The Story of a Broken Record.
The Story of a Broken Record.
Once upon a time, there was a strong, independent woman, a woman who knew who she was and knew who she wanted to be. Once upon this time, she practiced hours a day, she did all that and more, wanting to become more, become better, become known. Once upon a time, there was a girl who was told about sun-rises, who read about them and listened every morning in case the sunrise caused music. There was once a girl, who chased mornings, chased sunrises, even if she only ever saw her imagination.
She was so happy, so excited, so ready to live.
Then, Patient 0 hit American soils, then, schools shut down, towns closed up and people became afraid. Then, she became afraid. Rumors spread as to how this disease, this epidemic was spreading, in the water, in the air, coughing, touching, animals and food. Before long, it wasn’t safe to go outside without a gas-mask, and people became ‘un-touchable’ and words that had long since been forgotten were used. Iron Lungs were pulled out of storage and old theories attached to past ailments were brought into use again.
Ice baths, salt vapors, snake-oil and old wives tales became viable resources.
She was never told a thing, no one wanted to upset her, no one wanted to make her afraid, and instead of coddling, and comforting her it frightened her all the more. Suddenly, she had reason to fear small animals, or strangers, or even the air she breathed. Suddenly, she was no longer so independent, she needed to grab someone’s arm, to ask, beg, plead to be told the truth, to hear more than what the censors were putting out, more than what people thought she should hear.
No one ever said a word, and when they did it had been edited to the point that she could hear it in their voices.
She became that trained bird, told what to sing, what to say, how to say it and with what kind of smile. She forgot that girl with such large and grand dreams about mornings far away, she was living them, chasing that morning, even if she needed to hold someone’s hand to get there. She had everything she wanted, best friends, people she loved and loved her.
She was on top of the world.
Then Marni died.
Then Nathan left.
Then she signed the contract.
Who knew what a few months could do?
She still held onto someone’s arm, even if it was the arm of Rotti Largo, the songs became grander, the lies became more intricate, the smile became more and more painful. Before she knew it, seventeen years passed and she was so far from who she was, so far from that girl who was loved and loved, so far, that only an old recording from nights long ago played and pictures from her youth dotted her dressing room. She was still trained, still a bird, still so caged.
She wanted to be free, she needed to be free. She needed that sunrise, but who she was now, didn’t know how. She didn’t remember. She saw it, but couldn’t hear the music, couldn’t remember her dreams. Somehow, somewhere, she had been broken, set to repeat the same phrases, songs, and smiles, just like a broken record.
And broken records aren’t saved, they are not ‘set free’, they are simply thrown away.
And so she was.