Week 36: Com 151 - Introduction to public speaking

She couldn’t get used to the wind. It blew constantly. At home, the wind whisked around the mountains every once in a while, sure. But nothing like this: consistent, loud, and crisp. Even here in August. Moving in over the weekend, it was the first thing Brittany had noticed. It was just one of the many reminders that she was not in Peril County anymore.

There had been several scholarship offers to attend various colleges from out of state, many with great writing programs and some with prestigious pedigrees. Columbia had even offered her a majority-tuition scholarship that covered most of her expenses. But, in the end, she decided that being close to home was important to her. So, three days ago, Brittany Burns started her first semester as a Paris College Bulldog in Bourbon County, Ky. 

The first weekend had been interesting, to say the least. Brittany and the rest of the freshmen had the campus mostly to themselves. The small Christian school featured around a dozen buildings, ranging from an ancient science center to a state-of-the-art Learning Resource Library. Paris had a history of putting out teachers over the years as their Education program was renowned across the Commonwealth. In the deep crevices of her mind, Brittany’s sub-conscience had turned over the belief that if this dream of being a famous writer fell through, getting a teaching degree wasn’t a bad backup plan.

The college had organized two days crammed full of student activities and games for the freshmen. Brittany, always an outgoing and engaging young woman, had initially looked forward to these events. But, she soon noticed something about almost all of her classmates; almost none of them were from Appalachia. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“What did you say?”

“Where are you from? That accent is just adorable!” 

“Say that again for me, please. I’m not getting you, dear.”

At first, there weren’t any openly hostile jabs at Brittany. But there was a definite language barrier. Then, the subtle judgements started to roll in as folks learned more about Brittany and where she came from.

“That’s so good that you got into Paris. I hope you do great!” 

“I’ve never been to East Kentucky. Is it really like they show on TV, with the meth and the murder and stuff?” 

“So, does your dad, like, dig coal, and everything?” 

One student looked her directly in the eye, then down at her feet and said “But you’re wearing shoes. And you have all of your teeth? Good for you, girlie!” 

Brittany held a brave face and kept interacting with her classmates for the rest of the mix’n’mingle. There had been a few girls she had formed bonds with quickly. Devon Walsburger grew up in Versailles just half an hour away from campus. She was short and slim with a kind face that was framed with maroon hair. Another girl, Martinique De la Cruz, was the daughter of an OBGYN and a tax attorney in Louisville. The three of them quickly bonded when they found out that they were all in the creative writing program and loved old movies. “Marty” as she liked to be called, and Devon were roommates in the Greer Dormitory, where most of the freshman girls lived. Brittany, however, lived in Lincoln Hall, an upperclassman dorm, with a girl she could find very little common ground with. 

Buzz (Brittany would never learn her actual name) was something of a non-conformist. Her green and blue mohawk jetted out into spikes two feet from her scalp. The double-gauged nose and ear piercing may be a common sight in some places, but it’s a rare occurrence at the conservative campus of Paris College. A flaming snake tattoo wrapped itself from Buzz’s torso, around her neck until finally, a diamond-shaped head rested on her left cheek, mouth agape with venom dripping from two gnarly fangs. When Brittany walked into their shared room for the first time, she found the walls painted black with an anarchy symbol etched into the wall on her side of the room, posters for what she could only assume were bands but might just as well have been horror movies, plastered on the others. Two large silver speakers sat mounted to the far corners of the room that blasted what Brittany could only describe as hate-filled death wails. 

Brittany stood at the door, not sure of what to do next. 

“You Brittany?” the spiky-haired rocker spat. 

Brittany nodded her head, meekly.

“M’Buzz, your roommate. Got three rules.” The neo-punk inched closer to Brittany to the point that she was hovering over the freshman. “Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. And don’t touch shit. You do that and we’re golden.” She spoke slowly and with purpose. 

Even over the din of the music, Brittany clearly heard every word. There was no mistaking the intentions of this conversation, and Brittany understood her role in this relationship perfectly. She nodded at Buzz and placed her suitcase on the bed. As she was walking out of the room, Buzz pulled out a large cigar and lit it, filling the room with thick, blue smoke. 

She spent little time in her dorm after that first day. After pleading with her floor’s RA to switch rooms, her buildings RD to switch floors and the college’s Dean of housing to switch buildings, all to no avail, she accepted her fate as Buzz’s roommate. So, after the first night, Marty and Devon invited her to stay with them. The three became close quickly. 

“I heard a little bit about your roomie!” Marty said to Brittany as the girls prepared for their first day of classes. 

Devon squealed with excitement and plopped down onto her bed. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this! Is she a serial killer? Cannibal? What’s the story?”

Brittany was folding some clothes and putting them into a basket. There were only two closets in the small room, but the girls were doing their best to share. “I’m sure she’s just a normal girl who has her own way of doing things,” she rationalized.

“Nope!” Mary chimed in. “She’s a billionaire!” 

Both of the other girls looked at her, confused. 

