Just reaching into a Trick 0r Treat candy bowl was sensory overload. Of course I wanted more than a couple pieces. Later I would flop belly down on my bed , spreading the contents of my bag and sort into piles left to right from amazing to icky.
The next school day would be a brag-fest of who got what and how much. Someone always seemed to be more fortunate - with a full size candy bar or a caramel apple. Someone always got coins that sank to bottom of the bag, jingling as they dashed from porch light to porch light. Someone got a new printed pencil while I was stuck with yellow #2 with the the dusty pink eraser chewed to soggy bits. Someone's costume so amazing that adults gave them an extra portion, snapped a photo for the local paper, called them inside their home to do a runway walk, turn, pose before being sent back into the chilly night, a grin fogging up the inside of their plastic mask. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.
"Draw a picture of what you'll grow up to be."
I added glitter to the purple evening gown, leaving the mic stand shiny and dark. I wished I could include the sound of the big band just out of the spot light. I wished I could just be that singer now. One day I would beautiful. One day I would be onstage and as my voice filled the room everyone would be looking at me. I would be famous.
My drawing taped to the wall with the astronauts, the doctors, the teachers, the farmers, the mommys -glitter screaming to be noticed, to be recognized as the best future. It would take luck to be famous. I was claiming all the luck in the room.
"You still get to be onstage."
9 of us were cast as the children of the King of Siam. Daughter #1 got to sing by herself. Her costume was glittery and silky while 8 of us shuffled across the stage in sticky nylon pajamas.Black eye liner implied our oriental heritage. Daughter #1 got lipstick, face powder, rouge. The rest of us of were told not to "draw focus."
She lived in the biggest, newest house in town. She'd had voice lessons. She had her hair professionally styled and a new school wardrobe every year. She was the first to wear (or need) a bra. Our 6 grade class was in love with her. In a cow town of 5000 she was the shiniest. Everyone one said she would be famous one day. There was no daughter #2, just 8 other daughters and sons, singing and moving as one, no voice to be heard above the others.
She moved. By 9th grade, I got all the leads in every musical. I begged for voice lessons and perms. I runway walked, turned, posed. My photo frequented the newspapers. I won swim meets and art shows. I played guitar and wrote songs. I was the shiniest. Everyone said I would be famous one day.
"Did you see the new guy's car?"
The high school parking lot was filled with junkers. Kids drove whatever was not rusting in a field or no longer in use by their parents. His car looked like a bright blue ornament on a long dead Christmas tree. Between his roaring sports car, his long blond hair, blue eyes and shiny "newness"- he was instantly pick of the litter. The cheerleaders claimed him first, having been asked to show him around the school. Long smooth legs beneath short pleated wool skirts, they moved like a pack but one of them was always homecoming queen. Their boyfriends were the football, baseball, basketball stars. Their Colgate smiles and silky hair the envy of the 10th through 12th grades.
I wanted him to want me so I chased him till he caught me. On his arm I was Lucky. I was #1 even through I was his second girlfriend. His first a cheerleader from his old school, a girl with mythical huge breasts who he claimed he had had sex with.
I sent away for the Mark Eden Breast Developer.
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