The stranger

“For goodness’ sake, how did I ever, ever get to this point?”

She bows her head, her hair falls loosely over the soft, slightly oval face. Her shoulders shake, there is a sound of a muffled cry. But luckily, nobody pays attention to her. All the other girls in the open space look at their own reflections in the rectangular mirrors.

Then she sits up again. With great car, she wipes away the tears from her eyes. She checks her fingers for eyeliner and rubs the hands over her cold thighs. She looks at the girls, she glances at her cell phone. Just over ten minutes until the new show starts.

Usually, she can manage this. As a rule, she feels these bouts of futility and depression coming. Generally, she drinks some low-mineral water. Or she takes a cracker with radishes. When she is really in a foul mood (she gets flashbacks from the time when she was in primary school and played football with her friends without a care in the world all afternoon ), she walks out of the locker room and has a chat with her manager or one of the technical people.

But tonight, nothing seems to help. The lamplight shines too brightly, the girls talk too loudly, the smell of sweat and perfume is too overpowering. For as long as she has been participating in beauty pageants, she has always managed to motivate herself and cheer herself up. Because after all has been said and done, she is extremely proud of her beautiful, strong and supple body. Her fine-drawn shapes, her wonderful radiant eyes, her inscrutable smile. She enjoys being admired. Like she is a delicate work of art.

But now suddenly that colorful thin veil that normally disguises her days, has been torn away. Everything is more recognizable, grayer, duller. Like she has become the main character from an Albert Camus novel. And she is forced to live in this determined unmercifully cold world. In which she is pressed to roll a heavy stone up a hill. And as soon as she is not paying attention, and the stone roles back to the original position, she has to start over.

Last night she contacted her eldest sister. In fact, they try to video call each other every day. Even though they are complete opposites. Where she loves the glamour, the showbiz, her sister takes care of the family, maintains the garden and is chairperson of the neighborhood association. But maybe that's why they suit each other so well. They don't judge each other. This is in sharp contrast to the rest of her family. She has hardly any contact with them. They regard her a pariah. They disgust the vulgar life she leads.

But this evening she does not even have the strength to call her sister anymore. Now only questions rush through her head. Hasn’t she made the wrong choice after all? Because she fell for the superficiality, the cheap money, the fleeting fame? Has she been fooling herself all this time? And is she afraid of the revelation, the confrontation? Should she consider returning to her old neighborhood? To the terraced houses, the garden gnomes, the refrigerators full of beer and cheap meat, the loud music from the neighbors, the broken cars, the withered flowers, the stray cats?

Should she get up now? Check out, say goodbye to her managers? Bid farewell to the girls? Since this moment will come someday. If you look very closely. In the merciless lamplight. Can’t you detect the first wrinkles? Isn't her skin becoming tougher, more outworn?

She turns to her mirror. Who is she looking at? A failure, a dejected woman, a gloomy stranger? But the longer she looks, the more comfortable she feels with herself. She recognizes the wonderful shining eyes again, her inscrutable smile. She hears the commotion in the changing room. The laughter, the jokes, the songs. And she realizes it. What opinion she sometimes has about herself. What clear judgements others have about her. Nevertheless, this is her world, her choice. No matter how tacky, how cheap they find her.

Then she hears her name being called. She checks her hair, her make up, her clothes just one more time. She gets up. She feels the admiring looks. A friend spontaneously puts an arm around her bare shoulders and whispers: “Blow them all away.”