Starry Eyed

I always knew I was going to be a star.  My debut role was as Piglet in our hometown play and I rocked it.  I wiggled my little pigtail in every scene and the audience loved it. The energy from the audience was my first drug.  At the end of the play, as we all gathered on the stage to bow, the audience went crazy when I ran out front to wiggle my tail one last time.  My costars flashed looks of annoyance, but I couldn’t help myself.  A star was born that night and I’ve been working towards my dream future in Hollywood ever since.

My mother has always supported my dream.  She drove me to dance classes and singing lessons and every audition we could make it to.  She was so proud.  She dragged my father to every show and after he left us he would sometimes show up on his own.  Until he didn’t.

By the time I reached Junior high school it was a given that I would be the star of every show.  It was all I cared about.  All of my friends were part of the theater in some fashion.  They were all castmates and backstage hands and we were a tight clique.  We would devour the big screen movies and tabloid magazines and dream about being on the cover.  Every weekend we would have casting parties with glitter and glamor and costumes.  I would always pick the most grand costume out for myself and often end the evening with a drunken speech thanking all the little people who helped me along the way.  

Once we were in high school we were entirely focused on eachother and the stage and nothing else.  We worked nonstop on productions, stage sets, and choreography. We were well known outside of our community and people from other towns would come to see us perform.  We were fantastic.  At the end of each performance I would do a little extra jig after the final bow. The other performers might have minded but it had become my signature move and I wasn’t about to let the audience forget me like my father had.

I starred in shows outside of my high school group, in community plays, and in nearby towns but it was with this group that I really shined.  Sometimes there would be jealousy and fighting but we were tight and would come together for the sake of the production.  I knew my worth but I also knew when to focus on my priorities.  Afterall, it wasn’t just about me and my stardom, it was about the show!  

It was during one of these high school performances that I was discovered.  I was playing one of the leading roles in ‘Rent’ and, admittedly, I was amazing.  I had people in the audience laughing, crying, and singing.  It was the perfect night.  When I did my little dance at the end I looked right at the Hollywood producer and winked.

The producer had heard about me through a family member a few towns over and he was visiting.  He invited me out to dinner and he said I showed real potential.  I could tell he was star struck.  I let him take me to bed.  His performance was just okay but we had a good time and I was solidifying my place in his mind.

My new producer friend extended his stay.  I listened intently as he described Hollywood to me.  All the parties and glitter.  All the movie stars and flashy cars.  He told me about the production parties and the all night events.  He talked about how all of the stars were covered in glitter and gold.  How people would flock from all over the world just to see me.  How I was going to be the biggest star.

I was not falling for him but I was falling in love with the life he was promising me.  My mother did not like him but she didn’t really like many people at all.  Especially the ones that took my attention away from her.  There was once a time in her life when she was going to be a star and her jealousy was rearing its ugly head.

Just imagining the new life I was rocketing toward made me catch my breath.  While my friends took study breaks, I stared at my face in the mirror.  I dressed in glamor and practiced my walk.  I made up acceptance speeches and even got choked up a few times imagining the response to my made up harrowing climb to the top.

My mother insisted I finish high school but I had my own plans and they didn’t include wasting my time.  I bought a ticket to leave before my last performance in our high school production of “Hairspray”.  As my highschool career came to an abrupt end I was inundated with classmates wanting me to sign their yearbooks.  A glimpse into how crazy people will be for me in my new Hollywood life I was sure.  My theater friends were angry, but I didn’t really need them anymore.  They were holding me back from reaching my true potential and in Hollywood I knew people would be falling all over themselves to be a part of my new circle.

Kind of like my producer friend who was, frankly, making a fool of himself.  I had to keep feeding him with some of my time but he was getting a little obsessed with my stardom and getting me to California. He even had the audacity to insist on taking me to Hollywood himself but I wasn’t about to let him take ownership of me.  Once introductions were made I would definitely dump him.  I would find a producer more worthy of my talents.  All of my talents.

I wanted to make this trip on my own.  I wanted the full experience.  I wanted to feel the freedom of a solo adventure across the country and have a story to tell.  When my mother dropped me off at the station it was awkward.  She wanted to both shake me and cover me in kisses but I was glammed so she had to settle for an air hug and a blown kiss.  My producer friend came by for the send off, too, but he knew better than to show me affection in front of my mother.

I had them leave me and my travel bag on a bench near the bus terminal.  None of my theater group came to say goodbye but that just gave me time alone to  imagine my amazing future without them.  The amazing parties, my adoring fans, the glitz and the glamor, the primping, the awards.  I was going to have it all.  Everyone was going to adore me.

My bus didn’t take long to arrive.  I watched people disembark curiously.  Some were met with loved ones, some with associates, and some were very much alone.  One of these lone riders wore a hooded black sweatshirt and appeared to be avoiding eye contact with everyone.  Their tall thin frame was hunched forward and their eyes were covered with dark sunglasses.  They seemed slightly frantic as they scanned the people waiting to leave.

The figure turned toward me and my breath caught in my throat.  It was a celebrity, I could feel it.  There was a real celebrity in my small town and they were staring right at me!  There was this weird feeling of knowing this person and not knowing.  I couldn't think of what movies they may have been in but I knew them, I knew them right away as someone familiar.

They caught me watching and quickly walked toward me before I had a chance to think.  I was stunned as this person was in front of me before I had a chance to move.  I stared into this stranger’s face and my recognition became more clear as they removed their sunglasses.  I lost all feeling in my body.  I sat paralyzed on the bench and this stranger, who was not a stranger at all, sat next to me.

I had to look away. The face was gaunt, the eyes deep set and frightened.  The hands that moved to return the dark sunglasses had nails that were broken and chipped. The brittle hair fell from under the hood of the sweatshirt.  I couldn’t breathe. I grasped onto the bench and rocked. What I was witnessing was both impossible and undeniable. I asked, “Why are you here?”

This figure that sat beside me took one shaky breath and then another.  It was like this was the most important speech they would ever make and they weren’t sure where to begin.  “I know you think you want this.  The fame and the glamor and the glitter and the parties.  Please believe me when I tell you that you don’t.  You won’t.  It’s too much, it’s all too much.”  Their voice was pleading and their shoulders sank as they began to cry.

Disappointedly I asked, “We don’t make it then?  We didn’t make it, is that why you are crying?”  Their head moved from side to side and they took a deep reviving breath. With a shaking voice they replied.  “No, you don’t understand.  We do, we make it.  We get everything we dreamt possible and it is so unbearably awful.”  They gulped air and went on, “I am being held captive by our stardom; I can’t eat, or drink, or breathe without everyone taking notes, making comments, demanding my attention!” 

The shaky voice got louder, more frantic.  Realizing that they were drawing the very attention they complained about, they curled back into themselves.  They whispered, “Please listen to me, please hear me; it’s not worth it.  None of the glamor and glitter is worth what I have been through.  It is so lonely. Please, please don’t go.  Turn around and go back home to mom and all of our real friends.”  

They reached for my hand but there was a strange electric sensation that made us both pull back.  Like if we touched we would become one.  I looked into their eyes and watched a tear run down what I now recognized as my gaunt, exhausted, haunted face.  I looked into my own defeated eyes as I stood and reached for my bags.

I always knew I was going to be a star.  It is all I have ever wanted.  I lifted my chin and straightened my back.  I gave my pig tail one last shake as I stepped toward the bus headed for Hollywood.