The cameras are flashing, stage lights gleaming, and the music is blaring in my eardrums. I wait patiently backstage behind the line of girls, trying my best not to sweat under the hot lights, or my makeup could smudge. Right now I’m at my first ever runway show, wearing an overly sequined dress, clunky heels and way too much make up. I could probably paint the Mona Lisa with this amount of eye shadow and lipstick. One of the stage hands finally gives us our cue as the curtain opens up and onto the catwalk I go. Since I’m the least experienced and youngest who is modeling today, I know I have to show off these clothes better than the others to be taken seriously. I fiercely walk down the catwalk, putting one heel in front of the other. Although it could be better, I can tell my walk is giving the other girls a run for their money. That’s when I lose my balance. One of the lighting guys is shining the spotlight directly in my eyes and I have a hard time seeing anything. Before my eyes can adjust I trip over myself and slam hard onto the floor.
Waking up with a bag of ice on my swollen head, I sit up, realizing that I’m in a break room backstage. In situations like these most people would be worried about the red bump, however as a model what came to my mind first was how this will affect my image. Nobody comes in to check up on how I’m doing. I presume that most of them are more infuriated and embarrassed about how my performance reflected on their image rather than feel concerned towards how I am doing. Now not only am I concerned about my weight and appearance, I feel like a complete failure. For the next few weeks I spend most of my time collapsed on my couch with a massive headache, not able to take on anymore modeling jobs. With my latest accident it would be impossible to ever walk the runway again, however I hoped my pictures would be able to score me a photo shoot. My portfolio did not catch the attention of any high end agencies due to the fact that all there is are photos that are average at best. I realize that my modeling career is shattered. I was naïve to think I could make it far in this industry.
My father would probably be most upset about this. In high school, my dream was to be a photographer, just like him. I took a photography class and always got 100’s on my projects, and I was proud of every picture I took. My dad was so proud of my work that he would even frame my pictures and hang them up. However I noticed that I was never obsessed with the photos themselves, but the people in them. Since the day I discovered that, I chose a different path to follow and my dream changed to becoming a model. I knew that it must have shattered his heart when my goal suddenly changed, but I thought it was for the best. I was such a fool.
I decide to take a drive out of the city, it might be good to get some fresh air. After a few hours I park my car on the side on the road. I know I drove out pretty far, since I’m now in a small town in who knows where. I pop open the door and step out onto the dirt road. It’s noticeable that I traded in my dress and heels for jeans and hiking boots.
I start to make my way down the road and into the shrubbery. There’s a faint path in the forest that people are able to walk along to get to the lake. I find myself passing by hundreds of trees, where the light is hitting the leaves in just the right way to make them shimmer. Instead of the clicking of cameras, I hear the chirping of
birds and crickets, which is music to my
ears.
NOT-SO P I C T U R E PERFECT by Kayla McGinnis