Diana's Various and Sundry Essays

California Dreams

I was on the verge of turning twelve and was becoming dimly aware that there was a world beyond the endless grain fields surrounding the farm. Sure, I knew the nearby towns like the back of my hand, but they hadn’t really been all that significant in my mind. But that summer, my fascination with Hollywood began.

It started when my aunt took my brothers and I to a film in Harvington, a small town about an hour away. As it happened, the one we saw was about a classic love story. Naturally, my younger brothers fidgeted and snickered through the entire thing, but I sat transfixed, hoping it would never come to an end. On the way out of the theatre, I took a second look at the colorful movie posters on the walls, suddenly enthralled with the actors whose images appeared on them. My aunt could tell I was excited about it, and promised to bring me back the next week.
That summer, I spent all of my time either at the cinema or thinking about it. I invested my meager allowance in magazines that contained interviews and photographs of famous Hollywood stars. Soon, the whole family was well aware that my new ambition in life was to become one of them. They gave me knowing looks when I spoke of it--the kind I couldn’t bear. My brothers teased me endlessly about my dream and made fun of me as much as possible. Partly due to their endless annoyance, I became more and more short-tempered with my parents and my grandmother as well.

One evening after supper, my grandmother, who I rarely took any notice of, asked me to go with her to the attic. Annoyed but obedient, I followed her up the creaky wooden stairs and into the small, dusty room.

“Open this package,” she said, pointing to a small velvet box that I had never noticed before.

I carefully untied the satin ribbon that held it together and lifted the lid.

“Now hand it to me, please,” she asked quietly. “I haven’t seen these in years.”

She took out a small piece of paper. Even from where I sat, I could tell immediately that it was a photograph. A smile crossed her face as she studied it. Then she placed it in my hand. The black and white image was of a glamorous young woman in a beautiful dress. Her face was tilted upwards as if she was looking at something breathtaking in the sky.

“Who is it?” I asked, awestruck.

“It’s me, of course,” she said, with an impish grin on her face. “I was a movie star, just as you seem to want to be.
Confused, I stammered, “But…but why do we…why on earth do we live here, then?” I began to get a little angry, thinking of the thrilling life that we could be leading in California. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this before? What happened?”

“I came to my senses,” she replied shortly.

When that summer ended, my California dreams did too.



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