First time for everything

Blinded by artificial lights, I was thrust forward into a sea of faces. Each face looked upon mine with anticipation and I froze for a moment, feeling the intense gaze of the masses. I took a breath and it cascaded down the microphone and echoed around the room, bouncing from wall to wall in the eerie silence. I was a preacher and this dilapidated community centre was my chapel.

Suddenly, with only a casual nod from me, the bass drum kicked in and the magic began. The atmosphere changed. Youths began flailing to the rhythm which screeched from the vintage Gretch instructing their feet. It was my moment; I opened my mouth and sang the lyrics which I had penned for hours previous to this. Lyrics which spoke of teenage heartbreak, problems with the government, of which I had no control as at the tender age of fifteen I was not within my voting rights, and the narcotics which I had never taken and probably never would. My insides buzzed with the feedback from the crowd. Although anyone past the first couple of rows remained a blur, I could tell from the sway that we had done something right. As one song blurred into another my mind was on auto pilot so that I could best soak up the atmosphere, just in case this moment was to be the only one of its kind.

Although my interior felt perfectly at home up there on that stage, my exterior translated a very different view. Holding the microphone stand as if using it as a barrier between me and those who watched on expectantly, I clung on for dear life in the fear that I may drift away on the dream which was unravelling as I stood. The rush of adrenalin can be experienced or recreated at no other time than when one is performing in front of a captive audience. This feeling again would send shivers down my spine and play havoc with my stomach but somehow in a lesser form than the very first time. First experiences are ones which shall never be forgotten for this very reason.