Fear Is What Makes Me Successful Essay

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Jacqueline Iniguez
Mr. Holland
English 9
Period 6
2/24/15
Fear is What Makes Me Successful
I was casually sitting at my desk, literally chewing my fingernails off over the idea that I had forgotten I had a final exam for biology. And as always knowing me, I forgot to study for the test, and now here I am ready to accept the grade of an F and to be grounded for what can actually seem to be the rest of my life. Though I am kidding, that never happened and hopefully it actually never does, but what did happen was beyond worst than any person must go through. It all started in my mother’s car I was sitting on the passenger seat happy for it to finally be a Friday, after a long, dreadful week at school. I brush the thought off my mind and focus on the gushing the gushing cool breeze felt through my hair and the new hit song that was jammed up to high through the stereo, anticipation on getting my hands on a strawberry banana smoothie, yum! Though the thought slipped my mind when I saw it, confusion first struck through me but quickly changed as realization got to me. Rereading over and over again the sign that brings nightmares to every child’s dreams, I tried to imagine myself elsewhere, like on a plane to
Boston - which may I add sounds like a great place to visit – but I knew it was all too good to be true. I flinched at the contact of a cold, bare hand place on my shoulder, as my reflexes kicked in, I turn around ready to try my ninja kick move, but instead I find my mom staring down at me with her look, the one a parent would give their child where they have no say in the situation on hand. I turn my head slightly up towards the direction of the “Western Dental” sign; the view of the big bright, white letters was intimidating a d mockingly in a way that I felt uncomfortable in the environment. I push the door to the building open, a wave of disinfectant masked with cheap air fresher and rubber gloves washed over me. The clutter of chairs in the waiting room and the dull, white painted walls with before to after pictures of yellow teeth or a set of crookedly raw gums to brilliantly white and straight teeth, created a sense of clousaphobia. Magazines were clustered on the scratched wood of a coffee table and the rude receptionist seated at the front desk glared at an innocent child who had trouble reaching for a lollipop on the counter top, accidently dropping the entire jar instead . There were a few nervous patients here before me, each one trying to keep their eyes turned away from the doors that lead to terror, the dental rooms, where every once in while there could be heard the intimidating sounds of high pitched screeching or the muffled sound of a bang, or a cry. As the receptionist called out names one by one, I tried to listen to the soft music being played over the speakers hoping it would distract me from anymore stress needed, that was till I heard the clicking of high heels coming my way. “Iniguez, Jacqueline please come with me,” said the receptionist. I stood up and shakily, yet slowly I made my way passed the counter to enter a separate room, where I heard the small chatters of patients in the waiting room die down. The reclining of the chair fitted with the usual dentist equipment was set right in front of me: a dental drill, syringes and other tools names of which I don’t know of nor cared for . The piercing scream of the old man next door was heard through the room, I knew I would not make it . I got up from the chair about to walk straight out the door, rather to have no teeth if it meant not having to come here, but the dentist walked in the room where I was headed. Being the girl fails to lie, I went with the first excuse that crossed my mind, of having a bad foot ache and I was
just
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