“I am Hedda Gabler. I am Hedda Tesman.” I repeated to myself in the mirror. I run over my lines in my head again and again. But the lines aren't important. Not really. What's important is Hedda Gabler. What is important is what I want. I had gotten my first leading role and Oh my God! There were so many good girls who tried out for this role! I'm so lucky. But I tried so hard. I worked so hard to get that German accent down. I'm so mad that I won't get to use it. But I guess doing an American accent is okay. Ooh. Maybe I could give her a soft accent, that would be fun! Just a little lilt here and there as an homage to the original.
I glanced down at the clock. 12:38. I went back to applying my . . . Hedda's makeup. There won't be a makeup person to do this for me, so I better make sure that I'm ready. I have the look ready. Hedda . . . I am young and pretty and I just got married. My fun days are totally over . . . No, not totally. My wild days are over. It's time to settle down. It's hard being a different person. I'm not like Hedda. She's . . . Well, my wild days aren't behind me. I'm going to blow this out of the water! Everyone's gonna love it! If I do good, and I should . . . I've tried so hard for this, I might be able to make this into a career! Imagine. Me. Lona Anderson on Broadway. On toothpaste commercials!
I laughed out loud and glanced down at the clock. 1:21. 1:21? 1:21! Shit! I'm, like, totally late! I looked up at the mirror, doing one last check. I had done my hair to the best of my ability to match the late 18th-century style. I had done my makeup like that. I looked good. I could be a German aristocrat. Well, maybe without the halter top and jeans. I laughed again and headed out. There was an elderly black woman in the hall.
“Mrs. Jackson!” I shouted, causing the woman to jump a little and she turned around and her face broke into a smile.
“Lona, my dear!” She did not shout like I did, but she was loud. Mostly because she was a little hard of hearing. She reached up and grabbed a lock of my hair “Oh my, what did you do to your hair, child?”
“Oh, I got a part in the play and wanted to get into character! This is the kind of hair they had in Germany a hundred years ago.” I said, my face stretched into a wide grin. “You'll come see the play, right?”
“Uh,” Mrs. Jackson looked me up and down. “A play, huh? Germans? It's not one of those Nazi plays is it?” I could not think of any Nazi plays. Maybe the Sound of Music? But that one is, like, totally critical of the Nazis. They're the bad guys.
“Oh no! Not a Nazi play. It's about a woman who just got married and well, I don't want to spoil anything for you. You'll come, right?” I asked again, putting on my best puppy dog face.
“I'll think about it, dear.” She said, patting my hand.
“Good! Thanks, Mrs. Jackson!” I said, then checked my watch. “Oh! I gotta go, I'm late.”
I waved goodbye to the woman and she just smiled and shook her head at me. I hope she comes. That would be totally rad. As I walked out onto the street, I saw Mr. Stevenson trying to pull a bag of fertilizer out of his car. He was struggling. I walked up behind him and picked it up for him. It was pretty heavy, but I could handle it.
“Oh, thank you, Lena.” He said, turning to me.
“It's Lona, Mr. Stevenson.” He was an older gentleman who just wore a polo and shorts regardless of the weather. And orthopedic slippers with long socks.
“Right . . . Lona.” He said absently. He's going to forget again. But that's okay. “How are the roses?”
“Thanks to that little trick you showed me, they're a lot better!”
“That's good, that's good. Well, come on, then! We can't stand here all day jawing 'bout roses.” He said, then added, “Well, I could. But you kids always got so much to do. School and work and your plays. Did ya get the part?”
“Yeah!” I said excitedly. He may forget my name, but he always remembers the important things. “I even did my hair in the style of the character.”
“Oh, I see. That looks good.” He looked at my face for the first time since I had interjected. “Alright, let's go.”
I got the fertilizer up to his apartment. He had a lot of flower stuff and a few birds. One of them chirped happily when it saw me. “Oh, hey there Jason.”
“Do you want some tea, Lara?”
“Oh, no. I gotta jet. I'm already late! Thanks, though!” I said, running out the door and down the stairs again. I ran all the way down to the bar. It was just after my 21st birthday and my ID had finally come in and I was going to take my first (legal) drink! I walked into the bar and quickly found my friends. There were six people gathered around a table. They already had drinks and one of them, Bobby, waved me over. I sat down.
“Loans, finally!” Bobby said. He was a tall, strong-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes. He had been cast as Eilert in the same play. “Where've you been, girl?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Oh, I got caught up doing a makeup test then I helped Mr. Stevenson bring in his stuff from the store,” I said. The girl next to me snorted and shook her head. She was small and had big eyes with dark bags surrounding them.
“Oh. Clara! Hi!” I hugged her and pressed my face against hers, forgetting about the makeup I had painstakingly applied. “I'm so glad you got a part, too. You're going to make a great Thea.”
“I would've made a better Hedda,” she muttered in a voice she did not realize I could hear still. I smiled and ruffled her hair. She fought off my hand and grabbed it, twisting it painfully.
