The Speech

I felt so alone. Yet there were hundreds of people in the audience. What tidbit could I impart to them that would make a difference in their lives and the lives of others? If I were setting, say, in the fifth row looking for that hidden secret. Yet what if I said like the speakers before me, there is no secret, no hidden key? The key if there was one is to just keep at it. Never give up, never give in. View each morning as a brand-new day. To set down before your keyboard and type. If you can go back over what you wrote yesterday. Nothing is too wild. Type for yourself. Type for your eyes only. If inspiration doesn’t come on the first page, try the second or the third. So I peddled on for about half an hour. Yet my speech could be reduced to Winston Churchill’s few words. “Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in.”

I was exhausted when I checked into the hotel. Putting my bags beside the bed, I called my wife. She always made me smile. Just hearing her voice affected me like that. At eleven, I fell into bed. I dreamed I was in a field of wheat. I gave my speech again. The wheat turned into people. The dream faded. I opened my eyes. Something was wrong. I smelled smoke. I felt of the door. This was something someone taught me. I couldn’t remember who. It was red hot. I found myself trapped. I walked around the room. There was only one way out and fire blocked it. I was going to die in this hotel room. Now I heard the roar of the flames. It was an eerie sound.

 Suddenly I heard a tapping. It seemed to come from the window. I threw open the drapes. A fire fighter stared at me. He indicated for me to step away from the window. I jumped back on the other side of the bed. He swung an axe, breaking the glass. “Come on, we don’t have much time.” He said. I scrambled through the broken window. He backed down the ladder and held it on both sides of me. Slowly, we descended the ladder. On the ground, I thanked him and moved back to join the crowd. The fire seemed to be contained on the fifth floor.

“Do they know how it started?” I ask a woman standing beside me.

“Some fool smoking in bed.” She retorted.

“Anybody hurt?” I said, feeling a draft.

“No, he burnt his arm. That’s what woke him up.”

 My cell phone rang. My wife. “Hi sweetheart. Are you ok?” I could hear tears in her voice. “I saw the hotel on fire on CNN.”

“Yes dear. I’m fine. A fireman got me out.” I could have added just in time, but I didn’t want to worry her. “I’ll be home two days from now. I have one more stop at Hilton Head, then I catch an early flight the next morning.”
“Please be careful. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”
“I love you too. Please try to get some sleep.” I said. I knew she would be up all night if I didn’t assure her.

The hotel brought around coffee, other drinks, and donuts. They assigned us to other rooms far away from the damage. “What of my bags?” I ask the clerk. He smiled. “One of the firefighters brought them down. They are waiting for you in the lobby.”

 I inspected my clothes. The suit for the next day had a slight tint of smoke. In my new room on the other side of the hotel, I had problems falling asleep. Finally, I got up and looked at the clock. 3:34 AM. I knew I was through sleeping for the night. I pulled out my laptop and worked for the next two hours on my new novel. I was shaving at 5 AM when the front desk called. “Your Uber ride is here, sir.” “Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” I hurriedly finished shaving and grabbed my bags. In the lobby, I met the driver, a very pleasant man in his 60’s. I discovered he had retired from a top banking position.

 “Why are you driving for Uber?” I blurted out. Then suddenly realized it was none of my business. “Sorry.”

He laughed. “No, it’s ok. I get that question all the time. I’m bored. In driving for Uber I meet all kinds of people. By the way, I’ve read your novel. A Gest for Life. Very interesting, very entertaining. “

“Thank you.” I said really meaning it. Soon we were at the airport.  He hopped out and helped me with my bags. I tipped him a fifty. “The new novel will be out next year. I gave him my email. “Send me a note and I’ll mail you a new copy.” “Thank you.” He said, and we shook hands.

On the plane I set next to a man who did more sleeping than talking. This was fine with me. For the first hour of the flight, I dozed. At 10, I took a call from the conference leader. She wanted to know if I could condense my speech. I smiled.” Yes, that would be possible.” She said a New York Times bestselling author just confirmed and would be the key speaker.

Settled in the hotel room, I took a nap. Then phoned my wife. I called room service and ate a small meal. There would be a dinner for the speakers after the conference. At seven, we gathered in the hotel's ballroom. I was to be the first speaker.

“And with us tonight is an author who I’m sure you are familiar with. Let’s all give a Hilton Head welcome to Hunter Blackstone, author of A Gest for Life.” She turned and smiled at me. I rose and walked to the podium. I looked at the eager faces of those before me. Out there in this room was an author better than I. Someone who had been rejected many times over. Some writer who didn’t think of themselves as an author. But after tonight would go back home determined to finish that novel and send it out. When the rejections came, they would not quit. I opened my mouth and gave them the same words Winston Churchill gave to those eagerly looking for hope. “Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in.” I turned and resumed my seat. There was a scattering of applause. But I knew and so did that one person in that audience. It was just what they needed to hear.