seemed duller. I felt a subtle chill go up my spine.

And then I heard the words I dreaded the most.

“My name is Ms. Stayton. I will be your substitute teacher today.”

As soon as I heard those words, I put my headphones on and began writing on the farthest desk in the corner, isolated from the rest of my classmates. The substitute crouched down against me and knocked on my table to get my attention. I ignored her first knock. Until she did it again.

We both locked eyes and I could feel the tension between us already.

“No wearing headphones in class, Miss,” she said.

“Actually, my name is Esme,” I said as I put my headphones back on.

I could see the smoke and fumes coming from her nose.

“If anything, your knocking on the table is more distracting than me writing with my headphones on,” I said.

As soon as those words left my mouth, I took a breath to see if I could take them back. I was never the type to argue, to talk back with a teacher, and all I could see from the corner of my eye were my classmates. Before I could attempt to cast a spell to vanish at that very moment, they had already witnessed everything. My friends looked at me as if their eyes were going to fall from their faces. I couldn’t bear to look at them.

The next day, the substitute wasn’t there. Instead, there just was a sticky note she left saying, “Class was respectful. Not Esme.” I began apologizing to Ms. Rokicki for my behavior toward the substitute.

She just nodded and said, “I know how you can make up for your behavior.”

“Anything! Just not detention… Please,” I said.

Little did I know her idea of “making up for my be- havior” was something I never would have imagined.

“I’m going to sign you up for two poem competitions.”

“What, no! I can do extra work, I’ll even come for Saturday school!”

She knows my biggest fear is public speaking, so this was already punishment. I’ve always been an introvert since I was little. Being in front of an audience gives my body the same sensation as going down a steep roller coaster.

Even though I was constantly burying my notebook in my face during class, I still would not show a single soul what was in it. For all I know people just thought I carried a blank notebook around with me everywhere.

“You know I can’t speak in big crowds,” I spoke.

“That’s why we will practice. We still have a couple of months until the competition,” she said.

“Great, so I have no choice?” I murmured under my breath.

On the first Tuesday of every month, my school would have a huge assembly in the auditorium. It would mostly be the principal giving a long speech while the kids in the back fell asleep during most of it. Except for this day, something in my gut was telling me this assembly was going to be different. I dozed off but then heard Ms. Rokicki’s heels clatter as she walked up on stage.

She grabbed the microphone from the principal and made direct eye contact with me. “Oh no, what’s going on?” I mouthed to her from the first row. Before I knew it, she was already giving a speech.

“Hello everyone, you guys know me, Ms. Rokicki. In this assembly, I want to bring recognition to somebody’s writing. Esmeralda drafted a poem for one of my class assignments and I enjoyed it so much that I would like her to come up here and read it for you all.”

My body felt so tense. I felt as if I was fighting with someone for the last bit of oxygen on earth. I was glued down to the chair and my legs became weak. Have you ever heard your breath project from a microphone with a room entirely filled with people staring at you? As I gulped, I could hear each sound projected onto the speakers. Ms.Rockiki delicately placed her hand on the back of my shoulder, and she held the mi- crophone up to me once more. With both my hands on the paper, I breathed in and began reading. I honestly could not tell you whether it was good or bad because I blacked it out, but I do remember everyone applauding once I finished.

“See I told you, you can do it,” she said.

“I’m not doing that again,” I said with a smirk on my face.

To even get accepted to compete in the Massachusetts Statewide Poem Contest, I first had to win first place in my school district. Seventh-grade me saw that as impossible, but not Ms. Rokicki. She believed in me and would not let me second guess myself. The day they were announcing the winners, I sat far in the back of the auditorium.

I zoned out for the first half of their speeches but was revived back to life when I heard “Esmeralda come up on stage,” was I dreaming?

“Pinch me,” I said to my friend sitting next to me.

“GET UP ON STAGE!” she said with the biggest smile on her face.

As I walked up to the stage, my hands kept fidgeting with my hoodie string. I was still sure I was going to wake up from this dream, but I did not.

One kid was picked from each town in Massachusetts, and I was going to be representing Provincetown. As the day of the real competition was getting closer, I started growing a knot in my stomach bigger than me. I remember running to Ms.Rocicki’s class during lunch and flooding her room with my tears.

“I can’t do this; I need to drop out of the competition.”

“I am not letting you do that; you need to let people witness your talent. You truly are gifted, and I am not letting you give up like that.”

She then reached for my notebook with her eyes and my eyes followed in the same direction.

“Read me something from your notebook,” she said.

“But...” I said before she interrupted me.

“Read me something from your notebook, flip to a random page,” she said.

Flipping to a random page, I began to clear my throat.

I scanned the classroom to make sure she and I were the only people around before I began reading.

I believe that there are things words can’t describe.

It’s not enough to fully soak and rinse out on paper.

Eyes hold a language.

A language I›m not yet fluent in,

As I look into your golden crystalized pools

An invisible thread seems to draw me in But tell me

When is it considered too much?

She’s the type to overwater her plants because she is unaware of when to stop giving.

Would you make sure she had enough sunlight in the morning?

Or would it be too much?

I looked up at her, and she gave me a delicate smile and said, “I believe in you, Esme.”

Now it is 5 am and I’m in the passenger seat of Ms. Rokicki’s car. We were going 45 down the highway but my heart was going 100 beats per second. It felt like the car was closing in on us and I had limited time left to breathe. I had my hands crossed on my lap and tried to reground myself during our 2-hour ride there. Before I knew it, I was in a room filled with older women and men in black and white suits, and kids who are sweating profusely and reciting their poems repeatedly in line. It was time for my name to be called, and I looked over for Ms. Rokicki. She just held my hand so tight she squeezed away all my worries.

“Next up, Esmeralda Rivera from Provincetown.” I walked up on stage and tried not to make direct eye contact with any audience other than the judges. The words graciously began pouring out and before I knew it, I was looking back at everyone as they were applauding. I went back offstage and gave Ms. Rokicki the tightest hug, not leaving any room for new oxygen. But that was not the end. We still needed to wait for all the kids to recite their poems and then hear the final winners. There were several kids, who recited their poems so confidently and their words touched the audience more delicately than mine. I felt blown away by their poems and I knew there was no way I could measure up to theirs.

“It’s time for announcing this year’s Massachusetts State Poem Winners”

They announced the first place and my heart immediately dropped when my name wasn’t called.

I grabbed Ms. Rokicki’s arm and said “Let’s start heading back home before it gets too late”

“Our Second Place Winner, Esmeralda Rivera,” projects from the speakers.

I froze. My soul left my body in that instant and I did not believe what I had just heard. I thought I was becoming delusional. But I was not dreaming, so I got my certificate and looked back into the audience and gave the biggest smile to Ms.Rockiki.

We drove back home and that was the drive to the beginning of my journey. Looking back, I cannot find the words to express my gratitude for her. She believed in me when I had no ounce of self-belief in myself. Ever since then I have never put down my pen and paper. She gave me the realization that writing is what makes me, me. I no longer am ashamed, but I embrace the things I write. And even though most of my writing is kept private, I am sure that one day, I will have another audience to read it to.

Esmeralda Rivera is a Sociology Major. She is from Provincetown, MA and they love stargazing.