Pressure Point

Everything has come down to this, the final moment. All eyes are on me as I approach the field. I stretch out my fingers on my jeans trying to wipe off their hot clammy feeling. No success. I take a deep breath. Relax. This will all be over soon. I feel all eyes on me as I begin to walk, feel them scanning my every move, trying to break me underneath their gaze. I cannot falter now. I will never live it down.

Why must everything fall on me?

I did not plan on getting myself into this situation in the first place, swore for days beforehand that I would not get involved. I tried to pride myself for my strength but then my family played the duty card and I fell in line. How silly of me to assume I ever had any control in the first place. But my honour was at stake and now here I am, stuck, no way out.

I feel a buzzing in my ears as I move closer to my objective. It builds and echoes in my ears, blocking out all other sounds. Can anyone else hear it? Maybe it is all in my head. Stop that. Focus. You are on the spot here. No distractions. I shake my head and keep walking slowly, every stepped planned and precise.

The atmosphere around me is changing as I close in and I begin to wonder about how this will all end. Will I be the saviour, the hero who restores my family legacy? Or will I become the outcast, banished, and hidden for the rest of time?

Man, I need a water right now. I have never felt so dry in all my life. The pressure is getting to me. My tongue has stuck to the roof of my mouth. I try to create some spit, something to break the dried tar feel, but it does not seem to help. I guess I will just make do.

I reach the end of the road and assess the scene in front of me. There are so many options, how can I possibly pick one? I scan each option, weighing their pros and cons and silently ponder about why my family ever thought I could do this. I do not have any training and I never so much as looked at the manual. I am not even fully sure of how it all works. All I know is that my family is counting on me and I cannot let them down.

I scan the scene again, looking for any entry points, any weak links I could possibly exploit. Finally, I spot it, an opening. I glance upward for just a moment and meet a pair of hooded brown eyes. They stare right back at me, daring me to move, to accept my fate. The tension builds. I want to get out of here but there is something in those eyes that makes me stay, a trigger, and I know I must finish the task. I take another deep breath, struggling to push air beyond my concrete tongue. It is time to take the leap.

I reach out my hand cautiously, feeling the air around my clammy fingers as they move to grasp at my chosen target. I slide the edge of my fingertips along the smooth outer surface. It is cool to the touch. I can do this! I pinch the object between my pointer finger and thumb, securing it in place despite the sweat and the shaking. I begin to tug at the object ever so slightly, loosening it from its place. Once loose I begin the task of pulling it back, millimetre at a time. Almost there! I make it to the halfway line. Just a little more. I begin to see the finish line.

But then I feel a slip.

I freeze, staring down at my hand.

No!

The empty space begins to cave in.

Please!

It tips in slow motion.

I will do anything!

But the Gods do not hear me, and I can only watch as the destruction unfolds. The hole I created caves inwards and in a heartbreaking sight, the whole tower leans to the side. The wooden blocks tip seamlessly and endlessly onto the floor, trickling down like dominoes or cereal from a box. The noise plagues my ears, overpowering the buzzing with a sound like breaking chalk.

I cannot breathe, cannot move as the wreckage pools at my feet. I shut my eyes, willing myself away from the situation as the debris taps at the hardwood floors. I have well and truly ruined it.

As the silence falls I will myself to open my eyes. The air has shifted again. I breathe harshly as I scan the room, trying to find a forgiving face. But no one is looking at me. They are all staring at the carnage, shock plastered on their faces as they scan the ruins.

I have always known I am not cut out for this kind of life.

Eventually the hooded eyes look at me only this time the daring sparkle has gone. Instead, it has been replaced with a building amusement and suddenly the room is laughing. Every single person around me is laughing joyously at the mess I have created without a hint of malice. I let myself smile as the tension starts to fade, no longer trapped in the pressure.

‘Well, that was fun,’ my Dad says, clapping me on the back.

‘At least you tried,’ my Mum says, from her position on the far couch.

Great. We lost and now I get to endure the pity party rest of the night. I think I might have preferred a banishment.

‘Looks like I win again,’ my cousin Wendy says as she hands me the packaging. ‘Three years in a row I believe.’

I sigh as I take the box in hand and remove the lid. The family moves off to the kitchen while I clean up the pieces. It is the rules. Whoever wins gaming night claims bragging rights for the year, and the loser cleans up the mess. Just once I would like for us to win. I must practice for next year.

Why do I suck so bad at Jenga?