My heart began to race as I stepped up in front of the microphone. I was oblivious to any disturbances that sung out in the crowded hall. To me, it was eerily quiet.
"V-A-C-U-U-M." As each letter was carefully enunciated in order to avoid confusion, I half winced out of sheer anticipation. My ears were ready to hear the horrendous ring of the silver bell on the table. It had conquered many a souls, and I would neither be the first nor the last person from whom it would deprive of hope and happiness for one dreadful day.
Yet it did not ring.
I could literally see the smile on the teacher's face breaking out, the hands of each parent watching move closer to each other, the thumbs of my fellow students rising up to give a sign of approval.
Then I thought, for a mere second, that maybe I had won.
I quickly brushed away the thought. How could it be possible? It seemed like yesterday when my mother had been scolding me for not spelling the most simple of words properly. No, the thought was nothing but a hope that would flutter away just a second from now, when the bell would perform its duty and suck away my enthusiasm.
I closed my eyes, and waited.
Everything sped up again. When I opened them again, each parent was on their feet, their hands making a thunderous noise that I had only heard in those videos of competition winners. i smiled sheepishly, not even noticing when the announcer ran up to me, lifted my limp hand, and boomed into his mic, "We have a winner: SRIKAR BAIREDDY!!!"
My mind refused to accept the fact. Just a hallucination, it reminded me, Just a hallucination. yet in my heart, I knew the truth:
I had won.
Those three months of bowing down to ominous lists of seemingly incomprehensible vocabulary. Those three months of what had been hateful work, but now was work of immense value. Those three months of irritation, happiness, and bore.
It had been hateful work in my young eyes, before. But now, in the midst of all this happiness, it seemed like the first divine step to the conquering of the fearsome monster of spelling. And I was only in second grade.
A golden trophy with a marble base was lightly kept into my hands, and I woke up from the land that I was dwelling in for a moment. It then hit me that only about fifteen seconds had passed since I spelled the word, and I was probably making a fool of myself right now. I shook my head, gripped the golden bee in the center, and lifted it high above my head, bathing in the pleasure of accomplishment. Then, slowly, I lowered it down and walked towards the stairs at the edge of the podium.
As soon as my feet touched the carpeted floor, a group of my classmates arrived, offering handshakes and exclaiming out compliments and congratulations.
For a year after the event, I was recognized as "the kid who won the spelling bee." And even after I moved in to India, this golden-bee trophy stands proudly atop my bookcase.
Though the years may fly by, the thoughts and memories of that one minute I spent atop the podium remain in my mind, carved in forever.
"V-A-C-U-U-M." As each letter was carefully enunciated in order to avoid confusion, I half winced out of sheer anticipation. My ears were ready to hear the horrendous ring of the silver bell on the table. It had conquered many a souls, and I would neither be the first nor the last person from whom it would deprive of hope and happiness for one dreadful day.
Yet it did not ring.
I could literally see the smile on the teacher's face breaking out, the hands of each parent watching move closer to each other, the thumbs of my fellow students rising up to give a sign of approval.
Then I thought, for a mere second, that maybe I had won.
I quickly brushed away the thought. How could it be possible? It seemed like yesterday when my mother had been scolding me for not spelling the most simple of words properly. No, the thought was nothing but a hope that would flutter away just a second from now, when the bell would perform its duty and suck away my enthusiasm.
I closed my eyes, and waited.
Everything sped up again. When I opened them again, each parent was on their feet, their hands making a thunderous noise that I had only heard in those videos of competition winners. i smiled sheepishly, not even noticing when the announcer ran up to me, lifted my limp hand, and boomed into his mic, "We have a winner: SRIKAR BAIREDDY!!!"
My mind refused to accept the fact. Just a hallucination, it reminded me, Just a hallucination. yet in my heart, I knew the truth:
I had won.
Those three months of bowing down to ominous lists of seemingly incomprehensible vocabulary. Those three months of what had been hateful work, but now was work of immense value. Those three months of irritation, happiness, and bore.
It had been hateful work in my young eyes, before. But now, in the midst of all this happiness, it seemed like the first divine step to the conquering of the fearsome monster of spelling. And I was only in second grade.
A golden trophy with a marble base was lightly kept into my hands, and I woke up from the land that I was dwelling in for a moment. It then hit me that only about fifteen seconds had passed since I spelled the word, and I was probably making a fool of myself right now. I shook my head, gripped the golden bee in the center, and lifted it high above my head, bathing in the pleasure of accomplishment. Then, slowly, I lowered it down and walked towards the stairs at the edge of the podium.
As soon as my feet touched the carpeted floor, a group of my classmates arrived, offering handshakes and exclaiming out compliments and congratulations.
For a year after the event, I was recognized as "the kid who won the spelling bee." And even after I moved in to India, this golden-bee trophy stands proudly atop my bookcase.
Though the years may fly by, the thoughts and memories of that one minute I spent atop the podium remain in my mind, carved in forever.
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