First Time
By Jenny Jordan, San Fernando Branch
I’m late. Again! I hate myself for being late, especially since it’s my first time here. I have to make a good impression, because this is really important to me.
Not so important to show up on time. Just turn around and go home, I tell myself. Never mind that. Get in there and check it out. You don’t have to stay. You don’t even have to talk to anyone.
I’m nervous as hell, and I probably don’t belong here anyway. Part of me has always wanted to expand my skill, and I’ve run out of excuses. So here I am, despite myself.
There’s no one at the check-in desk, but I see a small stack of blank “Hello My Name Is” stickers and a couple of markers. I choose green, scribble my name and stick it on my shirt. I look down. It’s crooked. “Really?” I ask myself. I’m batting a thousand today. No time to write a new one. I take a deep breath and walk through the still-open doors, to a room full of folks at three rows of long tables. Some are chatting, some are checking their phones, waiting for the meeting to start. Whew, I just made it. Maybe no one will notice me.
I scan the room, looking for a place to sit. My arms are wrapped around myself, shoulders concave. This is my invisible pose. It doesn’t work. A woman catches my eye from across the room and walks over.
“HI! Is this your first time here?”
Wow, she’s loud. But her blue eyes twinkle and her smile is sincere. I nod.
“Here, have a seat here. We’re just about to start. There’s a great speaker today, one of our longtime members.” She bustles away, back to her side of the room.
No one looks up as I sit at the end of the table.
What am I doing here? I’m a fraud. Look at everyone! They look so… in place. At home. Experienced. God, I hate first days. Reminds me of high school.
I shudder, and exhale.
The meeting starts. The president makes some announcements, and our speaker is introduced. Her resume is impressive. She’s written more than a few books. She is a lovely speaker, engaging with a touch of humor. She is encouraging and thoughtful.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe. My nervousness is set aside as I bask in her warmth and knowledge, as if in front of a fire on a cold afternoon.
There’s a handout, and we’re asked to write for a few minutes.
Okay, I can do this.” I knew it was coming – it was on the flyer when I first signed up. The knot in my stomach starts to uncurl as I think about what to write. No one has noticed that I don’t belong here. Not yet, anyway.
After the few minutes of writing is up, the speaker asks us to share with our table.
What?! No no no no no… mine is dumb. Private. Stupid. Breathe, just breathe. Okay… here goes nothin’.
I slide my paper to my neighbor. He’s an older man. He smiles. His eyes scan my paper as he reads.
“I like your story,” he looks at me. “It’s better than what I have. Prompts are not so easy for me.” He has an accent. I love accents. I’m curious where he’s from.
Wait, what? He likes my story?
“You do?” I’m stunned. Thrilled! Really? My hope opens, just a crack. Maybe there will be a place for me here.
“Wow, thanks,” I say.
He notices my surprise, I think, and introduces himself. “Hi….” he pauses, peering at my sticker. “… Jenny. Is this your first time at a CWC meeting? Welcome. I’m Ilan.”
This piece originally appeared in the
Valley Scribe, February 2020,
newsletter of the San Fernando Branch.