“Celebrity”

 

He was a strange little man, always skulking in dark corners.

I say little but no so much in size. Rather it was his stoop, his shuffle that gave the impression he had been given a body a few sizes too large and he was hunched in compensation.

He was in films, good ones. Nothing too well known but worthy enough that there was a buzz around him. People looked twice at him.

He always looked a bit furtive and in all honesty, a bit frightened.

So no one approached him, or said “hey aren’t you in this and that?”

And that actually ate him up inside. That was the real truth.  It chewed him on the insides, gnawed on his mentality.

While it was taboo then to walk about gallantly to receive recognition, he continued to wander streets.

He hoped and willed for someone to gush over him and soak him in awe.

People started to notice this desperation, like a stink. It wasn’t reserved recognition they gave him but mild apprehension. Not “Isn’t that the guy in…” but “hey what’s he doing out this time of night?”

People laughed at him, and then became curious and then curiosity gave away to something like actual worry. Rumour spread that maybe this crooked man wasn’t right in the head. No, said others, maybe he was in deep immersion for his next role. What’s that called again? Method acting. They nodded, unconvinced.

Kids took to making a game of his frequent sightings. Points were awarded for how many times he was spotted and where he appeared.

And even with all that noise, he was separated, removed from sensing any of it. It was a hum, a radio turned on in another room. Unintelligible.

He just kept shuffling, stealing looks and mistaking pity or fear for worship.