For a long time I wanted to be Carolyn Bessette.
If you don't know to whom I'm referring then you've been kept away from all things media for the past week plus, a near impossibility if you breathe.
Today I don't wish to be her anymore.
It's amazing how you can long desperately for that which you know in your heart of hearts is unattainable. Even more amazing is the fact that you believe by virtue of a name or status perhaps one is untouchable and safe from harm.
Yet this week's 'Great American Tragedy' brings to mind old cliches..."the grass is always greener"..."all that glitters"... and the all important "be careful what you wish for, you just might get it"...
What female personage in their twenties on up to their nineties hasn't held at least a twinge of desire gazing upon the handsome face of John F Kennedy Jr? Did not half of them turn green with envy when the fair Carolyn won his heart? Did the other half not loathe her?
And now she floats somewhere in ashes, her life torn to pieces with her physical form. Nevermore shall she hold him, nevermore to hear his whispered words. The blonde tresses I coveted are tangled in seagrass, curling aimlessly, going noplace.
And the rest of us curl up tonight with our aging, balding, overweight and snoring spouses and find another dream to dream. For we must have our desires, we must want the one we cannot have, the one we are compelled to compare to that which does inhabit our realities.
And when these icons die, especially tragically, we are shocked. Why do we believe that being 'someone' makes a person less likely to perish in a car wreck, on a ski slope, from an illness? And why do we grieve their passing with such vehemence? Why are they seemingly a greater loss to us than our friends and neighbors? Why is it sadder when our idols pass from a charmed life than when our dirty fingernailed, callous handed acquaintances leave this world with only the legacy of the nine to five grind?
Would a search for me be as extensive? Would my doorstep be littered with loving mementos from those who never knew me? Am I worthy of such reverence that my passing would interrupt the afternoon soaps?
I'm a wife, a mother, a cook, a housekeeper, a damn good employee, a yardsman, a seamstress, a laundress, a dog groomer, a car washer, a banker, and a nurse. I'm somebody.
Yet I'm nobody.
At least for today perhaps I like it that way.