Bright lights blind my eyes and the makeup feels like it is about to melt off of my face. My smile is large and over exaggerated, making my cheeks hurt. I am frozen, my right arm is extended horizontally, my elbow slightly bent with my fingers pointed up to the ceiling and my palm facing the wall. My left arm is lifted, draping over my head with my wrist and hand both limp. My silky hot pink shirt is tailored tight, restricting my breath, but I am still able to open my mouth and belt out my songs.

The band waits for the audience to stop applauding before they start playing; it is my cue to move again. I twirl through rows of people, all dressed in black with red sashes around their waists and paper boy hats on top of their heads. Their characters do not see me, though my character, the fictional Ringa Starr, attempts to get their attention. They suddenly swirl around me, picking me up high above their heads, and spin me in a circle. Their eyes are forward, away from me. They pretend not to see me; they only feel my presence. They set me down, and with a deep breath I open my mouth to sing with as much feeling as I have inside of me:

All you need is love!
All you need is love!
All you need is love, love;
love is all you need!

Ringa Starr

Read More »