Epilogue: Amazing Grace
My heart was pounding.
It always did. I'd done this so many times by now, you'd think it would be natural, but it wasn't. Or maybe it was, and this was just how nature worked. Diving into something scary, taking the plunge into a high-stress situation, requires acute awareness, elevated focus. All things that came with an elevated heart rate.
Okay, science nerd. Get out of your own head.
Easier said than done, but just like every other time I stood backstage waiting for my cue, I gave it my best.
Next to me stood…well, to be honest, I couldn't remember his name. He was tall, slim, with olive skin. The headset he wore made him look like one of those guys who direct airplanes on a runway. I think I felt his eyes on me a few times as I was standing there. I didn't mind. He was cute, with dark eyes peeking out from behind thin glasses.
This isn't the time for that. Focus. This is it. The biggest show of your life.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"Nope. Not even a little." It was a lie, but my poker face was on point like it always was.
"I would be," he went on. Was he trying to distract me? "But that's why I like working back here. Part of the excitement without all the pressure."
"It can be tough," I admitted. "Not for me, but for some people."
He smiled, and my stomach did…a thing. A flip? A dip? Ugh. Not the time.
"You're definitely confident."
I smirked, the way I always did when someone felt it necessary to remark on my confidence. "You don't know who I am."
"Who are you?"
Before I could answer him, I heard the voice from the stage start talking about my act. I glanced back at the cute guy and smiled. "I'm on next."
He laughed kind of bashfully and my stomach did that thing again. Maybe it was a dip and a swirl. Whatever it was, I wished it would quit.
"Good luck."
I wanted to tell him I didn't need it, but I felt like that might cross the line from confidence into being unlikeable. People will cheer for an underdog but not for an asshole.
Lessons my mother taught me, chapter one.
I switched my mic on and made sure my earbuds were in securely. A quick test and I was able to hear myself perfectly.
Showtime.
I'd done it before, like I said. So often. But those first moments, when the curtain lifted and the stage lights were so blinding I couldn't see the crowd, those were the most intense. And no matter what the venue was, that moment hit different every single time. How many people were there? How many were chanting my name?
It was a massive rush. Once the music started and the words started flowing, it was like a roller coaster. Up, down, whipping around, upside-down, rightside-up, a nonstop, violent rush to the end that I'd barely remember by the time it was done.
I guess I'm waxing poetic a bit. I did that a lot.
Lessons my other mother taught me, chapter one.
The familiar keyboard solo rang out. Eddie, I hope you're smiling on me today…
I went with the most epic rock song I could think of, Dreams, a classic by the master himself, Eddie Van Halen.
For one thing, it was a banger of a song. Huge vocals, big instrumentation, and exactly the kind of track you'd never expect to hear, given where I was. I hoped it would impress. Hoped I would impress. Because this opportunity was my dream come true.
Okay, maybe you're asking how many dreams can you really have at age fourteen? Fair question. But have you ever been a teenager? Dreams are like all we have. And acne. So much acne.
The music picked up and I left my new, nameless friend backstage. I think I'll name him Nameless, I thought as I strode to the spotlight with a confidence I'd spent years earning. I wasn't being given this opportunity as a handout. I had busted my ass for it. I always did.
Lessons my mother taught me, chapter two.
The lights flickered and flashed as I started moving to the music. I pulled out every move I had in my arsenal, which granted wasn't much. Dancing was never my strong suit, but I think I did pretty well. It dragged a bit; I forgot how long the intro to this epic song was. Should have choreographed a bit more.
Oh well. Too late to fret now. Let's do this.
Oops. More instrumental stuff. Okay. Maybe they didn't notice the false start.
Now, let's do it…
World turns black and white
Pictures in an empty room
Your love starts fallin' down
Better change your tune
Yeah, reach for the golden ring
Reach for the sky
Baby, just spread your wings
Just like that, I was out of my head. I was focused on the lyrics, on moving around, on trying to find everyone who had come to see me perform tonight.
And get higher and higher
Straight up we'll climb
We'll get higher and higher
Leave it all behind
One verse down. Keep going, kid. I gave the best pep talks.
Run, run, run away
Like a train runnin' off the track
Got the truth bein' left behind
Fall between the cracks
Standin' on broken dreams
Never losin' sight, ah
Well, just spread your wings
I gave myself over to the music, to the beat and the guitar riffs and the lyrics. I moved through them all with swift, fluid steps, trying to give the crowd something to watch without overwhelming them. Balance was it important in everything, just like my aunt always taught me.
In fact, she was the first one I caught in the crowd. As my eyes adjusted to the lights a little better, the silhouettes in the seats gradually became faces. People.
My family.
