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  • Writer's pictureTobin

My Perfect Sunday

Updated: Jun 21, 2019

I awoke early one Sunday morning, and encouraged myself to rise with the sun. I had not been sleeping well for days; I had a public performance to execute in front of a very large audience, and the anxiety was starting to tell on me. I saw the brilliant rays of sun pouring in from the window, and I decided to stop worrying for the moment.

“Whatever happens, it does not affect the present time. Why had I been so preoccupied with the outcome? Trepidation can do absolutely nothing but bring negativity.” I was pondering, and my heart felt lighter.

I met with my fellow performers, but decided to think of them as merry old friends instead of co-workers. We walked together, and for the first time in my life, I felt at peace! The events of the evening could not spoil this moment. I felt the crispy crunching of glorious gravel under my feet and thought it delightful. Every day before this, I walked, and I never once took note of the song my steps sang.

We made our way along the old, familiar, placid roads of my childhood, and I was nearly

skipping with a brazen joie-de-vivre. I had lived in this town my whole life, and oddly enough, I had never until that very moment noticed how the ever-present scents of the salty sea air danced with the fresh fumes flooding from the local bakery.

“Isn't it magical?” I asked my companions. They looked at me a little sideways and snickered.

I knew what they were thinking. How could I be so cheerful with the stress of a live

performance so nigh? I did not care. I would perform tonight, and whether it was a hit or a flop, it had absolutely no impact on this moment. I chased away the rising tide of nerves by paying specific attention to the warm rays of the sun gently enveloping me, pleasantly massaging my skin with warm invisible fingers. What a wonderful day!

The sight of the stage tried to stir my emotions, but I walked on defiantly. I braced myself

against those all-too-familiar feelings of dread, and instead lost myself in the chorus of happily chanting birds. The relentless rhythm of the near-by waves kept them all in sync, and the soft murmur of a growing crowd spilled forth in delicious harmony. Everything was as it should be.

We took the steps slowly up to the stage. I addressed the crowd like my old friends, and they were shocked to the core. I felt their admiration. “How could this spectacle notice me?” “What a quirky fellow.”

In truth, I did not care what they thought of me. Their opinions were only relevant in their own small worlds, and their opinions had no bearing in my mind. I was ready to perform. I looked at my supporting cast and smiled. I knew they would nail their parts, and I knew the audience would hang on my every move, in either delight or disgust.

“Here we go” I thought. A short drop and a sudden stop; the executioners called for silence, threw the lever, and took a bow as I swung beneath the gallows. Fade to black to the soundtrack of a cheering crowd.

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