Slammed

against it in a repetitive motion, resonating the sound of a heartbeat. I realize I'm holding my own breath as she begins her piece.
     
     
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Do you hear that?
     
    (Her voice lingering on the word hear)
     
    That's the sound of my heart beating…
     
    (She taps the microphone again)
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.
     
    (She begins to speak faster, much louder than before.)
     
    It was the first day of October. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s ? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves ? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean .
     
    You promised to love me forever that night...
     
    and boy
     
    did you
     
    ever!
     
     
     
    It was the first day of December this time. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s ? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves ? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean .
     
    I told you I was three weeks late .
     
    You said it was fate.
     
    You promised to love me forever that night…
     
    and boy
     
    did you
     
    ever !
     
    It was the first day of May. I was wearing my blue sweater, although this time the double stitched hem was worn and the strength of each thread tested as they were pulled tight against my growing belly. You know the one. The same one I bought at Dillard’s ? The one with holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves ? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean .
     
    The SAME sweater you RIPPED off of my body as you shoved me to the floor,
     
    calling me a whore ,
     
    telling me
     
    you didn't love me
     
    anymore.
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating.
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Bom Bom...
     
    Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.
     
    (There is a long silence as she clasps her hands to her stomach, tears streaming down her face)
     
    Do you hear that? Of course you don't. That's the silence of my womb.
     
    Because you
     
    RIPPED
     
    OFF
     
    MY
     
    SWEATER!
     
     
     
    The lights come back up and the audience roars. I take a deep breath and wipe tears from my eyes. I am mesmerized by her ability to hypnotize an entire audience with such powerfully portrayed words. Just words . I'm immediately addicted and want to hear more. I'm still immobile when Will puts his arm around my shoulders and leans back into the seat with me, bringing me back to reality.
     
    "Well?" he asks.
     
    I accept his embrace and move my head to his shoulder as we both stare out over the crowd. He rests his chin on the top of my head.
     
    "That was unbelievable," I whisper. His hand touches the side of my head, leaning me slightly forward as his lips brush my forehead. I close my eyes and wonder how much more my emotions can be tested. Three days ago, I was devastated, bitter, hopeless. Today I woke up feeling happy for the first time in months. I feel vulnerable. I try to mask my emotions but I feel like everyone knows what I'm thinking and feeling and I don't like it. I don't like being an open book. I feel like I'm up on the stage, pouring my heart out to him, and it scares the hell out of me.
     
    We sit there in the same embrace as several more people perform their pieces. The poetry is as vast and electrifying as the audience. I have never laughed and cried so much. The way these poets were able to lure you into a whole new world, viewing things from a vantage point you have never seen before. Making you feel like you are the mother who lost her baby, or the boy who killed his father, or even the man who got high for the first time and ate five plates of bacon. I feel a connection with these poets and their stories. More so, I feel a deeper connection to Will. I can't imagine that he's brave enough to get up on the stage and bare his soul like these people are doing. I have to see it. I have to see him do