First day

He stood up to shake my hand when I introduced myself and I immediately liked him. With some people it goes that way if they impress you with their first move, and suddenly, the rest doesn’t matter as much, good or bad. I was the first to arrive in the classroom for the short story workshop. I often get lost, so I left myself plenty of time to find this new destination, “The Cultural Complex” building is what they call it. Although I didn’t find it on the first try, I managed to get there after one minor detour.
He seems to be about 60 years old, with white hair. His hair is the color I imagine I would like to have when I am 60 years old, beautiful shiny white hair much like the plump fairy godmothers from Walt Disney’s Cinderella. As people trickled in, he continued to stand and introduce himself. He then made an open handed gesture to me and I too would introduce myself. Suddenly, we were in cahoots with each other, determined to know everyone’s names and put all in the class on friendly terms.
Once we had all arrived, the teacher asked us to go around the table, introduce ourselves and share a bit about ourselves if we’d like. Another man, Charles, went first. I learned that all five of them have taken classes at the Writing Center before. Two of the students are farmers. One woman works the farm with her husband right now. They have over 2,000 acres of soy and corn. She drives the tractor for him during harverst time, but paints and writes and works odd jobs during the slower parts of the year.
The other woman was also a farmer, but is now retired and enjoys writing now that she can dedicate more time to it. David, the man I met first, worked for Indiana University in Bloomington in the medical school there. He shared advice for Charles, a doctorate student, on how to complete his dissertation.
After so much anxiety about taking a writing class, and sharing what I write, as I sat in the old curved bamboo chair around the single oblong table, I felt completely at ease. My curiosity about other people and just who takes writing classes surpassed my own self absorption.
We spent two hours working on character development. Our teacher led us through several writing prompts and gave us the opportunity to share our writing. Since sharing my writing with other writers is one of my goals, I did it. I read my writing; my scribbles that I refused to analyze to keep myself from chickening out. Despite the fact that my ears did ring as I began to speak, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face right on cue, I did it.
I drove home elated. All I had to do was show up. The hardest part was finding the place. I kept the radio off and drove home enjoying the dark evening as it seeped into my car. The stars glittered in the sky and I rolled down the windows, allowing the wind to accompany me on the ride home.