Butterscotch
by Dana Smith

“Dana.”

It takes a second for me to realize that the judge is talking to me, and then another second to realize what he wants me to do. I step up to the front of the stage.

Lights blare everywhere, all focusing on me. Coughs and light shuffles. People getting restless. Only six of us left in the 2^nd Division of the spelling bee.

“Please spell ‘butterscotch.’”

The air goes out of me, bringing my tiny bit of confidence with it. Of all the words they could have asked me they choose “butterscotch?!” I have no idea how to spell this word. I knew how to spell my other words and even the words of the students before me. I start sweating; the lights seem to be getting brighter. I can’t think, should I give up, just sit do—“Dana, please spell ‘butterscotch.’” Deep breath. “You have thirty seconds.”

One more deep breath, then: “butterscotch—B-U-T-T-E-R-S-C…pause…O-C-T-H—butterscotch. Ding. That dreaded bell of all spellers that means you just spelled your word wrong.  A predictable “awww” from the audience and then I’m walking off the stage in a dazed state, not crying, just sort of numb.

Then I see my daddy and the tears start to flow. As soon as I’m close enough he reaches for me and then I’m buried in his embrace, the embrace that makes every possible problem feel insignificant and small. That one embrace and in a few minutes everything is OK.

The world is back to being the way it should.