The Reading of Love
Sara, Age 13, PA

A sigh of relief washed over me as I stepped onto the steps of the baptismal stage.

“It's time to take a picture, Matt, Sara, Rachel get together we are taking a picture,” said my Mom as we awkwardly scooted in to each other. “Don’t be shy, nobody bites; look like you love each other,” she explained when the pandemonium in the background grew louder. So we all squished into each other like a big malleable ball, me in the middle being the youngest. I never understood why the youngest always had to be in the middle. Maybe because they were always the shortest? It was my grandma and grandpa's 50th anniversary and I had to read for them.

We got downstairs. There was a musty blow of air, and it almost knocked my nose off. As I walked into the crowded room, I searched for a table. Once I found one, I started to walk over when my godfather, a tall, chubby man with little hair that was blonde, cut in front of me,

“Sara, you did a great job with the reading. I couldn’t pronounce any of those words to save my life.”

I replied with a great big, “Thanks.” I walked over to the table filled with glorious food set on the table just right. My mouth started to water. While I was taking food, many of my family members and family friends came up to me and gave me compliments on my reading. Of course I had to be respectful—it is my family—so I said “Thank you” to all of them.

I sat down at my table and started to eat—the savoury taste of the creamy sauce caressing my taste buds made my ears ring with pleasure. I thought back to earlier that day when happiness ran away from me.

“Okay, it is your turn Sara,” my mom exclaimed anxiously.

“Can you do it for me?” I asked, stomach churning, and of course she replied with a big fat juicy “No.” I don’t know why I was scared; it was just some silly reading about the perks of marriage. It was made way back to 6 A.D., when everything was going right. I had to read it because my grandma and grandpa were having their 50th anniversary today. I walked up the long narrow aisle, my knees about to give out. When I got up the stairs and bowed at the altar, I walked up to the stand with the book and the reading. At first my mouth tasted like mucus. My pace was good, but my voice was quivering. Then I got more comfortable. The reading was long and difficult.

To this day I do not know how I kept reading that piece. All I remember is that I did it. Now I was getting compliments. I sat at my table eating my lunch. Reading something difficult can be really scary, but it has a good reward.

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