"That's my girl!" I heard her screaming. Next to her, my cousin shouted her agreement.
She had always been so encouraging to me. She's the one who sponsored my presence that day, and I worked hard to justify her unshakable faith in me.
We'll get higher and higher
Straight up we'll climb
We'll get higher and higher
Leave it all behind
In my head I heard tens of thousands of fans clapping and cheering for me. The same kinds of things I always saw at my mom's shows. I always got a little carried away. I had what my Grandpa David called the gift of a vivid imagination. I'd envision something in my head as if it were actually happening and it would seem just as real to me as…well…reality.
Sometimes, even more.
Speaking of Grandpa David, he was sitting behind Aunt Trina and Callie. Grandma Holly was at his side. They were all smiles; it was his idea for me to do a classic rock piece, and based on the noise response so far it was a great idea.
So baby, dry your eyes
Save all the tears you've cried
Oh, that's what dreams are made of
So maybe I was exaggerating about a few things. But can you blame me? For me, this was a moment that seemed every bit as massive as what I described. And besides, a little imagination is good for the soul. Grandpa West told me that once; he called it the most important lesson he ever learned. Since he was such a wise man, I took it to heart.
He and Grandma Debbie sat right behind Grandpa David and Grandma Holly. Grandma Debbie was really into the song. Grandpa West nodded along with it, which, according to my mom, is a big deal for him.
'Cause we belong
In a world that must be strong
Oh, that's what dreams are made of
There were quite a few people I didn't recognize or didn't know very well. People like Andre and Tara Harris, who owned the record label my mom—well, Mom-T—had released albums with for something like twenty years. And of course, I knew Aunt Sam and Aunt Cat, the latter of which most of the world knew as the seemingly eternal Caterina. She had released so many number one albums even I didn't have them all.
Others were less familiar. There was Mister Sikowitz, Mister Shapiro, and Mrs. Hannah, all of whom were on the judge's panel today. My fate rested in their hands.
In the front row, cheering me on and embarrassing the crap out of me like always, were my moms, Tori and Jade Vega-West. I loved them dearly, and loved their support, but the pressure of being their daughter was a bit much sometimes. Mom-T had almost as many successes as Aunt Cat, and Mom-J was basically considered a goddess of the horror industry. I think to most people that seems like a dream come true. I faced a lot of jealous kids in my short time on this silly rock. But they've got no idea how much pressure comes along with having the coolest parents in the world.
Crap, time for the guitar solo…
I hurried backstage, my hands sweating. This was the part that had me more nervous than anything else. But standing there next to his vintage Fender Stratocaster was the man who taught me how to play: Uncle Beck. He handed me his baby and smiled.
"Knock 'em dead, kiddo. You've got this."
The Fender felt as if it were custom-made for me. I hurried back out to center stage and slid the strap over my head. I was sweating like crazy and wishing I'd inherited Mom-J's weird ability to never sweat unless under extreme pressure or…well, something else that she always said she'd "explain when you're older."
I think she means sex. Like I didn't know what that was.
My fingers caressed the guitar strings. I hit every finger hold and every note. It was probably the best I've ever played, no exaggeration. Mom-J was almost climbing onto the stage, she was cheering so loud. Mom-T had to gently reign her in. Like always.
As much as they frustrated the hell out of me, they really were amazing together.
Yeah, we'll get higher and higher
Straight up we'll climb
Higher and higher
Leave it all behind
Oh, we'll get higher and higher
Who knows what we'll find?
The song began to slow as it reached its end. Aunt Cat always said that's how it is with everything. The most intense storms pass, and the loudest song eventually fades out. Understanding that was important to her, so I always tried to get it, even when I didn't. Some part of me sensed it was a big damn life lesson, but I think there are some things you just can't wrap your brain around at fourteen.
All I really knew was that my moms met at the original Hollywood Arts High School; they met Aunt Cat there, too. And Andre and Beck and Mister Shapiro and Mister Sikowitz. And Aunt Trina always said the most important things she ever learned about herself and life, she learned from that place and those people.
It was a place to figure out who I was, or maybe just create who I would become. After hearing about it my whole life, what choice did I have but to follow that path? I had to find some use for this "gift" of imagination Grandpa David said I had. And my aptitude for writing, singing, all the things my moms did and taught me…I wanted to put them to use.
That's why I was on that stage, auditioning for my place at Hollywood Arts. Just like my moms did. Just like their friends.
So baby, dry your eyes
Save all the tears you've cried
Oh, that's what dreams are made of
'Cause we belong
In a world that must be strong
Oh, that's what dreams are made of
I hoped, as the song came to a close, that I had earned my place. I wasn't resting on what my mothers had done or the people I knew. I had rehearsed endlessly, maybe pushed myself too hard, to make sure this performance was perfect. And as I was ready to bring it home, I knew in my heart it had been.
