Page 19 of It's Me They Follow
“Shut that shit up,” another faceless somebody yelled out from the crowd. The Shopkeeper agreed.
“Louder,” The Good Doctor exclaimed, with her handsraising higher and higher to the sky. The Shopkeeper thought she looked like a street preacher. The group repeated the chant two more times, and then The Good Doctor gave them the cutoff sign. Everyone froze.
“We will chant until you’re ready to speak,” The Good Doctor said. “Then you will get up here and declare why now is your time. Make sure you own your three minutes of street speaking. But most importantly, honor that you are doing this despite how afraid you may be. Most people are not brave enough to name their fear in public. This activity gives you practice looking it right in the eye. Who’s ready to begin?” Everyone except The Shopkeeper raised their hands. “I will not call on you. For this activity, you have to choose yourself.”
The Good Doctor stepped down, and Ray ran up. He jumped onto the crate as the group began to chant, “Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes.”
The crate bent under his weight but did not break.
“Okay, so I’m Ray,” he began. The group grew quiet, but the hustle and bustle of city life continued to whiz by.
“We can’t hear you,” The Good Doctor said, cupping her ears.
“Okay,” he asserted over the noise. “I am Ray. And my biggest fear is stand-up comedy. I am facing my fear now because I’m bored. My life is like watching paint dry.”
The class laughed, and stray watchers gathered around.
“My life is funny.” Ray laughed a nervous laugh. “It’s just,no one gets the joke.” He got a few giggles from the crowd. “For instance, I’m single. My neighbor—she’s single too. She’s shapely and beautiful, and she lives right across the street...
“I watched her as she got home from work yesterday. I was surprised when she walked across the street, up my driveway, and knocked on my door.
“I opened the door. She looked at me and said, ‘I just got home, and I have this strong urge to have a good time, get drunk, and have fun tonight. Are you doing anything?’
“I quickly replied, ‘Nope, I’m free!’
“‘Great!’ she said. ‘Can you watch my dog?’”
More people laughed. The Shopkeeper wrung her hands in fear for Ray, but he seemed to be having the time of his life. He was actually funny.
“Another one,” a faceless voice yelled out from the crowd at Ray.
“Another one?” Ray kept on. “Well, my friend said to me, ‘Ray, aren’t you sad to see your friends getting married and you being single at your age?’
“I replied, ‘Yes, it’s quite sad, but I don’t know how to help them.’”
The group laughed some more. The more jokes he cracked, the larger the crowd grew, and when he was done, his smile beamed brighter, his back was straighter, and he held his head higher. He stepped down off the crate and opened his arms wide to The Shopkeeper, knowing she’d nevergive him a hug back. He laughed. She laughed.This is like one of those walking-on-coal, laying-on-of-hands activities, she thought.
“How was it?” she asked Ray.
“It was the best,” and then he unexpectedly started to jump up and down. “I can’t believe I just did that.” He cried tears of joy while the group chanted, “Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes,” waiting for the next speaker to emerge.
The entire class took turns hopping on and off the orange crate, declaring victory over a range of fears from heights to flying, from dentists to bugs, while the crowd of onlookers swelled in disbelief. The more the crowd grew, the angrier The Shopkeeper grew.This changes nothing, she thought. The Good Doctor should be wearing crocodile-skin boots.
“Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes.” A crowd of fifty or so strangers joined her classmates in the chanting. The Shopkeeper knew she was supposed to be next; Ray had gone twice, and some people who weren’t even in her class had been inspired and decided to hop onto the orange crate. Most people were visibly overjoyed when they were through. The Good Doctor gave The Shopkeeper a glance, trying to reconnect through eye contact. In all sincerity she mouthed to her student, “You can do this.” The Shopkeeper pictured herself up on the orange crate for a brief second but then rolled her eyes at The Good Doctor for almost making her believe this could help her in any way. Instead, she decidedshe would make The Good Doctor keep the promise that no one would be coerced into participating.
But others in the class began pointing at The Shopkeeper while they chanted, “Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes,” to egg her on. She could smell the funk of the crowd—it reminded her of used stockings and cheap sweat. She imagined their filthy hands creeping closer and closer to her arms and legs like tentacles. She could feel their breaths and spittle on her neck.Peer pressure will not help, she thought. Sweat dripped down her back. The apple pulp curdled in her stomach. She wrung her hands and popped her knuckles. She figured she’d run down the clock, and eventually The Good Doctor would have to end class. The group continued to chant more and more wildly with fist pumps and stomps—“Oh, what the heck, do whatever it takes”—until Ray turned to her and said, “It’s now or never, my friend.”
Another cliché. She grimaced.Not you too, Ray, she thought. And then, she considered just doing it to get everyone off her back. But instead, she shook her head NO once again and gave The Good Doctor the cutoff gesture, which she thought meant “stop” but Rose said looked too much like “I’ll cut your head off.”
The Shopkeeper eased toward the back of the orange crate very slowly, even though in that moment, she decided not even a world-renowned neuroscientist who specializedin touch could save her if this was the best she could do. No one could save her.
But to be a good sport, she had every intention of finally trying the activity when The Good Doctor ascended the empty crate instead. She thanked the crowd for their participation, bowing and clapping like she’d won an award.Show-off, The Shopkeeper thought, disgusted. “If anyone else would like to go, NOW is the time. Even if you don’t say a word. Just taking a stand is a major step.” She was giving The Shopkeeper an out. Run up. Stand up. Hop off. Easy. But no one moved. Especially not The Shopkeeper, who felt she’d never come back to class again. That would be her stand.
The other writers in her group figured it would be a lot for her, but they thought she’d at least try.
The Good Doctor picked up the orange crate and said to the crowd in feigned disappointment, “Okay, everyone. Class dismissed.”
That night, The Shopkeeper reflected on the session and whether she’d ever go back. She decided to do what worked best for her. She wrote a letter to her sister and waited patiently for a response.
