Ripshit Heart

My Showbiz Career

I'm not counting the time my mother made me take a drama class in order to, like, make me get over shyness or something. That was a fiasco-- I didn't want to get on stage, but ended up with a part in one of the plays where I had 3 lines, one of them being funny. Of course, I had no idea that the line "it's unconstitutional" was supposed to be a joke, so when people laughed when I said it, I was mortified. No, we'll forget about that for now.

I'm blaming Gareth for my lack of showbiz career actually. It's all Gareth's fault-- he was the first boy I ever had a crush on. He sat next to me in class and was always drawing pictures of dragons and making up stories about wizards and other such mystical beings whose main focus is to slay dragons. I tried to join in on his stories; he'd start one, and I'd add some details to further the plot along which were always rejected by him, so eventually I stopped. I preferred instead to gaze at his wondrous 8-year-old beauty out of the corner of my eye while I drew pictures of cats and unicorns and the occasional dragon.

Gareth was the perfect man for me at age 7 (he was a year older; I envisioned him as the wise Seventeen-Going-on-eighteen to my Sixteen-Going-On -Seventeen when we were older and married and did things like sang musical numbers together, because that's what grown-ups did, wasn't it?). He was smart, but not obnoxious about it, polite almost to the point of suspicion (what COULD that boy be hiding behind all those "thank you's" and "pardon me's"?), good looking (tall and skinny with a mop of brown hair), and of course... those stories about dragons had me hooked from the first moment I heard his name. Gareth. It had an ethereal, musical sound. His Welsh accent (he had been born in Wales and come to NY in the middle of that year) was exotic and mysterious, like the way he said "helly-copter" instead of "hell-ih-copter." I would hear his voice in my head repeating "helly-copter" and I would inwardly swoon as I said it to myself in what I thought was his accent.

That summer, Gareth and I went to the same day-camp for kids whose parents worked and didn't have time to deal with them during the day during summer vacations. The culimation of this day-camp's activities would be the final day, when we would have an International Festival, complete with food, ethnic-esque dancing, plays and general multi-cultural merriment. When Gareth's and my group convened to decide what our role would be in the celebration of culture, Gareth proposed that we put on a play about a dragon in Wales. The high-school kids who were running the program had no idea what Wales was, so our play was entitled "The Dragon of Great Britain," with Gareth starring as the dragon.

Though I longed to play the part of the damsel in distress who eventually makes friends with the dragon (the dragon turns out to be friendly and just wants to play after all), the thought of having to get on stage made me queasy, and I opted to paint scenery and make props instead, all the while gazing dreamily upon Gareth in his papier-Maché dragon head and green cape.

Fast forward a few months to fall-- all my friends had made it into the Syracuse children's chorus, the highest honor I could possibly imagine. I knew I was a better singer than at least Cara, my Perfect Friend with the Perfect Family; she obviously only made it in because she could sing loudly. Cara belted out her tunelessness and off-key mistakes and with self-confidence and an air of authority. I *knew* I was a better singer. When Cara and I put on "shows" (i.e., subjected our parents to watching us perform songs from Annie and The Sound of Music), I was always the better singer who learned the songs more quickly. Cara might have been from a stable family with flags planted firmly in the upper middle classes for generations, but I was the better singer.

I learned the song that the older kids had to sing for their auditions: "Swanee River"-- I wasn't going to sing the mamby-pamby "My Country 'tis of Thee" that was the default song for kids my age. I even took care to dress in the uniform of the choir, dark blue skirt with a white blouse, although the only dark blue skirt I had was one my great-aunt had made for me out of denim with subtle, yet sparkly silver threads woven into it, another hallmark of my weird bohemian background. Despite this, I was ready. I was going to be a star. I knew that once I made my mark on Onandaga County's music scene, it wouldn't be long before some director noticed my incredible singing and made me the next Annie. When I was a little older, I'd make the transition to Liesl in The Sound of Music.

Sheet music in hand, I sat swinging my legs on the wooden chair in the hall outside the audition room. I could hear the piano chords of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" coming through the door and snickered quietly to myself. The singing stopped and I waited impatiently a few minutes for my turn, trying in vain to hear what the previous auditioner was saying. The door opened and out walked Gareth, his parents, and his younger sister Cerys, who was also auditioning for the choir. Gareth's audition appointment was right after mine, I discovered as our mothers, who knew each other from something or other, chatted.

I paced. I sweated. My musical mellow had been rudely harshed by the sight of my beloved, who should have brought me inspiration, but instead made me panic and feel slightly nauseous with shyness. I somehow made it through "Swanee River" and some vocal exercises, but my previously obvious shining talent hadn't dazzled anyone into instantly casting me as so much as an understudy for the choir. Gareth and Cerys had made it in as had Cara (surprise, surprise), and my friends Becky and Emily, but all I did on Thursday nights while they were rehearsing beautiful tunes and planning to tour the world, bringing joy to all with their angelic harmonies, was draw pictures of dragons in my bedroom. Thus ended my brief, thrilling, and entirely imaginary showbiz career.

posted by Scooter B. @ 3/20/2008 06:37:00 PM 0 comments