brown eyed beauty - benicio bryant

Prologue + Part 1

Prologue
I often think about things like the butterfly affect. If I wasn't here at this time, or saying that thing then, what would change? Would my life still be the same? Every one minor thing impacts the next, and it could change your life forever. That's how I found myself here in this dream. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, it isn't as straightforward as it seems.

Part 1
When somebody asks you to tell them about yourself, you usually have a go to answer. Maybe you list your name and an accomplishment of yours, or where you're from. Maybe if you're on the more spontaneous side of things you'll say your favorite singer or your zodiac sign. I, however, don't ever know how to respond. I choke up and can barely remember my own name. If you asked me to stand in front of a group larger than 3 and talk, I'd tell you over my dead body. Some may say I'm introverted but I just say small talk isn't worth my time. The real way to get to know someone isn't by looking at their social media or by announcing some redundant facts in front of the class. I personally think someones playlist says everything you need to know about them. I've always been drawn to music. Whether it be tapping a pencil on a desk losing myself in the beat, or listening to the sounds of the musicians in the subway from my city. I envy those brave enough to get up and perform, I just don't see myself doing it. My music isn't exactly what you'd call a dime in a dozen, it's moreover it's own sound with it's own meaning. Nobody has ever heard it, however. I swore to myself after watching a girl I knew get torn apart online for publishing her music that I'd never subject myself to that kind of humiliation. Even at that point, I don't think it's good enough to even make an effort. You'd think being surrounded by all the bustling of the city and the blinding lights that I would be more comfortable with people, but things aren't always as simple as they seem. All the commotion and competition of musicians here in New York is frightening to say the least. Evil theatre moms and fighting girls doing an excessive amount of complicated turns and jumps to throw each other off. The fight to see who can make it to the cast list or get shown on TV for some advertisement nobody will remember in a couple years. But it doesn't matter to them, because their title is all that matters. They want the shimmer and glitz and glam. They want the sparkle of publicity and fame, but don't want to take the darker side with it. Looking at someones instagram page doesn't show half as much about them as showing them an opportunity that they'd have to step on others for, and here that's basically all you see. I'd be chewed up and spit out if I ever even attempted to make a name for myself. Don't get me wrong, I love the city. I love the lights and the sounds and the commotion, but unfortunately you get none of that without the people. That brings us here to my first period class in the first year of high school. A brand new start, except with the same people I've known since Pre-K. My teacher wanted to do 'icebreakers' even though I could probably tell you everyone in this rooms life story as is. But even though I've been with these people for so long, I still fear them and their opinions. I was called on 15 seconds ago. 16, 17, 18. I can't count down hearing the clock ticking and feeling the glares and stares on my back as I walked to the front of the class. I turned back to speak and looked back out to look at everyone. I felt their eyes on me, some students had their heads down presumably sleeping (as it's completely outrageous they expect us students to be awake at this absurd time), some completely unaware lost in their own thoughts. I'm almost positive i saw the glare of someones phone coming out from under a desk, and maybe it was just me or I could hear the thoughts of them judging me. Silently berating me with their opinions, but maybe it's all in my head. As for the rest of the 20 something odd other students, their eyes were beating down on me as they waited not so patiently for a response so we could move on. If I could have made time move any faster I would have, but in this moment I couldn't. Everything slowed down around me, breathing seemed impossible. I couldn't think or speak coherently, and words seemed unreachable. 21, 22, 23. No other student took this long to answer, so what's my issue? Why can't I just say 'Hi' or maybe even 'Hey' or just 'I'm Charlotte and I'm from Queens." I say nothing. 24, 25, 26.
"Charlotte, tell us your 2 facts and sit down."
I look back over at my teacher and nod hesitantly. I try so hard to speak but my throat runs completely dry, I feel like I'm being suffocated.
27, 28, 29.
She motions her hand toward the class as if presenting their attention to me. I've lost the interest of a portion of the students, they've become distracted with other things.
30. 30 seconds I've spent standing here. They probably think I'm crazy, or maybe mute. As far as they know I could be, public speaking has never been my thing.
The wind feels like it's been punched out of my lungs, as if someone punched me. Oh god I wish someone would just punch me and get me out of this class. I'm shaken out of my thoughts by my teacher again interrupting my meltdown.
"Charlotte, you can begin. You have the floor."
"I'm Charcoal and I go to school here." I say, I can feel tears forming in my eyes as I stand in the front of the room, completely humiliated. Did I really just mess up my own name?