The Show Must Go On… But Does It?
Even the best artists only last a lifetime
The mirror before me shows a beautiful woman with impeccable make-up, masking the pale colour that makes my face almost translucent. I finally apply the finishing touches and pause with the lipstick lingering in my hand. I look blankly at an image from better times. A single tear escapes my eye, trailing across the immaculate layout, leaving black junk behind. I grab a tissue and gently pat it away. Restoring only takes a minute. If only the pain could be brushed away just as quickly. It amazes me that you can hide it so easily that your life is in smithereens.
My heart squeezes to accompany the more familiar stimuli in my stomach. Even now, the stagefright is a constant companion. I wouldn’t know how to act without the nauseating fear beforehand. After all these years, it’s almost as sweet to me as performing itself. At this point, the returning feeling even gives me a little peace of mind. As does the dressing room where I have spent so many nights waiting anxiously beforehand and cleaning my face in an elated mood after a night well spent. The roses on the little side table near the comfortable chair at the opposite wall smell like home too. I know it is a gift from the crew, to show their “support and admiration”. Or so the card says. Yes, it has been good to come here. A distraction…
