Curfew Shall Not Ring
My heels clicked across the hardwood floors as I stepped through the opening in the tall curtains. The glare of stage lights caused my eyes to narrow for a moment. “Keep calm, appear natural, and breathe, Denise, breathe.” My nervous energy surged inside as I stepped to my mark. The first five rows were all my eyes could see of the audience so I fixed my gaze above their heads into the blank darkness. Commencement contest finals meant this was the largest audience for whom I’d ever performed, and though I knew my poem, I didn’t want my anxiety to keep the words from flowing. For a few moments, I focused on becoming this desperate woman risking her life to save her lover from execution should the town’s curfew bell ring at dark. I held the auditorium in my hand as they waited to hear the heroin’s fate. With resolve, the last refrain rang out with relief, “Curfew did not ring that night.” I bowed my head slightly as the applause sounded.
As I exited the stage, the director of the speech department , Miss Monk, approached me. “Denise, do you have a minute?”
I braced myself for what she might say and managed to be polite. “Sure.”
In the dim light, I could see her perfect dark hair and as she spoke I heard her clear diction, “Making it to #2 in the commencement contest in poetry your first year here is quite an accomplishment. And after hearing you tonight, there is no question, you have talent.”
“Well, thanks so much” was all I could muster without looking shocked.
She continued: “Would you consider joining us full time in the speech department? I see that you are dabbling in a few of our courses, but as a speech major you’d have more time dedicated to honing your skills and a supportive community to back you up. I am asking you to think about it.”
“Wow. I promise I will.” My heart skipped a beat and I managed to get out a slight smile.
Miss Monk was looking at a blonde, blue-eyed fresh face coming off her stage, beaming with confidence. She witnessed my ability to hold an audience. But the “me” on the stage that evening was a facade, a false front with just enough drive to put myself out there. What she couldn’t know was inside was a young woman literally beaten down by her stepfather while her mother stood by to watch. This strong persona who defied the fear of failure hid my wounded heart that couldn't handle competition or evaluation from her professors and peers. I knew I would crumble under the weight of it.
Now, a woman seasoned with years, I can admit life has been kind to me. Personally, I have three thriving adult children and a husband who loves me. Professionally, I’ve earned multiple graduate degrees, published a memoir, and have a thriving counseling practice, yet at the core little has changed. I lead with a bit of a limp, asking God to give me grace to get through the next day, the next client, the next blog or social media post. The one thing I am confident about is my purpose remains ahead of me, and my sufficiency is not in my own strength. Like the poem recited so many years ago, I sit with others looking for answers and try to comfort them with the same resolve from that evening many years ago.
"Curfew shall not ring tonight.”