Dashed Dreams and Good Advice

When you’re a teenage musical theater geek, there’s nothing more stressful than showing up to high school on the day of the spring musical cast list posting. My senior year, I practically ran into the building the morning the list was posted. My school was doing a production of "Into the Woods", and I had gotten call backs for three lead roles: Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and the part I was hoping for- the Witch.

I rushed to the classroom where the list was posted, and saw a big crowd of students around the small piece of paper that held my fate. I noticed a few people glance at me and move out of the way. The lead roles were always listed at the top, so I naturally started there.

The Witch- not me.

Cinderella- nope.

Little Red- negative.

I didn't see my name next to any leading role.

I kept scanning down the list until I finally saw my name.

Anger, sadness, despair, and rage rose up inside of me as I realized what my directors had done.

I had gotten the measly role of Cinderella's evil stepsister. And to make matters worse, instead of there only being two stepsisters like the original production, they diluted the role to four. FOUR! No solo songs and barely any lines. How had I gone from three lead callbacks to this?

I stumbled away from the cast list as if I'd been punched in the gut. I saw two other senior girls who had gotten cast as the Baker's Wife and the Witch jumping up and down gleefully while squealing. I turned away, and ran into the girls bathroom.

I pushed the door open forcefully as tears flowed down my cheeks. I threw my backpack onto the ground as two freshman girls took one look at my face, and hurried out of the bathroom. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my mom's number immediately.

She barely answered before I wailed :"I didn't get the Witch! I DIDN'T EVEN GET A LEAD! COME PICK ME UP! I CAN'T BE HERE."

Somehow hearing my mom's voice on the other end ramped my teenage histrionics up even further. I didn't care who overheard me. I didn't care that I was blowing everything out of proportion, I was filled with a jealous rage that she got the Witch, and I didn't.

The she that I am referring to was my theater rival. She was an incredibly talented triple threat. Not only had we been competing for parts for the last few years, but she had also started hanging around with my ex-boyfriend and had gone so far as to post pictures of them kissing on Facebook right after we broke up. Needless to say, I wasn't a big fan.

My mom tried to console me over the phone, but when I continued to hysterically cry, she firmly told me to pull it together and that she'd see me after school. I hung up in a huff, and reluctantly looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I had cried off most of my makeup, and my face was a red, blotchy mess. It wasn't even 8am.

The day unfolded into the most pathetic pity party in the history of teenage melodrama. I walked around looking like a puffy-eyed zombie. I refused to speak to anyone, and barely made eye contact with my teachers. Underclassman stayed out of my way. No one dared ask me which part I was assigned. The news of my theater fail spread around my small school quickly.

Because I was so morose, my teachers were concerned. My French teacher proclaimed "Tres desole!" and gave me sympathetic looks during class. The sweet librarian gently asked me if I was alright. An older, kind male teacher took me aside in the hallway and gave me the sappiest speech imaginable about moving forward and bucking up and praised me for every other thing I'd accomplished in my four years at the school.

Then I saw Mr. Latham out of the corner of my eye. I had just finished nodding along to the sappy speech, feeling even more sorry about myself. I turned to head back into class and he stopped me.

"Miss Harrison, a quick word, if you please." He was smirking.

I couldn't help but smile back.

Mr. Latham was tough. He was not only a veteran of the Navy, but he had also been an officer in the NYPD. He was a retired Naval Academy professor and coach. He was firm but fair. He demanded excellence from all of his students. He was my favorite teacher.

"I caught the tail end of that old man speech, so I guess I don't need to give you one," he said with a grin.

I shook my head.

He looked at me seriously, and said something I'll never forget.

"Look kid, I'm going to give it to you straight. Shit happens. Move on. You'll be okay. This isn't that big of a deal, and I think you know that."

He smiled, and gave me a knowing look.

"Come on, let's get back to work," he said as he gestured me back into his classroom.

A few weeks later, I pranced around the stage in a gaudy dress, hamming it up as Cinderella's most evil stepsister. I wound up having a lot of fun with my small role. And it certainly helped my ego when multiple parents approached me after the show and told me I was too pretty to be an ugly stepsister. It also helped that my theater arch nemesis had to wear an ugly prosthetic nose for the entire first act.

The spring musical wound up being inconsequential in the long run, but that moment with Mr. Latham is something I've thought about a lot over the last fifteen years. He gave me a gift that day- the gift of being able to put your "problems" into perspective. I've been through much worse situations than not getting a big part in a musical over the years, but I've always held onto his words.

Shit happens.

Move on.

You'll be okay.