“Well, her dad is, anyway. Buzz’s dad owns some medical technology firm and is worth billions! She’s been at Paris for like six years. It’s part of a trust fund deal or something. She has to attend a Christian collage until she either graduates or turns 25. The college won’t kick her out because her dad gives them so much money! This is her last year.” Marty was a hand talker, using them as much as her words to express what she meant. 

Brittany shook her head. “Well, she wasn’t very nice. But I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”

The next morning, Brittany awoke and headed out to her first college class at Paris. It was a public speaking course that was part of her creative writing curriculum. She entered the Learning Resource Library at the far end of the campus and quickly found her classroom. It was a windowless room with a large smart board, a table and chair for the instructor and around thirty student desks. There were a handful of other students already there, but none that she knew, so she made her way to far side of the room and sat about halfway back in the row. 

After a few moments, the room filled up, mostly, and a stern-looking woman in her fifties walked through the door. She had blonde-gray hair that went down to her shoulders, black horn-rimmed glasses with a pink lanyard showing her teachers id. The brown sweater vest she wore over a white-collared shirt had gold buttons that caught the light with every few steps she took. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Dr. Collier. I will be leading you through Com 151, Intro to Public Speaking. I am the chair of the Communications Department and I have been at Paris for over thirty years. This is a required course for several Majors and Minors, so it is essential that you do your best.” Her voice was quick and stiff. 

After taking roll, Dr. Collier let the students know that her class was a little different that most public speaking courses. “There is no time like the present to do a little practicing, so let’s get started. You are about to give a short, impromptu speech about the one topic I know you all are well versed; yourselves. Jaxon, let us start with you.”

A Malaysian teen with bright yellow hair stood up. He bowed slightly, almost as if on instinct. “Hello class. My name is Jaxon bin Hasif. I was born in Malaysia but came to this country twelve years ago. It is my dream to be a professor of maths.” He spoke with strength and conviction about his passions, his family and his home country. The accent he had was distinct, but not cumbersome. After a couple minutes, he bowed slightly again and took his seat. The class gave a smattering of polite applause. 

“Very good Jaxon. Very good, indeed,” Dr. Collier said. She scanned her paper. “Betsy?”

A statuesque young woman with platinum blonde hair that ran below her waist stood on the far side of the room. She wore a bright pink tee with some script on the chest that Brittany couldn’t make out, but must have been some designer logo. The crop top exposed her tanned abs. Betsey sat down her iced coffee and Louis purse and made her way to the front of the class. 

“Hey everyone, my name is Betsey Whitsman and, like, I grew up just outside of Louisville at Anchorage. And, like, I am like super into yoga and fitness. I have two corgi puppies that are, like, totally my babies.” There was a vocal fry in her speech that Brittany found to be odd. No one in Peril County talked or sounded quite like this girl. No one looked like her either. She reminded Brittany of what a super model would look like on her way to a big shoot. Betsey spoke for six or seven minutes until finally finishing and taking her seat. 

Dr. Collier jotted down a few notes. “Well done, Ms. Whitsman. Now, we have Brittany.”

She was nervous as she stood. Making a good first impression was important to her, and public speaking wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed. Written communication was her choice, of course. She stood in front of the thirty or so students and the professor and took in a deep breath. “Hey y’all. My name’s Brittany Burns. I grew up in Peril County, which is a couple hours south a here. I’m in the creative writin’ program and I’m real excited to be here.”

“Brittany, I’m going to stop you right there,” Dr. Collier interrupted. “Brittany, dear, remind me of the town there in Peril County.”

She cocked her head a little to side, confused. “Uh, only real town we have is Black Grass, ma’am.”

Dr. Collier nodded, knowingly. “Yes, Black Grass. Thank you for reminding me. Brittany, I’m going to help you, today. You seem to be a sweet, bright young lady with loads of potential.”

Brittany beamed for a moment. 

“But you’re going to waste all of that if you don’t stop talking like a hillbilly.”

A good third of the class guffawed instantly. Brittany felt the gaze of everyone in the room like daggers digging into her soul. “I’m sorry. What, ma’am?”

“There you go again. Dear, no one will ever take you seriously if you sound like the country bumpkin. It may be hard to hear, but I’ve seen it time and again, if you sound like an idiot, people with think you are one. Take Betsey, for example. She has the classic Mid-Western accent. Clean, nondescript and almost unrecognizable in terms of region.” 

Brittany stood as a statue at the head of the class, with every instinct she had screaming at her to run for the door. But, somehow she made herself stay. 

“Betsey, I would be willing to offer you extra credit if you would assist Ms. Brittany where with her accent. Would you like to do that?” Betsey was sipping on her coffee and staring at her phone. The guy beside her nudged her arm, gently. 

She looked over at the professor, then to Brittany, and then back to the professor. “Like, how much extra credit?” 

Dr. Collier jotted down something on her sheet. “I’ll make it worth your while. You may have a seat, Brittany.” 

Back in the room she shared with Marty and Devon, Brittany shoved her face into a pillow and cried. She’d never felt so ostracized, so excluded, so ‘other’ in her life. For as long as she could remember, the idea of college had been a bastion of hope and growth for her. And now, in just a few short days, those dreams lay dashed. 

She rolled over and dialed Graham’s cell.