21 years ago
Tina’s mom ordered: “Don’t miss your queue again honey, k?”
Tina was 9 years old. She hadn’t been able to feel her feet for almost three hours now. Her mother thought that her feet were relatively large for her body, so she always forced them into shoes two sizes too small.
The shooting pains were really flowing now. She timed them, the same way a woman times her contractions, just before giving birth.
The pain started at the top of her calf and traveled, like a rusty jagged razor being dragged at a slow devious pace, up her inner thigh and into her groin.
She was about to go on. She had made it this far, mostly out of fear.
She only competed to keep living.
She was sure that someone would find her dead just moments after it was known she did not take first place in any contest.
Her mother had been overjoyed two months prior when she won her age division at the county level. She watched her mother’s face explode with what can only be described as that of a gladiator who had just killed his last opponent for the day, as the first runner up was called.
The gloating started at that moment and she watched as her mother’s evil, judgmental and smug eyes swept over the other mothers and their loser daughters.
The preparation for today started the moment they got home that night. The choreographer was there at 8pm and she worked until 2am. The voice coach came the next day for a four hour session and this cycle repeated, with dress fittings, nail, hair and tanning appointments interspersed throughout. She missed going to a regular school, but using private tutors was the only way that she could rehearse to the extent her mother thought necessary.
If the state had taken an interest in homeschooled children, and checked her progress, they would quickly learn that Tina’s proficiency in any subject did not exceed that of a six year old.
There she stood, stage right, in the main ballroom of the Phoenix Hilton, her calves, thighs and groin experiencing wave after shocking wave of jagged incision type pain.
“Don’t miss your queue again honey, k?”
Over the P.A system came:
“… and now Little Miss Simpson County, Miss Tina Glenn. ….”
She felt mother’s deliberate shove on her lower back and heard the usual “Smile, honey, no one likes a frowner…” and she made her way to her first mark.
Although she would never recall walking on that stage, or the smattering of obligatory applause, or winning Arizona for her age group, the music began and she began to dance…..
21 years later…
“Tina, come on honey, wake up, what are you so deep in thought about? You don’t want to miss your queue again, do you hon?"
The stagehand had been watching the 30-year-old Tina Glenn as she stood stage left on board the Fiesta Legend cruise ship. It was sailing from New York to the Eastern Caribbean.
He watched, as her face seemed to involuntarily contort between feelings of intense sadness and fright. He watched as slow deliberate tears fell against her cheeks and watched as they traced rivulets down to her chin.
She had a papier-mâché trumpet on her head. This was the Satchmo number and it was her turn to shine.
It was always a saving grace that the footlights and headlights precluded her from seeing the true audience.
This audience, her audience, actually felt that they were seeing a Broadway show. This audience, her audience, were mostly inebriated and were $10.00 away from white trash.
She felt the stage hand’s deliberate shove on her lower back and heard, with a wicked sarcastic snigger, “Smile, honey, no one likes a sad trumpet.. …” and she made her way to her first mark.
