The heat of the spotlights glares down, as a river of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. The panic catches in my throat like a buzzsaw, rendering me speechless.
Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on me…
They are waiting for my answer, but the words just won’t come. My mouth opens, but my tongue is limp as I stare incoherently at the cameras. Yet I cannot get that fucking song out of my head. What the hell is happening to me?
Producer cuts to commercial break. Thank God. I am ushered off the stage as the lights dim, legs buckling beneath me. My aides encircle me like a protective tribe, swooping me up just in time to break my fall.
“I-I-I….cccan’t breathe….” My lungs struggle for air.
Whisked to the safety of my dressing room, the door is locked tight behind us. No media. They lower me into a green velour recliner. My muscles give way to the soft cushions as Roger the medic hovers over me with furrowed brows.
It’s the terror of knowing
What the world is about…
Amidst the chaos, Abby is in total control. As usual. She shoves the inhaler into my hands, terror dancing in her eyes.
“God damn it, breathe deep. Come on… You fucking LOST it out there!”
I clasp the inhaler to my mouth and suck the spray deeply into my throat. The ventolin quickly absorbs into my bloodstream, and my aching bronchial tubes begins to relax. As the adrenaline pumps, my limbs begin to tremble uncontrollably.
Watching some good friends
screaming let me out….
“Roger, give her a fucking Valium, would you?” She growls through gritted teeth.
I accept the pill from Roger and knock it back with a double shotglass of Belvedere. It burns the whole way down.
She is angry now, clearly disgusted with my performance. I don’t like disappointing Abby. My eyes begin to twitch, and tears slip out of my bloodshot eyes.
“Somebody get some Visine, okay?” She sighs, exasperated. An assistant swoops in and squeezes drops into my burning eyes. I cringe and scrunch up my eyes.
The damned vultures are at the doors, clamoring about. The drone of their voices in the distance makes me dizzy. I roll forward and cradle my head between my legs, trying to stave off the vertigo.
Kick my brains around the floor,
These are the days it never rains but pours…
“You have got to get it under control. I’m not sure how much longer we can pull of this fucking charade. You should see the pictures posted on The Drudge Report about an hour ago. Jesus Christ!”
The Valium is kicking in quite nicely now. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, letting the waves of calm wash over me.
“Ken, get over here and touch up her makeup, for Christ’s sake….”
She is barking orders left and right, commanding security to fight back the throng of paparazzi. Ken’s delicate fingers are dabbing beneath my eyes and brushing powder across my cheeks. Such blissful pampering.
Tomorrow gets me higher
higher, higher
Pressure on….
“90 seconds, time to get her back onstage!” The loud banging jolts me out of my trance.
I rise from the chair slowly and do a few neck rolls. Then I stare straight ahead into the mirror and put my war face on. Abby is standing behind me, her gaze meeting mine beneath the globe lighting.
“I’ve got this, Abby. I won’t disappoint.”
“You better not, Hillary. The polls are fucking slipping by the second. Now go do it!”
This is our last dance,
This is ourselves
Under pressure…
The security guards descend like bats, leading me toward the podium glowing in the spotlights. I face the cameras directly, flash my toothy smile, and begin to read the script from the teleprompters.
Bring it bitches!
Turn up the heat in this pressure cooker…
I’ve got this.
Colleen Keller Breuning © 2016
August 8, 2016/Edited April 9, 2021
Word Count: 656
Blue Turtle Crossing 