Showtime
You know, life is like one big stage production, where everyone has their own one man show and never encounter each other backstage.
Of course, everyone watches everyone else, but that's really all they see of each other. You get some people who watch keenly, trying to pick up on any mistake, any falter, any hesitation. Any moment which could construe the performance less than perfect. You get a few who are so consumed by their own act that they don't notice anyone else's. And then you get the majority of the audience, those who don't want to know if there's anything wrong- they're there to have fun, they don't want to bother themselves with ideas of a sub par performance.
Obviously you get people whose acts fall apart. They are the ones who forget their monologues, who trip during their dances, who sing inaudibly and off-key, whose jokes fall flat, whose lips tremble as they force out a pained smile, who scurry offstage before their grand finale to a deafening silence in the auditorium.
It's easier to enjoy the show when you've got the 'prime' seats in the gallery. You're further away. The closer you are, the easier it is to spot the flaws. The harder it is to ignore the mistakes. Some people do. They manage to ignore the missteps. They notice the discord, but brush it off in lieu of the bigger picture, which looks so much better.
And then you get the ones close to you. The ones who love you. They are the ones standing and watching from the wings, a far more intimate view. They don't have the concealing effects of professional lighting.
Like me. I suppose I have my own show, but watching her up on stage… I know of the mistakes made while practicing, because I have been privy to the rehearsals. And it hurts. And every time the general audience cheers and claps and I know she does it so well there is nothing to notice, I feel like my heart shatters. The worst is that I have to watch the show. The flawless performance when I know all is not right.
Sometimes she slips into her stage persona when it's just me, backstage, and I get angry. But I really shouldn't, because it's not as if she's not being herself. She's just being the public perception of herself.
So it's her brothers and I standing in the wings as she winks and grins at the audience and even while it kills us we can't do a thing about it, because she will never stop.
And every day, every show, she prepares herself, flashes a grin, and whispers to me:
Jazz hands, baby.
It's Showtime.
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