My first reading...redux

We walked to the third floor of the Bucktown Center for the Arts. It's snowing heavily outside, flakes sound proofing the streets below us. All we see on the sidewalk are our own footsteps that took us to the locked front door and the locked side door. In the back, we were met by an old poet who immediately knew I was me.

On the top floor looking down, we're alone in the loft-like room filled with empty couches, tables and chairs. It's nearly seven o'clock and the reader's there, but not the listeners. We joke about how no one will show because of the bad weather. I joke that my friends are never on time for anything.

And it becomes time to begin. There's about ten of us there. Most of us are writers.

Ryan begins, reading a selection of his own poetry. Then the old man from the door, seeking input on a poem he wrote years ago and is thinking about switching around stanzas. Then another guy wearing a plaid scarf like an ascot. He reads one poem about how the world will end if Ron Paul is elected president.

Then Ryan introduces me, the featured reader. I've decided to read the homecoming chapter from "A Constant Suicide." Erica later tells me it was probably the wrong choice considering the audience. I was thinking that as soon as I started reading it.

Leslie smiles as me when I look up to read. Her daughter, Catherine, is following along with her own copy, even though I told her she wasn't allowed. Tony watches from the corner of the room. Erica sits up front.

It's the first time I'm reading the book since it was published. I'm having fun reading it, but realizing there were better chapters I could read from.

Then, it's onto the second chapter from the second book. The one that doesn't have the title yet. As I read, I realize it's a long selection. I'm spitting as I talk, frothy white gobs landing on the printed pages. I need water.

When I'm done, there's applause. The first reaction comes from the old poet. "Maybe someday you'll learn to slow down," he says.

A woman in the back says, "You're a very talented writer." I almost blush.

In this room filled with either good friends or complete strangers, I've immediately cured all fears of reading my own work aloud in public.

Now it's time to book the next one.