To Be Truly Accomplished

Well, that last one was kind of boring. I mean, the topic was kind of interesting, but there's a reason I'm a fiction writer. So, that last one was kind of boring.

I think this time I wanted to talk about something. Something in particular. Grey's Anatomy. That show makes me want to be a surgeon. Except that I don't like blood, or cut skin, and I don't think I could stick a knife in somebody and cut them open and mess with their insides. It's really gross to me. So it's kind of odd that I want to be a surgeon. And no, it's not because all of them seem to be beautiful and have some kind of luck with guys (I've only finished the first three seasons, so whatever luck they don't have after that, I have no idea of). And it's definitely not because they have to tell so many people they couldn't save the life of somebody they love.

I couldn't really tell you why I want to be a surgeon, except that they do something. They may not be able to save everyone. If they don't do their job well, people could die. Die. But they do something. I'd like to do something. I don't necessarily need to be somebody that saves lives, or tries. But I'd like to be someone. And to do something. So I wrote this story.


“You know, to accomplish something, you have to accomplish something. You can’t sit around and wait for life to happen to you. You have to make it happen.”

He had a point. I knew he did. But standing there, looking up at him, I couldn’t decide what it was.

“Look, I know you’re right. But what can I do?” I looked away from him to watch the field empty out as everyone went home, the game over. He sighed at me.

“You say you want to do something.” I could feel him staring at me, waiting for me to look back at him, so I did. His blue eyes drilled into mine, as if searching for gold. I couldn’t tell if he thought he’d found it. “You say you want to mean more. You have to make yourself mean more. As crazy as it may seem, sitting all day and watching some medical drama,” he rolled his eyes and made a gesture that showed best what he thought of the particular medical drama in question. When I laughed he went on, “won’t make any of your dreams come true. None of them.”

“Ah, but why not?” I backed up until I was standing in front of the railing and pulled myself up to sit on it. “Why can’t these things be easy? Why can’t I ‘be discovered’? Why do I have to do all the discovering?”

“Because, my lazy friend,” he leaned on the railing beside me and looked up at me, “that’s not how it works. You have to make the effort. You have to do the work. Do you really think you’ll get what you want without doing the work?”

I looked down at my shoes and watched as I touched the toes of them together, how awkward they looked. “No. I guess I don’t. How nice would that be?” I smirked at my feet and heard a quiet scoff beside me. “But I know I have to do the work. I know I want to be something better than what I’m setting myself up to be. I know I have to set myself up to be that something better. But how do I do that? How can I trust myself to do that? Not to get lazy again and give up everything?”

“What makes you think you can’t trust yourself?” He squinted at me, not because it was bright or anything, but I think because he was really waiting for my answer. It mattered to him. It was a weird feeling.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “How about every time I try to do something that I know is good for me, that’s better than what I’ve been doing, like that exercise thing I tried to get into, I get lazy. I let it fall to the side because I’m much more interested in doing nothing.” I try to kick myself, but I guess my body doesn’t like hurting itself because my other foot kept leaping out of the way. He grabbed my foot, forcing me to look at him.

Then he just stood there, looking up at me. For a few moments it was quiet and still and the night closed in around us and it made his point for him. When he let go of my foot, I slid off the railing, put my hand in his and followed him to the parking lot.

/\\//\\//\

The crowd was deafening. The lights were blinding. If it weren’t so exhilarating, being here on this stage would have killed me, I’m sure of it. My heart was pounding, hard and fast, like I’d been running for hours and had suddenly stopped. I could feel the rhythm of my heartbeat in my ears, throbbing with a dull ache. It would have been painful if, like I said, it weren’t so exhilarating.

“So,” I began, my voice thrown into a microphone and stretched across the old high school auditorium, “do you think you could sing along for this song? I’ve heard me sing so long, it’ll be nice to hear someone else, right?” The crowd couldn’t seem to decide which question it wanted to answer. I heard a resounding “yes” for the first, and a vehement “no” for the second. I laughed and strummed the first few bars to the next song on the set list. The screaming began again as they recognized the notes, and I chuckled quietly before singing the first lines.

