Louisa looked at her watch, butterfly's building in her stomach. It was two pm, and her speech was already a few minutes over due. As the Host called the first speaker to the microphone, Louisa shifted on her feet, trying to comfort her nerves. Patience was usually a gift of Louisa's, along with nerves of steel, but today nothing quite felt right. Maybe it was the light drizzle constantly falling on her hair, or the alarming rate at which the crowd frenzied reactions were growing louder. Every now an then a shout would reach out of the thousands of people, sparking a deep roar of approval, that rumbled forwards until the speaker demanded silence again.
A mist had gathered all around the field, wrapping the landscape in a white blanket. It was two minutes past two, the light specs of rain constantly falling. The smooth grey of Louisa's suit looked textured and dirty, the water marks leaving dark patterns. As the speaker made her point, Louisa fixed on the crowd, remembering when she was a young protester, naively listening to the words of strangers. She had been twenty when she had joined the group, looking for hope to find something better. Twenty when her life had taken a turn for the worst.
The one thing she had hoped for today was not to be the second speaker. It was a well known fact in the group that the second speaker always got the worst reception. Enthused by the first speaker the crowd would have high expectations, more often then not only to be disappointed when the second speaker opposed the first. Although she was an experienced speaker she had never spoken second.
'Second speaker' she thought. ' At two o'clock, how ironic'. Breathing deeply she felt the cold winter air pass through her nostrils, cooling her lungs. 'why is my life always haunted by the number two? Must I always be second best?'. She thought of her two children, whom she loved very much but did not return her affections. Of her two worst mistakes; getting married and getting divorced. Of her age, her foolish age when she lost sight of who she was.
It was twenty past two, the current speaker reaching her final point. Louisa reached into her suit pocket and brought out her metal glasses case, the one her husband had left behind. She pulled out the square lenses, thick plastic rims holding them together. Her husband had always hated the glasses, he said that it made it difficult to see her eyes. She stared at the glasses, holding them in her cold bare hands. 'I could never be pretty enough' she thought. ' Never be somebody's number one'.
As the host called her over, she stepped up to the microphone automatically and placed the glasses on her face. She glanced down at her watch, it was twenty two minutes past two. Twenty two, the age when her life changed. That was twenty two years ago, and she was still lost. Still as confused as a young girl. The only difference was her grey hair frizzing upon her head. Behind her thick glasses her brown eyes were wilting. Glazed over with the pain of too many tears held back.
The crowd were silent, patiently waiting for her to begin. But she did not move, she froze in her place, hands fixed to the speakers desk. Her suit was pinned tightly around her waist, holding down her rounded chest. Twenty years ago she would have worn a dress, let her hair fall free, and giggled as she spoke. Today she hid behind stiff cotton, over worked buttons, and tightly permed hair.
As she began to speak, she was unaware of her words. They fell from her mouth as though a disease, taking vicious control of a weak body. Her eyes stayed fixed upon the distant white blanket, wishing that behind it was the lost years of her life.