And in the end
On dreams we will depend
'Cause that's what love is made of
The small crowd in the Rex Powers Auditorium was on their feet as the lights came up. It seemed so empty, but then again most potential students didn't even get to have family come in for their auditions at all. And my family still filled up a decent portion of the space.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I handed the mic to the cute boy who had been working backstage for the audition. On the other side of my performance now, and seeing him under all the lights, my stomach did another flip and my heart kind of went wonky for a second. My knees were like jelly.
Get a grip, girl. Focus on your family.
I looked out over the audience: to my family and my extended family. Aunt Cat, Aunt Sam, Aunt Trina, Callie, Andre, my grandparents, and of course my incredibly talented and beautiful moms. It meant the world that they were all there.
The three judges stood: Mister Sikowitz, Mister Shapiro, and Mrs. Hannah. My family quieted down. The room, so full of amazing music just minutes before, was silent as a tomb.
Mister Sikowitz turned to Mrs. Hannah first. She silently raised her hand and gave me a thumbs up.
My heart leapt out of my chest.
Oh my gosh, that's one…
Mister Shapiro raised his hand and, with a smile, extended his thumb as well.
Two! That's two! Ohmygosh, please…please…
Mister Sikowitz took a look at both of his colleagues' hands, then smiled.
"That makes it unanimous," he said in his booming baritone. "Miss Vega-West, welcome to Hollywood Arts."
My family exploded from their seats, everyone rushing to the stage all at once, showering me with their well-wishes and happy sentiments. My moms couldn't stop hugging and kissing me. I can't believe they'd be okay with my grandparents smothering them like that at this age. Right?
I finally managed to put some distance between myself and my crazy-proud family. The boy who had been backstage earlier approached me.
"Congrats! It's cool you're coming here next year," he said. "This was my first year here and I really liked it. And you've got a lot of talent. That guitar solo was…amazing." He took a nervous breath. "You kind of are, too. Amazing, I mean."
Why did I feel so dizzy? Why was I gonna faint? Oh gosh, don't faint! Just smile. Smile!
I think I smiled. My mouth opened. My teeth were showing. Pretty sure it was a smile. Or maybe a snarl. Might have been a growl. Not sure.
"So who are you, anyway?"
It was meant to be an innocent question, I think, but it caught me off-guard. I had teased him earlier that he didn't know I was. But did I? Did anyone?
I know who I had been up to that point: the daughter of two very, very successful artists and creatives, raised in a close-knit and loving family full of others who were gifted just like my moms.
But what did that make me?
Amazing. That's what he'd called me. I'd heard it before, of course. It came with the territory, with my name and all. But that wasn't my identity. Just an opinion. In truth, I didn't know who I was, at least not in the deeper sense. But I hoped I'd find out. Just like my moms and their friends did at the old Hollywood Arts. It might be in a new building now, but it had an old soul, this school. That's what Mom-J always said. And she should know, she helped found it.
There's an old song Grandpa David likes about that. It goes, every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. On some level, I understood this simple question was just the beginning of my journey at Hollywood Arts. I couldn't help but wonder about the journey that was ending.
My moms were smiling at me again. They could be so embarrassing sometimes…but it felt good to know they had my back. I realized, though, as they turned from me and smiled so fondly at each other…this was their journey. I mean it's not like they just POOFED out of existence when I wasn't around. They were on their own journey. I was a part of it now; I had been for fourteen years. But whatever road I was on, was because they wanted me to be a part of their story. There was some deeper truth there that felt so heavy I nearly stumbled. I couldn't process it, but I was at least aware of its existence. I stood at this crossroads because of the many roads and paths they traveled. All they had been through helped shape me into who I am, just as it shaped them.
But now it was time for me to take those first steps.
I wondered if either of my moms had ever grappled with these kinds of existential issues. I wondered if they were aware of their own journey and my place in it. Or if my grandparents were aware of theirs, and my moms' place in that. This was all new to me, but maybe they got it.
As I watched them each embrace their respective parents, as I saw the affection and unspoken bonds and the knowing smiles of wisdom shared between them, I decided that yes, they understood.
Maybe understanding the journey is part of the journey.
Ugh. It was getting deep. Too deep for such a happy occasion.
I looked back to Nameless, and realized he was patiently waiting on an answer, completely unaware at the existential crisis his innocent question had wrought. Sounds dramatic, but that's me. Miss Dramatic.
So, who am I?
I'm Grace. Grace Vega-West. And this…is my story…