“No… About all of them, waiting, watching. For me to screw up or trip, or stare at me until I do. To judge my dress, my skills, my everything. I can’t open the door. I’m too scared.” All those scrutinizing eyes and minds remind me so much of a court room so long ago. Maybe that’s the fear, the doors to a crowded room of people waiting to see what I say or do. It’s too much. I’ve never liked being the center of attention; my palms are clammy with the thought of being it ...