The door closes behind him, as I prepare to take center stage. For the next twenty minutes while he runs to the store, our living room is no longer a living room but a packed venue filled with thousands of screaming fans.
My screaming fans.
I stand in the imaginary spotlight clutching my hairbrush microphone, as I wait for the music to begin. After what seems like an eternity, iTunes finally launches and syncs wirelessly to the speakers across the room. And the twangy chords of a banjo in a country song float happily through the air.
I belt out the lyrics and I rock out the chorus. I hold the high notes longer than Miss Carrie Underwood herself.
I dance, I shimmy, and I work that crowd like nobody’s business.
I point, I high five, I jam with the bass player, Jim.
For one shining moment, I. AM. A. STAR. All the world’s a stage and I alone hold the hairbrush microphone. I can already see my debut album skyrocketing to the top of the charts, and I make a mental note to start practicing my autograph. But just then iTunes quits unexpectedly, and reality sets in with a thud at the scary sound of my own voice without the benefit of a volume turned wayyyy up.
The packed arena quickly fades into nothing as the roar of ten thousand fans becomes merely a whisper; and once again the all too familiar sight of our own couch & chair comes back into focus. Truth is, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket even if I had TWELVE buckets. Twelve buckets AND a wheel barrow… y’know like one of those industrial strength ones from Home Depot.
Never have, never will. But that sure doesn’t stop me from dreaming. And as I turn back to see my husband, who was standing there in the doorway all along, he just smiles and says “Sing it again, darlin.”
That’s when I know… I’ve already got all the fans I’ll ever need.