Good Luck Charm
I stared into the mirror surrounded by perfectly round light bulbs hung up on the wall, my big, dark brown eyes, almost black, and the only still things in the room, staring back. All around me seemed to be complete chaos but was what us performers were used to. Someone was styling my long, shiny black hair while another layered my dark tan skin with makeup while one person seemed to have no other job than just to yell at everyone. I had always found this whole process completely unnecessary. Why couldn’t I do my own hair? Why couldn’t I do my own makeup? I definitely wouldn’t be wasting all this time, money, and product on myself. But, I guess, part of my job is letting others tell me what to do, no matter how much I disagree. At least that’s what my mom always said.
I saw a familiar face dart across the mirror and sighed with relief. “Maria!”, I called, immediately causing her to turn around and run back to me. I hated how she did that. She had practically raised me. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this. Granted it wasn’t me, technically, who treated her so poorly but, God, she didn’t have to come at my every call. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Maria, I told you to stop calling me that.”, I reminded her politely.
“It’s your mother’s orders, ma’am.”, she nervously wrung her fingers together. I rolled my eyes, “Well, I don’t see my mother anywh-”
“Maria!”, I cringed, hearing her voice behind me, “Get back to work!” This caused Maria to panic and run away like a frightened mouse, scurrying back to whatever it was my mom was ordering her to do before I could even apologize (for the thousandth time) about her behavior.
“Mom, do you really have to-”
“Yes.”, she interrupted, shooing away the people who had just finished making me look… well, not like me. For some reason, no matter how many times I went through this, I was always shocked to see the end result. It was honestly terrifying. I looked like a fake, almost doll-like version of myself.
“Mom, my-”
“Earrings, yes, I know.”
Just once I wish she wouldn’t interrupt me.
But it all seemed a little bit better once she placed the little white pearls in my hand. My good luck charms. I never performed without them. Just feeling them in the palm of my hand made me feel powerful. Just looking at them brought back the memory…
“Josephine, could you come here please?”, my grandma had called from the other room. I reluctantly placed my book down, making sure I had marked the exact place I stopped reading, and ran to her voice, finding her in the kitchen. I still remember the smell of her homemade enchiladas cooking in the oven.
“I have a surprise for you.”, she smiled, making me light up inside. Something about those words can just cause any child to jump with joy. “Close your eyes.”, she said, reaching behind her back. I did as I was told and squeezed my eyes shut until she said, “Open”. I expected to see a big box wrapped in colorful paper and string but instead was presented with a small black one, covered in velvet. She opened the top to reveal two perfect cream colored orbs. I stared in amazement, gasping at their beauty. I remember her explaining to me how they were her grandmother’s and how they’ve been passed down through her family for generations. She wanted me to have them because out of her 20 grandchildren, I was the youngest. “And my favorite.”, she would always whisper and wink at me.
“Promise me you’ll take good care of them?”, she asked, hovering the black box above my hand. I nodded my head frantically and made an X mark over my heart, “I promise.”
At the time I was only 8. I had my ears pierced but wasn’t exactly in the stage where I cared too much about jewelry. What I liked to do was imagine their history and I even gave them a series of stories, making them more elaborate and wonderful with each thought.
In one story, my favorite one actually, my great, great, great grandma was Spanish royalty (which, of course, she wasn’t, but she was Spanish and I guess that was good enough for my 8 year old brain). She was dressed elegantly in a beautiful dress and, of course, the lovely earrings. She was a powerful ruler, always looking out for the good of her people, never taking orders from those who thought they knew what they were talking about,but really didn’t. She was beautiful, but smart and clever too. I always imagined her being the type who would help out in the streets but then dance in a ballroom with all the other royalty, completely unique and independent…
Another story I would make up would be about another ancestor of mine, maybe my great, great grandma, who was only a common person in Mexico (I really don’t know where my grandma’s family really comes from, these stories just came to me). She began working at a young age, performing hard, laborious tasks to support her family. She was strong and determined and even a bit stubborn. But sometimes she would lose hope. However, when she put on the earrings, she would remember her duties and remind herself that she is capable of anything she put her mind to…
And then I would imagine my grandma, who never really told me about her life before America. I know she lived somewhere in Latin America and that her parents died when she was very young. I always thought of as her being the oldest out of a couple siblings, for some reason, causing her to grow up fast in order to take care of them. She went to boarding school and lived her life day by day, never knowing what would happen next. I imagined her waking up, looking in the mirror, and preparing herself for the unexpected, putting the earrings in and reassuring herself that everything would be ok…
“Josie, are you even paying attention to me?”, my mother’s voice cut into my daydreaming, causing me to snap back to the present reality.
“Huh?”, I asked, a bit confused.
She rolled her eyes, “You’re on in five minutes!”
People began shouting and pulling on my arm, setting me up in my position as if I couldn’t do that myself. I took a deep a breath and forgot everything, shaking it all off. Feeling the earrings in my ear, I could feel the strength of past generations merging together to give me confidence and reassurance. No matter how elaborate my imaginations got, each story had something similar. Whoever wore them had strength and independence. They didn’t need anyone else telling them what to do and they didn’t let anyone control them. And that’s why I love performing so much. No one can touch me here. It’s just me, my thoughts, my voice, and my fans cheering me on. No one can control me or order me around because this is the one thing I never let anyone touch. All of my songs are completely my own, each one tells a personal story. The only person’s opinion who matters here is my own because despite what record labels (and my mother) tell me, I don’t belong to them. I belong to me. And no one can take this away from me.
Someone began counting down from 60 and now I could hear the crowd screaming my name. I pushed my shoulders back, kept my head held high, and prepared myself to give my great, great granddaughter something to be inspired by.