Minty: [Leaning in, her voice softening to a more intimate tone] "Yvonne, it's such a pleasure to have you here. Usually, when we talk to authors, they're the ones in control of the narrative. But you lived this. Every poem, every look, every moment in those senior high hallways."
Minty: "Let's start at the beginning of the book's existence. When Iboni first told you she wanted to turn your specific memories of Senior High—your poems, your muse—into a published work for the world to see, what was your immediate gut reaction?"
[Minty tilts her head, waiting for Yvonne's response.]
Yvonne: "Confused. Full of questions, really. Why? Why would she want my memories? Why that specific memory out of all the memories that I can share with her? Is it because of the poems that I wrote which she got to read? Plenty of questions, really. But I'll just keep the others to myself."
[The audience is pin-drop silent, several people nodding as if they can feel the weight of that confusion. A few people in the back exchange glances—they've clearly had secret memories of their own they'd be hesitant to share.]
Minty: [Nodding slowly, her eyes wide with empathy]"I think anyone in this room would feel that exact same why. It's like someone asking to borrow your diary and turn it into a billboard! It's a vulnerable position to be in."
[Minty shifts slightly, resting her chin on her hand, looking thoughtfully at Yvonne.]
Minty: "Since you mentioned those poems and all those questions swirling in your head... here is what I'm curious about: was there a specific part of the story or a particular poem you were terrified of people reading, or did you eventually find the process of letting Iboni publish them to be healing?"
[A woman in the front row leans in closer, holding her breath for the answer.]
Yvonne: "Reminiscing... there's none actually. But when it comes to poems... girl, there are some! But I already forgot them. And yes, it is healing. Like it was an indirect letting go of something you wish that could've happened but it did not. It felt like letting go of that false hope that you allowed to grow and consume you for a long time."
[The audience lets out a collective, soft "Ahhh," and they can hear a few snaps of agreement from the corner of the room. One girl in the second row wipes her eyes, clearly feeling the weight of that false hope.]
Minty: [Exhaling a long, steady breath] "Oof. 'An indirect letting go.' That hits deep, Yvonne. It's like the book became a container for all that hope so you didn't have to carry it in your chest anymore. And honestly? We've all been consumed by a what if at some point."