I sprint onto stage clutching math books and Pee-Chee folders, competing for the part of Eugene in a professional production of Grease. At 15, there's no way I have the experience to be cast. Racing into the spotlight, I trip on my untied shoelaces, hurtle through the air in terrified humiliation, bellyflop the stage, and slide headfirst into the orchestra pit like a helpless buffoon. Everyone laughs at my clumsiness. I climb to my feet in embarrassed tears. The director bellows, “Perfect. You got the part.” I force a smile, ribs bruised, trying hard to pretend that was all planned.
Corey Paige (he/him) lives in Hermosa Beach with his poet wife and hooligan dog. You can find his essays in Drunk Monkeys and The Hooghly Review. Twitter: @CoreyPaige1680