I had always fantasized about it: the day I would be noticed by someone big. That old fairytale of chance and discovery about the small-town waitress who has a lot of street smarts and she's really pretty and talented and all that crap, but she's stuck in a town where few people really notice and she doesn't have a lot of outlets. And she always talks about how someday she's going to get out, and really make something of herself, and all her friends always joke about it with her. "Yeah, and then when your rich and famous and you've forgotten about us, we can sit here and say that we knew you before you became huge!"
And then one day, she's minding her own business, and here comes Mr. Hollywood Hotshot, and he takes one look at her and says "What are you doing here? You could really be something, you know?" And he whisks her away to La La Land (that's Los Angeles, in case you didn't know), and hands her the world on a silver platter, and the little girl from Nowhere lives happily ever after with everything she ever wanted.
Blah, blah, blah. All that Casablanca bullshit. Anyway, that's how I always imagined it. Realistically, I knew I had a snowball's chance in hell of it ever really happening. The truth was, I had no definite plans of ever getting out of the podunk cowtown I had known for the better half of a lifetime, but it was fun to imagine it like that. Painful, in a way, but sickeningly satisfying.
The crazy thing was, I felt something, deep within me. I knew something was coming. Something big, something monumental, something that would shake the very foundation of what I knew to be my life. I had felt it for years. Or maybe I had just been focusing on it for so long - my wish, my dream - that finally, it happened. It came true.
Well, almost.
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