Boyfriend Of The Moment (BOTM) was ringing her phone. She did not pick up. Talking, breathing, living - these things held no interest to her. It was all she could do to grapple with the alternate universe in which she found herself.
She'd taken her vacation to Los Angeles alone for a reason. That reason she would take to her grave. L.A. was where she belonged. In the group tour she'd taken of the Hollywood Bowl that afternoon, only she was shattered and unnerved by it. "This is the only way I'll ever walk on this stage." The reality of it collapsed her within her own private rapture. She couldn't afford to let anyone see that.
The invading ringing phone on her motel nightstand wanted to hear all about her Instagram-worthy vacation. But all she could think about was returning to the Midwest dive bars where her singing career had stalled for the past ten years. She'd have to stand on the stage and somehow pretend her life was on the straight and narrow even has she now faced it had gone off the rails for good.
L.A.'s siren call had to be answered. She kept hoping when she finally made the trip it would be because she was pursuing her ticket to success. But ever since she refused to audition for a recording contract - refused to see if she truly had talent or delusion - the ice beneath her feet had slowly melted, forcing her to run away to the place she'd once believed she deserved to be.
Part of her begged her not to return, to forget the smoky bar faces that awaited her in bored fascination. She would stay on here, start over, become a new person, to at long last become unstuck! "Don't answer the phone. Answer only to yourself." But her network of support was back in Abilene. That's where she'd be safe to rot.
Dreams aren't safe, she thought. Being dreamless is the practical thing to do. What was it BOTM said? "I love you...and I don't." Her entire life was like that: one foot in, one foot out. But that recording audition was a once-in-a-lifetime offer, never to return. She lied to herself just to be able to keep singing. "Tomorrow I'll audition..." That stage she walked on today - something about hearing the sound of her own shoes as she crossed - told her she's just one more person on the scrapheap of history wishing for talent that was not there or allowed to flourish.
"Fuck me in the ass. I'm good for nothing else," she actually said aloud to a previous BOTM. He was more than happy to oblige because even the mere threat of her having talent was something his no-talent ass needed to destroy. Besides, if she could convince herself of her unworthiness then how could she be a failure? She was like a drunkard who spent every last cent on getting the next drink. Easier to chase a rainbow that can never be reached than be caught fooling yourself in front of the whole laughing world.
Like a needle in her arm, she injected the despair, sprawled out and strung out on a cheap motel bed at the edge of the universe. What would happen if she stopped lying and pretending? What if she broke down and confessed her life a massive disappointment and to its nightmarish existence? She couldn't see the point in that. At least her lies bought her acceptance of the romantic notion of publicly still chasing a career; just another corrupt politician.
Unable to move forward or backward on the railroad tracks of life, she simply decided to let the train run her over, a mercy killing. Trapped in Heaven, she looked down to see the enormity of the talent she left unshared. Even in death she couldn't get away.
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