HAPPY

She was HAPPY. She grinned, teeth and all, her dimples showing. I love you too, she says. An autograph? Of course. Stunning, she was, in her bright blue dress, her eyes sparkling as she addressed her fans and waved her hands. This was the dream. She had just had the most wonderful brunch with her new friends. Genuine friendship it was, they spoke about their hair, their dogs, their dogs’ hair, and it was real, and beautiful and what did they call it? Networking. Her lips glowing, red grapes lip gloss, as she beamed for the photo and tilted her head. Cute, they would call her. Talented, they would say. As she walked through the streets, cameras everywhere and she can’t say no, she recalled her time on stage, a few years ago now, but fame has a way of doing that. Like sticky toffee pudding. She had dazzled, as she belted out her voice, her eyes glistening with tears and the people singing with her, until it was not simply a moment but many moments all combined, one after the other and finally becoming this. Her most precious life. She had become the icon of this era, known to all and adored by all and she basked in it, loving it all. Excuse me! A voice. Wait, are you HER? No way! She giggled. Yes, that’s me. She listened. She inspired people? Yes. She comforted people? That is so sweet. My new album? Soon, soon. Thank you for waiting. Yes, take care. She waved goodbye, pleased with herself and turned towards home. Her fancy, studio apartment, bouncing as she walked in her knee high boots. Polished. She opened her phone and posted a picture, one with her fans, one with the food and one of the afternoon sun, shining and basking her in its most warm glow. Step, step, step, up the stairs until she reached her door.

Her cheeks hurt, it was hard to be smiling all the time. Stepping into her room, the light from the hallway grew smaller as her door clicked shut. She dropped her bags to the floor, eyes adjusting to the dark, her smile quickly gone. She stepped over the plates by her feet, the remnants of last week’s food still visible as she found an empty spot in her room to stand. Slowly, she clutched onto her top and dragged it over her head, throwing it to the growing pile on the floor. As her clothes came off, so did the pretense she had upheld. Wrapping a light dressing gown around her, she walked past the curtains, closed and collecting dust, as she sat beside her crinkled duvet. She lay flat, her eyes focused on the ceiling, staring at a spider that stared back until her eyes closed shut. Relief, she thinks. Like that she lay as the hours passed, asleep but awake. Is this what death feels like? She lay until she could no longer hear the mumbling of passing people, nor the roaring of car engines, till all she could hear was silence. How loud it was. 1 am. She was starving. Kicking her legs in the air, she walked towards the kitchen, empty except for half a cucumber and four chocolate cookies. How balanced. Sipping water slowly she walked back to her bed, draping the duvet around her, till it engulfed her, comforted her. She pressed ON, and the television sprung to life, the newest model and most popular brand, switching between channels until she landed on one that wasn’t playing an advert. A documentary, she thought, as grass expanded on the screen, zooming in on a flower and further on a butterfly. She watched, unblinking, as its antenna twitched and it sucked on the pollen, its perfectly symmetrical wings, patterned and delicate, fluttering slowly. Another butterfly, its wings still and its feet steady, until the sun’s sweltering heat pierced through the screen, hot and bright and she blinked. The butterflies were gone. Was that what it felt like to be happy?

Most days passed like this, her memory hazy, her identity, faint. 11 am. Missed calls from her manager, long been in double digits and a life she pondered. Am I unemployed? It wasn’t that she could no longer sing, it was that she no longer felt anything. Not when she sang, and not when she smiled. The stage had been the last time and now the tunes had left her, her melodies hitched at the back of her throat and what was she even living for anymore? The doctor had said, depression. She had laughed. No, she had said. And that had been that, and life had gone on. She was FAMOUS. She opened her phone to see her post, flooded with likes, with hearts and wows and so much love. What more could she want? It was getting harder to hide it from the world. The sudden ringing of her phone, a shrill tone, drew her out of the thoughts. Hello? No, you didn’t startle me, I’m good thanks, how are you? Yes, I’ve eaten well. Oh you saw my post? Yes, it was truly wonderful. Of course, talk to you later. Yes, bye now. She felt weak. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worked out. Or cooked. That had been her things. She could sing, she could sprint, she could chef it up. Now they were no longer her thing. Nothing was anymore. God, what is the matter? She wanted to scream, unable to figure it out, unable to find what made her tick. Her existence, now obscured.

Knock knock. Who could that be? Knock knock knock. She was tucked in tight, did she really have to open the door? She waited, thinking about whether the sun had set yet and where to order food from. Wait, had she already ordered food and just forgotten? More knocks. She pulled her sheets off her, and came to a stand, unlocking the door and giving it a light pull. Who was that? Where was the food? A man with a beard, glasses stood before her, camera in hand, looking quite young. An interview? Right now? The things fame does. She shook her head, no way, and he stuck his foot through, and she pushed on the door, but he pushed harder and now he was in and she was not happy. Police will be coming, get out, she said, get out. This seemed to startle him, what had he expected? He started backtracking, taking slow steps, about to retreat until he stopped and stood still. She looked at his eyes to see what they were looking at, and he was looking at her. At her, and her place, dark and cluttered, her mind and her heart and he clicked. She stepped forward, lunging for the camera, and he clicked, clicked and clicked again, before turning and sprinting. Do you remember? She can no longer sprint. An icon no more. She dropped to the floor. For ages she stayed there, until she was certain the sun had sent, and even the food delivery had stopped. Would her fans still smile? How stupid. Even so. She sat there rocking herself slowly, humming a tune long forgotten, thinking to herself. When would they come? What would she say? She knew the answer to that, she would tell them over and over. Not that she was broken, and not that she would no longer sing, and not that there was no new album and not that there never will be.

She would tell them that she was happy.