Free You Look Like That Girl: A Child Actor Stops Pretending and Finally Grows Up by Lisa Jakub

injury really meant. The doctors said it was really uncertain what kind of recovery I would have and what my physical abilities would be. Was this the end of my career? I wondered if I would even know how to be a kid who went to school full-time.
    I knew how to work. There were the on-set politics to navigate and the lines to learn and the motions to replicate at exactly the same time for the continuity of every take. There was hair and makeup to sit stillfor, even if the hairdresser pulled a little too hard and the makeup felt heavy and greasy. There was the lighting to be aware of so that you didn’t stand in a shadow or cast your shadow on another actor. School was foreign territory, with its own unspoken rules that I didn’t understand. I worried about my ability to survive it.
    But there was no guarantee that my body would be acceptable for film anymore. It felt unfathomable that this was the end of everything that I had known but I’d always felt like it was going to end somehow. Wasn’t acting temporary for most kids? I’d drift off to my drugged sleep feeling more confused than ever.
    What usually woke me was the assistant director, saying that it was time to go to set. But one afternoon, I had a different visitor: the new puppy that my co-star had been given. He was a sweet little guy who tended to wander the halls of the office building that the dressing rooms were in.
    “Hey, Buddy. C’mere,” I called from my mattress.
    He wandered in to the room in that wiggly-butt puppy way and sniffed around. He looked in my mother’s giant carpetbag that held my script and snacks, he sniffed around my stack of untouched schoolwork and attempted to crawl under the side table to reach a lost potato chip. Then he came back to me.
    “Whatcha doing, puppy?” I cooed at him.
    What the puppy was doing, to my dismay, was peeing on me. There I was, broken-backed, unable to move, and being peed on. I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life. When I started yelling, my mom came running, followed by a couple other production assistants who all tried gallantly to stifle their giggles. The wardrobe people were even more unhappy than I was, as they carefully hand-scrubbed dog urine from my vintage, fifty-year-old wool skirt.

    When the film was finished, my mother and I returned to Canada where I laid on the couch for many long months. School was out of the question, as I couldn’t sit in a chair for more than a few minutes at a time. So, a loop of old movies kept me entertained and distracted from the pain. I watched
To Kill a Mockingbird
and cheered when Bobby as Boo Radley stepped out of the shadows to save the day. It was somehow comforting to see my friend. I watched Scout and Boo sit on the porch together, just like Bobby and I had. It brought tears to my eyes when Mary Badham smiled up at Bobby, recognizing his gentle soul.
Hey, Boo.
    I was incredibly lucky to experience a growth spurt that allowed my spine the space to heal. I slowly came back to myself. After hours of daily physical therapy, only a few minor issues lingered. My right foot would drag when I got tired and some nerve damage in my lower back would act up occasionally. But I gained my weight back, gained my strength back and I was soon back to life. Back to life meant back to work: I didn’t have to conceive of a regular life after all. I had a princess to meet.
The People’s Princess
    While I was wearing a back brace and watching game shows, the editors of
Rambling Rose
were cutting and splicing and creating art. The film would be my introduction to the world of premieres. I had already been in the movie with John Malkovich, but actors of bit parts (even the significant, doe-eyed bit parts) don’t get invited to the fancy premieres.
    Later in life, it would become clear that attending premieres would feel like getting flayed. Some people must enjoy them, maybe the same kind of people who get excited about getting an invitation to parties at roller rinks