Pop Star? In Your Dreams!

I'm waiting in the wings. It's five minutes before showtime. My two friends - and fellow bandmates - are standing behind me, giggling about something. The bustling sounds of a huge crowd seep through  the heavy red curtain when suddenly it hits me - I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to do. Never learned a lick of choreography. I spin around.

"Wait, guys, I don't know any of the dance steps. Did we ever come up with any?"

"Oh, yeah," one of them says, "We've been practicing for months. Every Wednesday 4 to 8."

"Oh," I mumble, trying to suppress the hot wave of panic that just seared through my chest, "I didn't know that. I guess I'll just... walk around and point like Posh Spice."

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True story. Well actually, no. That was a completely fictional story made up of far-fetched, illogical events. To be fair, when I was dreaming it, my unconscious mind perceived it as 100% true.

And why wouldn't it? I'm in a girl group with my pop star best friends? Yep. We're popular enough to fill a packed arena to perform what I can only assume are covers of other people's songs? Sure. And following months of secret rehearsals, no one thinks it's strange that only 2/3 of the band knows any of the choreography. Yep, well... everything checks out!

No exaggeration ... that's maybe the most logical, realistic dream I've ever had. Unlike most others floating around in my subconscious, this one had a setting that stayed the same, characters that didn't sporadically morph into other ones, and a sequential plot you could actually follow. Usually, if I remember a dream at all, it's not even worth rewinding and analyzing. I'm running down a street made of pizza crusts and I pass a Cookie Monster who's actually my dad but is now my high school Chem teacher and he's late to catch a flight going to New Mexico where I am suddenly am now and I see a lizard crawl over my foot but it's really a koala. That's more like it.

It's actually fascinating to get an occasional glimpse into the inner workings of your mind, as ridiculous and erratic as these manifestations often are. Want to know the dramatic conclusion of my pop star dream? Of course you don't.

Well, after eventually deciding I wasn't prepared enough to join the show (you think??) and pulling out, I realized I had a chance to redeem myself. After the concert, there was an open mic hour where anyone was welcome to showcase a talent. As I watched my bandmates perform our dynamic repertoire of Destiny's Child songs (Yep, definitely my subconscious), I thought I'd sign up to prove I was a vocal prodigy once and for all. Like anyone was wondering or cared or actually existed.

Cut to me on stage seconds later, bypassing all laws of time and space, warming up the crowd with a few jokes. Then the lights go down, everything goes quiet, and my mind is blank. I can't remember how the song starts. I can't come up with a single word. (In retrospect, that's probably because the song didn't exist and improvised songwriting has never been my strong suit, especially when I'm dead asleep.) I leave the stage flustered and spend the rest of this sleep cycle getting laughed at, having my picture taken to document the embarrassment, or watching family members struggle to compliment either of my botched performances.

Maybe I'm not meant to be Beyonce after all. Oh, who are we kidding? I'm a Michelle on the best of days.