Glossophobia by Patricia Jane Donato (16, United States)

        The dictionary definition of glossophobia says it’s a fear of public speaking. Any website might tell you that the symptoms are rapid heartbeat, trembling, sweating, nausea, shortness of breath, dizziness, and the urge to get away.
        I lay on my bed, waiting for the textbook symptoms to set in. My stomach’s already in a knot, and I can’t help thinking about what would happen if I simply didn’t walk up to the lectern. Everyone would stare, that’s for sure. In a way, I understand. When someone important in your life dies, people expect you to say something about it.

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        My bedroom door creaks open, and Tobi grins in at me as I lay fully clothed in my black halter dress, white choker, and open-toe heels.
        “You know,” he says. “That’s kind of inappropriate to wear to a funeral.”
        “That’s why I put it on,” I say.
        Tobi leans against the doorframe and looks around my room. “Maybe you should get up,” he suggests softly.
        I scowl at myself in the mirror. Even with the lipstick and the mascara, I look as messed up as I feel. “Everyone’s expecting me to talk about him,” I say. “I know I’ll fail. I’ll throw up on my notes, and I’ll look like an idiot.”
        Tobi tries not to smile, but he can’t quite. “Have you eaten yet?”
        “For that reason – no.”
        Tobi doesn’t reply. He simply walks down the hall, his footsteps softly creaking against the hardwood.
        Despite myself, I get up to follow.
 
        I eat half my bowl of cornflakes. Tobi eats with me, downing two bowls of cereal, toast, and several cups of juice. I watch him quietly, holding my heavy head up with a fist.
        “You’re gonna have to use the restroom halfway through my eulogy,” I say.
        “I’m not staying, remember?” he says.
        My spoon falls into my bowl. “What?” I choke.
        Tobi accidentally knocks over the juice carton. “I thought you knew, umm… I have to leave.”
        I watch soggy cornflakes float in the milk. “Just when I thought I could endure reciting my eulogy.”
        Tobi awkwardly scratches behind his ear. “I know, I just… can’t make it.” He mops up the juice before saying, “It won’t be that bad, though.” He glances at me, grinning, “For the record, I think he’s going die again in Heaven from laughing when you throw up on your notes.”
        I throw the cereal box at him, but it hits my cat instead.
 
        The church is down the road, so I follow the sidewalk. My family left earlier, dressed in everything black and drab. My own black outfit stands out against the July day – the rows of lilies and dahlias, the bright blue sky. 
        I finger the house keys, my palms covered in a sheen of cold sweat.
        “You know, if you were there,” I say to Tobi “I could look out over all the faces and stare at you instead of everyone else.”
        The smile I know so well returns – the one that wrinkles his nose and brow. “Something tells me you’ll be staring at me anyway.”
        I give him a sideways glance.
        The church crawls closer along the sidewalk until I stop and look up at its front entrance. The mammoth front doors stare down at me like two great doorkeepers.
        Tobi brushes against my arm. “You’ll be great.”
        I scowl.
        “Hey, you told me yesterday this was about saying goodbye to him. Putting everything to rest. You need that – it’s for you.”
        We stand in silence for a long time, the occasional whir of a car behind us blowing our hair and my skirt. Before I know quite what I’m doing, I lunge at Tobi’s face, and my lips find his cheek. When I pull away, there isn’t much of the usual twinkle in his eyes.
        He taps my nose with the eulogy and gives me a rather sorry looking grin. “You ready?”
        “I guess,” I say.
        I strut up the steps with confidence until I reach for the handles. I look around and see Tobi standing at the base of the steps.
        “I’m still convinced he’s the best friend I’ve ever had or ever will,” I blurt out.
        Tobi’s nose wrinkles as he smiles. “He’d be honored – but you have to move on.”
        I say goodbye and walk through the doors.
        All the bustle and the teary eyes are a blur to me. I don’t process a single word anyone says. The papers are twisted in my sweaty hands and the symptoms set in. Rapid heartbeat. Trembling. Sweating. Nausea. Shortness of breath. Dizziness. The urge to get away. But I don’t go anywhere. I may tremble, sweat, and even stumble on my way to the stage, but I lay out my speech and look up.
        From across the room, Tobi stares at me from a picture surrounded by white carnations. His smile, the one that screwed up his face, makes tears spring into my eyes, but I find my voice to say:
        “Tobi was the best friend I’ve ever had or ever will.”
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