As the crowd boisterously rejoiced at her mere presence, she knew she had to improves. A little kiss, a little grin, a smile, mano izquierda, mano derecha, glide in, glide out, another kiss and off we go. The crowd was going wild, albeit confused about her true identity; some were yelling at her, “Monica!”, while others were shouting, “Veronica!” she didn’t care; she had to do it.
In the climax of Bach's Spring remix, she knew what she had to do: Stick. The. Landing. Stick. The. Landing! While her body is becoming moving art, she knew she had to sashay over, jump up high, twirl in mid-air, and perfectly land in to get that gold medal. Anguish done, jump up, twirl in…
And then something so evil, so dastardly, so grotesque happened.
A shoe fell off while she was twirling in mid-air. For a split second, she moved as fast as the wind. The whole crowed watched in painstaking agony. TV screens everywhere- bars, ups, schools, the hometown’s town square, the judges, the Gestapo…everybody watched in agony. But alas, the shoe fell off. And she knew. And that threw her off balance.
The thud world heard was the beginning of social suicide. In the arena, pins were afraid to fall, babies didn’t want to cry, and mothers were crying on the inside. On NBC’s headquarters, the freshman assistant bringing the last coffee-haul fell out of shock for the thud. All were silent, as if 9/11 happened all over again. Churches started to pray again, so she wouldn’t kill herself. Schools went pitch black, and bars were filled with people in record time. A man with Tourette’s was accused of perjury at the local playhouse. And those in the arena watched at her suffer the shame of silence. All this was the cross she had to bear.
Was she destined to fail? Was she gonna go home, take a Johnny Walker, pop some pills? Or would she beg the judges to try again? In her mind, all she could think of were Nelson-esque “Ha-ha’s” and laughter and humiliation. Her tears were running as thick as blood through her rosy cheeks. But all that was really happening in the arena were tears and pity endorsements.
As she fled to the locker room, her only place of human sanity –well, at least in her mind-, Monica Veronica was crying for mercy upon her. Was she questioning the very fabric of existence? All Monica Veronica wanted was a hug. Was she destined for fate to treat her that way?