When I uttered the first word, I wasn’t alone. I could hear thousands of people, singing along with me. When I heard that, I felt my heart breaking. I wasn’t sad, no way. I was so unbelievably ecstatic to be here, I felt like crying, I felt like crumbling into a tiny ball of a person and just hugging myself. I could feel waves of that same happiness coming off the audience like I was lying on the surf, letting the water wash over me, again and again. It was the best feeling in the world.

When I finally made my way off the stage, after waving emphatically at my fans (my fans!) I ran over to Sean, grinning like a loser.

“Have I told you lately how glad I am that you’re my best friend?” I asked him.

“Oh, only about a hundred times. But a few more won’t hurt.” The skin near his eyes wrinkled when he smiled.

I was about to ask what we were going to do after the show when a man with dark, obviously fake hair called my name as he walked toward us.

“Hannah, we have ten minutes to meet your fans and your makeup looks terrible. I keep telling you not to stand so close to the lights, but of course you have to be close to the fans…” Jeremy never took his eyes off of his phone as he walked by, motioning with a crooked finger for me to follow him. I looked back up at Sean and shrugged, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, I guess we’ll have to meet up later--”

Sean pulled me back when I started walking away. “Why do you listen to him? You look great, like you always do, like you always did before he showed up and made you start putting all of this stuff on your face.”

“Sean, he’s my manager. He’s the reason I have all of this. I have to do what he says--” I started to pull my hand away, but he yanked it back.

“No. You’re the reason you have all of this. The only reason he has all of this is because of you. And he wants to keep all of this, so he tells you your makeup looks terrible, and your voice is off-key, and you don’t know what you need, so that he can convince you you need him, but you don’t.” Sean looked at me with pleading eyes. “You don’t need him.”

I scoffed. “Sure I don’t. I did what you said, Sean. I accomplished something. But I did it with his help. I do need him. What I don’t need is to be told that I can do anything when I so clearly can’t.” I jerked my hand from his and followed Jeremy.

/\\//\\//\

“Good night, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I waved to the rest of the band as they slipped into the waiting car. I waited until they drove around the corner into the waiting crowds of fanatics. I smiled to myself when I thought of all of the people waiting, just hoping to catch a glimpse of one of us. I used to think they were crazy. Now I’m glad they do it. It’s one of my favorite things about singing. It’s what keeps me coming back. I turned around and Sean was standing right in front of me.

I shoved my hair behind my ear. “I can’t do this right now, Sean. It’s late. I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I started to shove past him, but he gripped my arm and began pulling me beside him. He didn’t say anything, or even look at me, just kept his gaze ahead of him. I watched him as we walked, well, he walked, I was dragged. He looked the same, but different somehow. Maybe I was the one who was different. We had walked through a long building whose walls were covered in posters for prom in the spring, class rings for the seniors, reminders to turn in school library books.

When we walked out into the cold, night air, I found myself back where we’d started. Not that night, but one that had happened so long ago, it was hardly a memory and more a dream. A dream that was beginning to sound better than the dream that had come true.

Sean led me to that same railing, lifted me so I was sitting on it. Then he faced me, resting his hands on my knees. He waited a few seconds before speaking.

“You can do anything.” His blue eyes drilled into mine, as if searching for gold. I still wasn’t sure if he’d found what he was looking for. “When I told you you had to work for what you wanted, I forgot to tell you that you could. You can. You did.” Sean laughed, throwing his hands up. “Do you really think you would have put on that crazy concert if you couldn’t?”

I looked away from him, and down at my feet, which were once again trying to kick at each other. “I don’t know, I guess not.”

Sean grabbed my foot, forcing me to look up at him. But this time, the night didn’t speak for him.

“I know it.”

I usually like to use live videos (or music videos, something you can see the face of the singer with), but I couldn't find a good one. The best visually weren't great auditorally. I'm not sure that's a word... But I thought this song perfectly describes the feeling I want, everything I want to achieve. By the way, this is only the second draft, so please, feel free to critique it!