Pencils & Polaroids

38: bae-watch

I don't feel the layer of the bikini suit fabric on my body. I'm wearing it. I can see it in my reflection. I just can't feel the swimsuit. 

Staring at myself for over ten minutes now hasn't helped the existential crisis I'm undergoing inside my head. Every pair of eyes will turn my way once I head out and that thought alone is enough to make me hyperventilate. All that I-own-the-world confidence has been stripped down just like the rest of my clothes. 

Is it okay to be this conscious and anxious about something? I've never felt more out of space like this. I'm always so used to confidence and clarity, I don't know how to handle the blurs. 

This was a team activity. It was bad enough that Sam couldn't give me her undivided time despite her very encouraging words that I could do this on my own. I packed up the motivation inside a washroom cubicle and stayed there until I heard every last footstep recede. Thankfully, there was one last robe left so I wrapped it around my near-to-naked body but I had a situation. The locker room was empty now but all the lockers were locked and full. I still had my bag on me. 

Peeping outside the door I remained locked inside, I noticed Dorian Kent rush out of the boys' locker room with his Hogwarts cape flying behind him. Once I'm sure there are no more mythical characters waltzing this corner of the set, I step foot outside. 

"Should I be worried about whatever you're up to?" I jump in my spot at the sudden sound of the authoritative voice. Collin Hunt scrutinizes me with crossed arms and narrow eyes. "Timer buzzed four minutes ago, what the hell are you still doing here?" 

My lips mechanically fold and I play the first excuse that comes to mind and hold out my bag. "I was wondering if there were extra lockers over there," I point to the boys' room. "We've run out of space here." 

Collin, still in disbelief, grabs my bag from my hands. "Anything else?" 

Think, Park. Think of something that could prolong you from going to the set. "Oh, yes." I unzip my bag and pull out my Polaroid camera. "Do you mind just clicking a picture of the shoot when you're on rounds? I'd be very grateful." 

He takes the camera and cocks his eyebrow, waiting for me to dump an impromptu to-do list on him because I'm running out of excuses that could keep me held up here. When I'm blank in the head, I gulp and give my Skipper a pursed smile and a light shrug. He doesn't respond. So I take it as my cue and cut from the scene, towards my demise. 

"Park?" He stops me. (a) I am shocked because he called my first name. He never does that. To anyone. (b) I am thankful that he bought me a little more time to get mentally prepared. "It is normal to feel nervous. You're stepping out of your comfort zone. It's a good thing. So stay calm and trust the process."

"Okay," is all I manage to say before scurrying out of that conversation. 

He probably doesn't know I dislike being counseled or consoled when I'm in crisis. It was good mentoring but I strongly avert from such comforting. Primarily because it tends to heighten the symptoms I'm experiencing. For example, until Hunt told me to "Stay calm" I was moderately calm. Post that five-phrased insight, I am officially freaking out. 

If he said that so confidently, it must be because I seemed like I was freaking out. Is it that obvious? Is today going to be the end of my legacy? I don't want to be known as the girl who gave up the fight because she had to pose in a bikini. Maybe I should take Gayle Forman's advice and fake it until I can make it. 

I deeply wish I wasn't this sober right now. 

Maybe I could ask Archer if he has some smuggled-up alcohol somewhere on this campus. It's not like I haven't seen the bar on the other side of the restaurant. I just don't have access to it.