“Owwowow!” I cried, bending forward on the table. The rest of the table laughed. Bertha who conveniently was playing Bertha reached over and grabbed a lock of my hair.
“Loan, I dig the hair. It's totally rad, girl!” There were murmurs of agreement across the table.
“Thanks. I was celebrating getting the part and I found some photos of women from the era and thought it would be so cool to, like, try it out! Same with the makeup!” I said excitedly. We got a few drinks and tried the Karaoke Bar for a while. I cannot really sing, but I sure tried. I even managed to get Clara and Bertha in a trio. It was so much fun.
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A couple of days later, after thoroughly nursing my first legal hangover, we started rehearsals for the play. I really got into character. Hedda, the bored housewife, had settled for a life she did not want because society told her she, like, had to or whatever. A common reading of that is Hedda is destructive because she is this manipulative monster who just wants to destroy people to get what she wants. I don't think that's the case. I think she was forced into a place she did not belong and acted out because of it. She is not a good person, but if she were allowed to live the life she wanted to, she would not go out of her way to hurt people.
Over the course of the play, she convinces Eilert to kill himself, because she thinks that would be a beautiful end to his story. She does not see it as a tragedy. She just sees things differently than other people. And I think that is beautiful. And when she is caught and it is about to come out that she pushed her ex-boyfriend to suicide, she does the only thing she can think of. She tries to reclaim the beautiful suicide that Eilert had been denied with the same gun she had given him.
I did everything I could to get into this mindset. The mindset of a woman who hates her life. I love my life, but I think I could understand wanting more. Wanting something different. I always felt that this town was small. And I always wanted a romance of the ages. Real Time of Our Lives stuff. Or Johnny Depp and Kate Moss! Love that would last forever. And I think that's what Hedda wanted to. To have more. To be free to live her life. I understood her.
And I did well! I got my subtle accent down. I got little affectations down. Slight smiles, little twists of my hair, batting my eyelashes just right. I was Hedda Gabler. I think I still am, in some ways. But after countless rehearsals and notes and everything else, it was the night of the show. Clara had been cold to me every time I saw her, refusing to talk to me, refusing to help. We barely got through our scenes together. But the day of, she came to me shortly before the show, with a chocolate shake in hand. “Hey, Loans, I brought you a peace offering. I've been a real bitch this entire time. I should just be happy that I even got a part. You . . . Like, you really worked your ass off and you're going to do great. I brought you this to say I'm sorry.”
“That's really sweet of you,” I said, stopping my makeup application for a moment. I picked up the cup and took a sip. It was good. The chocolate was a little thicker than normal. My tongue felt weird. My eyes started to itch. I licked my lips. My tongue was dry. I tried to breathe. I must have been nervous about the show because it was getting hard to breathe. I set the shake down and stumbled back into my chair, knocking it over. I fell with it and slammed down hard. I hit my head and everything went out of focus. It felt like I was choking on something. I grabbed my throat. Clara was standing over me.
“No, no no no! It was just a prank! Oh no! Oh no!” She was looking around desperately. “Please, Lone, be okay, be okay. We'll fix this! HELP!”
Someone came bustling in. I could not really see who it was. Everything was getting darker. My hands fell to my side.
“What happened!?” I heard someone demand.
“I played a prank on her! It was just a joke! I . . . I think she's having an allergic reaction!” Clara cried, her voice cracking. Tears had spread down her cheeks. I tried to reach up to wipe them away.
“What did you give her!?”
“It was just a laxative! I just wanted her to shit her dress . . . I didn't want her . . .”
“Call nine-one-one!” I think I heard footsteps rush away.
Everything gets really fuzzy from here.
Everything goes black.
The pain in my throat stops.
The pain in my chest is gone.
Everything is gone. I am in some black void.
Nothing exists.
I exist.
I missed the play.
I am Hedda Gabler.
Eventually, I collected myself enough. I have a body again. My chest does not hurt. My throat feels fine. I am back.
Where am I?
It is dark. They are people meandering around. Moving stuff. Everyone is wearing a costume. I see Clara. She is wearing my costume. My dress, about a foot shorter than it used to be. She looks great.
I get to see the play. She is great. She is . . . She's Hedda Gabler. I am . . . I am Lona Anderson. I watch my funeral. My family is there. My friends. Clara. Bobby. Mrs. Jackson. Mr. Stevenson. They used my headshot. I had sent it out to so many places hoping someone would pick me up.
Lona Anderson on Broadway. Lona Anderson, toothpaste commercial star. I guess it wasn't meant to be.
I visit different parts of the town whenever I can. Watching things change. Watching cellphones get smaller and smaller until they get bigger again. Watching everyone. I knew everyone's name. Occasionally, I would throw things. Take things. Hide things. Because it forced people to interact with me. At least a little bit. To notice me. Or . . . Well, not me. But at least what I was doing.