“I’ve heard about Nourish. My friend Stevie started it.”
I don’t respond, not wanting to give myself away and admit that I know Stevie too.
“Ok, my turn. What made you want to get into the entertainment industry?”
She’s quiet for a few moments. “I’ve always loved singing...”
Knew that.
“My parents were always incredibly supportive and encouraged me to pursue my dreams. When I was in high school, I started taking voice lessons, but I neverreallywanted to become famous, I just cared about the music. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to become a career.”
She’s quiet as I wait, already knowing that there’s more to her story.
“Ok, so it sounds stupid if I tell you the exact thing that pushed me to pursue singing full time at nineteen years old because my songs are full of feminism themes and independence, but oh well, it was a boy that encouraged me to confidently pursue my dreams during a time in my life where I severely lacked confidence and direction.”
I sit as still as stone, absorbing her confession. My breath slows as I take in every word.
“Well, I guess he wasn’t a boy. He was more like a man at the time,” she continues.
Is she talking about me?
Chapter 17 – Dallas
Without prompting, she continues.
“Years ago, I had a pen pal. Well, I guess he was an accidental pen pal. I kind of guilted him into writing to me. But he was my friend, too. Anyways, he always gave off this super confident, overly cocky vibe in his letters that I’m ashamed to admit, Ireallyenvied. Every new thing that he tried he went into thinking he was going to crush it. He never evenconsideredthat he might fail before doing something new. Isn’t that obnoxious?” she pauses waiting for me to respond.
“Yea, guy sounds like a total tool.”
She snickers in the darkness. “You’d think so. I mean, who assumes that they’re going to be good ateverythingthey try?But that’s just how he was. Unashamedly confident. Throughout our letter exchanges he shared a few things that he'd tried and wasn't good at but the things that he didn't excel at, he shrugged and moved on. It didn’t even faze him to fail. Once, he tried karaoke at a bar because I told him I was a singer, and he told me afterwards that he sucked, made a total fool of himself, and he wouldn’t be doing that ever again but it’s the fact that he at leasttriedto sing because he knew it was something I loved. Even if it sounds simple, it left a lasting impression on me. I’d always beenafraid of the risk.”
She sighs gently, “Anyways when I graduated from high school, I decided to go for it. Move to Los Angeles and walk into an open call for a rock band that needed a lead singer. Their previous lead left them after only three months together and they were floundering. Basically, no one knew about them. I told myself that I wasn’t going to fail. That I was confident that everything I tried in life would succeed, the way I’d prepared my voice, practiced my lines, it wasn’t possible for me to fail.”
She’s silent for a few seconds, “It turns out I was really fucking good and got the lead role on the spot. We’ve seen a lot of success since then and have even been on tour. I’m in the midst of a west coast break right now.”
“That’s awesome. Sounds like you would have always ended up in music. The talent was inside of you, you just needed to tap into that confidence.”
“I don’t know… I mean I knew I was talented, but I think I needed that push from my pen pal, a complete stranger to say he believed in me and to just go for it.”
I clear my throat. “So, what happened to the guy?”
She sighs softly, “I don’t know. That’s the worst part. I never told him that I ended up pursuing my dreams, but I was in a really dark place when I first started writing to him. I’d been trying to reach my birth mom with my letters and instead of getting her, I got him. I then proceeded to lie and say that my teacher required us to continue to write to each other so that I’d have a friend to talk to who didn’t know me and I could bounce ideas off of. I was coming into my own as a young girl and feeling like a misfit in town. You never really get used to standing out and being different, even in a place like LA, so I was trying to grasp a better understanding of myself in any way I could.”
I’m silent as I listen to her soft voice confess so freely the emotions that she’d concealed behind that first letter I’d receivedfrom her all those years ago. I'd almost thrown it away when I'd read it, but the desperate plea at the end to write back had guilted me into responding to let her know she hadn’t reached her mom. True, I’d always told myself I was responding for her school assignment, but her friendship had helped me in many ways too.
I’d been sure of myself, overly confident in my foolish, young-man and highly privileged ways, thinking that everything I touched would turn golden just like my name. And for the most part, that had been true. But I’d also been trying to fill a void in my heart. I’d confessed feelings of inadequacy to her that I couldn’t reconcile with any of my closest friends as I wondered how much of who I’d been was because of my affluent and connected up-bringing versus actual hard work. I projected that insecurity onto the people around me and rarely could keep a dating relationship or close friendships that became meaningful.
Dove had helped me find my path in life, leading me to an eventually decorated career with the Marines. Though I’d been honorably discharged, I knew I’d never fully leave that part of my life behind. It was too great in forming who I’d become and beyond that, I believed that reading Dove’s letter had given me the will to survive that fateful attempt on my life amidst the war the night I received it.
For a grown man, well over two hundred pounds of muscle, bone, blood, and fury, something about her gentle, honest words sends a prick of guilt through my heart. I’d never responded to any of her letters after enlisting; never expressed how much her friendship had helped me too, and now, I was pretending that I didn't know who she was inside of this cramped, dark elevator while she opens up to me about her past insecurities. Reflecting back on the years and exchanges we shared, Dove might be one of the few people who’d truly seen me and liked me despite the poor attitude, cocky mentality and fickleness that permeated my past.
For the first time since the power cut out and we came to a standstill, I start to feel claustrophobic.
She sighs gently as she bumps her head back against the elevator wall, completely unaware of the turmoil that’s raging inside of me.
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question but that last one bummed me out. I haven't thought about my old pen pal in a while,” she says.
Figuring I should lighten the mood for both of us before we slip further down memory lane, I decide to ask the next one instead, “What’s the first thing you want to do when we get out of here?”
