I week ago, I was honored to be one of two featured artists at Barracuda Guarisco’s weekly open mic, Chat Room. Held at the long and narrow Everett bar Black Lab Gallery, the place was mobbed. It was also bar-appropriately dark, so the below photos don’t do the scene justice. See that line of people, standing at the back? That was seven or eight people deep, with overflow crowd in the hall that you can't see.
I arrived about 15 minutes before the first open mic segment and was instantly worried: there was chatter; martinis were shaken and blenders a-blended. However, after the half-hour open mic (with some really good poetry!), I was up. Part of my standard intro includes a trigger warning for child sexual abuse, during which I encourage everyone to take care of themselves however they needed to—even if that meant leaving in the middle of the reading. "You'd get no flak from me."
Immediately, the crowd settled into a respectful silence. As I proceeded to read the opening pages {Look Inside}, you could have heard a pin drop.
I went on to read a section of the chapter, "Onions in the Tea Garden," where the main character’s eating disorder goes haywire. When I finished, there was a hiss-like exhalation of breath. It was a remarkable feeling, to connect so deeply with an audience.
One evening, late July, I finished the ice cream and couldn’t help myself. In total resignation, I went again into the muggy night. A different store, another pint. I ate the ice cream while walking, ate it with my finger. Once home, I practically ran to the bathroom, stuck that same finger down my throat. It wouldn’t come up.
I pressed. Hard. It hurt, the rush of food
Good."