It tastes so god I can’t hav another bite I say — and the hole of evrybody jus shuts up like oh is she about to stop? Loud one second and then gasping like is this reel? I hear somone literallay go holy fuk is that the end of Mis Plasteek? They’re holding out ther phone recording as they say, Guys I can’t beleev I’m catching this on video, plees like and subscribe.
Meenwile I see the Produser behind the curtain mouthing to me: okay nice, now milk it.
Which is jus wat we rehursed.
The guy with the phone is holding it for a selfee so he can be in the shot. Guys this is reel, this is monewmental, He says. Though some person next to him yaps, Hey I din’t buy tikets so ur dumass could blok my vew with a camra. And so on.
The Produser’s noding his hed in reel satisfakshun. I giv him a wink like oh yah we totallay get each other. We kno wats happenin.
He offen says to me, Sweethar, make them go wow this is reelly happenin and/or I din’t buy first row tikets for nothing, like it’s the experieuns of a liftime, etsetra etsetra.
Well, this is wat I do rite about then: I hold the las bit of plastek up to my mouth and bulg out my cheeks like nope I’m dun. Maybe I burp a litle. Maybe I wip some reel blod from my mouth but don’t bothr to cleen it.
I look ofstage and say, Sir I don’t think I can do this anymor, even as the Produser’s givin me the thumbs up from behin the curtan. He yells somthin loud then, or makes the dogs bark. People go, Did you hear that? Is she bein forsed to do this?
But of corse what the Produser said/did was jus nonsens, jus part of the show. And thos dogs by the way arn’t mad at all.
It’s arond heer I shake a litle. Like I’m scared. Like I’m gonna brake or apolagize to the audiunse — Hey sorre folks, I been so rite up til now, but I jus can’t do this anymor. With reel teers in my eyes. Ha ha. Jk.
I remembr one time durin this part a guy tride to hop on stage saying to me, I’m Dad! I’m ur Dad!
And it throwed me jus for a sec. Like my chest went hollo. I din’t kno this guy. I new that. But he got up to me. He was rite in fron of my fase, lookin in my eyes. He hopped over the fens and burs up onstage. Then he grabed my arm and said, Look at what they dun to u.
For a momen I din’t kno ware I was.
My litl sweehar, He said, holding my hand.
I wasn’t evn breething. It was the way he said it, like in a dreem.
I’ll tak u away, He said.
Then the securty delt with him, carreed him away. I don’t kno wat I wud hav don. I jus sat ther, not evn moving. The Produser whisper-yelld over to me, Hey! Remember las bite!
Wat? I thoght. I din’t evn kno ware I was.
Oxigen! The Produser yelld. And I took a deep breath and coffed it bak out. It felt like the air got stuk insid me. I was liteheded. Teers wer fillin my eyes.
Wat is hapnin? I herd someon say.
I jus couldn stop my eyes from waterin. My wrist was throbin. Everythin was spinnin around. Then the lites cut and nobody coud see a thing.
Or maybe my eyes were shut. I don’t kno.
I remembr bein in the makeup room with the Produser whisper-yellin somethin I couldn heer. Aparenly they weeled me ofstage and had to run the defribrilator. I droold all over my shirt.
Someon yelled from ouside I stil love you, Mis Plasteek!
Do you kno ware you are? The Produser kept askin me, Do you kno?
Then I herd the Produser’s ring and him going Helo as he answrd a call. He stepped away.
I reely was in the makeup room—I saw this as I opend my eys. But wat? I kep thinking. The plastek was still on the plate in fron of me. I neerly brought it up to my mouth, looking at my fork, but I stopped because I smelled burnt sugar in the air. A cake was sittin on the counter with burnt waxy sparklers sunk in the top. The Produser was already eatin a slice with his fingers, lickin it off the tips.
And the door was wide open.
Not like open-open—craked—like a mouth almos don chewin, breething a litl thru the lips.
I stared at it.
The Produser was still talkin on the phone. His ring was buzzin again but he din’t pick up. He was sayin things like no she’s fine, no I got it, etsetra etsetra.
Meenwile my head felt as tho someon was slamin it in the door—empty and bam, bam, bam. Like my skul was craking and my body was froze up, all pumped ful like a mannekin, and all I could feel everythin pushin around inside me.
But I was on the other side of the door alredy. Throwin it all out of my mouth, moovin down the hall, not in my mind.
And my hands were on the weels. The cold air was bushin pas my cheeks.
I herd him call from behin me-–Hey! Com back heer! But I was far.
My face nevr looked like it had befor, tryin to hold back my excitemen.
Because that’s when the walls of the hallway backdrop lift, all the furnitur gets pushed off by the crew, and evryon remembrs I’m stil on stage.
Then the Produser weels me center—my body tips.
And the audiunse lets loose my favorite part.