My most anticipated…and dreaded book reading is coming up. It’s in the town I was born and raised in. It’s one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone and can trace them back to kindergarten. If your childhood was a cumulative litany of athletic or scholarly accomplishments, I suppose that would be a good thing. Mine was not.

To be blunt, I grew up in the wrong part of town with the wrong name. I loved my friends, a few of whom I’m still very close to, but even they will admit that none of us were “popular” or “cool.” As a child and young adult, I was awkward and weird; neither trait being appreciated by my peers. As a grown woman who’s gained at least a little perspective, I can see how I was able to foster an active imagination in that environment, but at the time I was often lonely and depressed. And, even though I much prefer small town living to the burbs, I have no desire to move back to my home town.

I went to one class reunion, the first one. I crashed it after the dinner. I only went because I was told one of the mean girls who used to torment me in school was fat. Soon after arrival, I got very drunk on Alabama slammers (if you’ve ever had them, you know it doesn’t take more than a couple), announced I was no longer a virgin, danced with a guy that I had a crush on in high school but never told, and tracked mud through my parent’s house at 3 in the morning. The reunion committee still calls my mother every five years, looking for me. This last time, I told her I’d rather get a colonoscopy because it would be less painful and a better use of my time.

So now, I have this reading coming up. Part of my brain will always be that forlorn teenage girl who’s terrified of being noticed. The reality, of course, is this will probably not differ much from my other readings. I really don’t expect more than maybe a dozen people. They will most likely be my family and friends who already accept my lunacy, even embrace it on occasion.

I used to practically live in the library as a kid. The old librarian is still there. My mom told her I would be doing the book reading. She doesn’t remember me. They also spelled my name wrong in the local paper, twice. So much for my infamy.

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