My Moment

Now is my moment. As I sit up here in the balcony of this beautiful theater, looking down at the stage I can barely breathe. Seated around me are Martin Scorcese, Billy Joel, Twyla Tharp, and Phillip Roth, my fellow honorees.
I am the last to be saluted. One by one, my writer friends, my peers step forward to read one of my flash fiction pieces. The one about the Hudson County sewerage system leaves people aghast. I am completely choked up. They relate anecdotes, repeat my witticisms, explain how I overcame so much to become the premier flash fiction artist in the world. I glance over at Roth, who is sobbing.
When the readings are over, the audience stands and erupts in extended applause. I try to look modest. I want this moment to go on and on. It is the epitome of my creative life. I am engorged with a kind of spirituality. I appreciate every little thing around me. I especially appreciate Twyla Tharp's hand on my thigh all evening.
I hope it was her hand.