A few moments in time
In a dimly lit, highly polished, cramped English pub, a crowd of strangers gather, perched on barstools, cozy on leather couches, standing shoulder to shoulder as the faint background music is turned off, each anticipating what this evening might be. The crowd, by means of applause, wills the brave reader making his way to the mic to entertain them, to say something of depth and substance, to make them laugh, or feel something, in the three minutes allotted.
As the stories unfold, the audience leans in to hear the low-talkers; sighs at the poignant retelling of an elderly woman with dementia who no longer recognizes her son; groans when the story of the girl is cut short by the timer, longing for closure on this engrossing tale. “But how does it end?!” they silently cry.
Tales unfold of mishaps on journeys in far flung places like Shanghai and India, of both new and well-worn relationships between a girl at a bar and a bass player in a band, between a robot and God, between a long-married couple making their usual weekend rounds at estate sales. Rich portrayals of a moment in time: a protagonist shooting a man in the chest with a gun, a little girl describing the meal at which her mother finally gives up trying to win her grandmother’s approval, a night when a couple joined a crowd awaiting the emergence of thousands of bats from under a bridge.
Internal dialogue, first and third person narrative, emotions conveyed using rare and interesting adjectives. Vivid descriptions of settings that expand to fill the imagination, characters with voices and mannerisms that quickly become familiar, a storyline that builds towards climax: read by the author with increasing volume and speed until the intensity mercifully ends with a shout.
The crowd hangs on every word, mentally grabbing hold of the ones that resonate, that bring emotion to the surface, that challenge their thinking, that induce a surprise burst of laughter.
Unavoidably, the emcee dutifully returns to the front to disappoint with the words “That’s all we have for tonight.”
Just then, a woman behind her, silent until now, timidly suggests that the man who was cut short in telling the story about the girl be allowed to return to the mic to finish. The entire room assents in the form of applause and murmurings of “Yes, good idea. We’ve got time!”
When it’s actually, truly over, there’s a reluctance to leave. Former strangers, who’ve now spent an intimate evening together, glance at each other, silently inquiring “Well, what do we do now?!”
Likely, several walk away as we did, inspired by a satisfying, entertaining evening and vowing not only to return next month, but also to challenge their inner storyteller to get words on paper and be one of the brave few who takes the mic and shares a three-minute story. Perhaps like this one?
Dimestories, open mic 3-minute stories read by the author, are held at The Forge Publick House in Fort Collins every second Wednesday.
