Free Man Up! by Ross Mathews Page A

eye.
    No biggie, right? It happens to everyone. Stars, they’re just like us? Go figure! Perhaps celebrities weren’t quite as perfect as I’d thought. Now, if I found myself in this situation today, it wouldn’t be a big deal at all. I would probably just whisper, “Hey girl, you gotta little gunk in your eye.”
    But the fifteen year-old me didn’t know how to handle it. In fact, I had become instantly obsessed with this unexpected eye booger. It was like a big black punctuation mark, the period that was bringing time to a screeching halt.
    As silly as it sounds, I couldn’t fathom the idea of my perfect K-Pow—the very first celebrity I had ever come face to face with—having an imperfection. And although this blemish was clearly temporary and merely surface level, it was still the ultimate distraction. I couldn’t let it go. I mean, how could this go unnoticed? Didn’t she have people on the payroll looking out for such disasters? If they weren’t going to tell her, then maybe I should! Or better yet, I could simply take control and make things right, make her perfect again. I was imagining myself gently swabbing Tiff’s eye with a Q-tip like her chubby knight in shining armor, when I heard what sounded like a record skipping. “What’s your name?…Your name…?…Name…?”
    I could hear Tiffani-Amber asking the question, and for the love of God I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t think of the answer. I heard Molly’s voice just behind me, answering on my behalf. “Ross. His name is Ross.”
    Tiffani-Amber asked, “Ross, would you like an autograph?”
    Again, I said nothing. My mind was blank. Molly, still acting as my interpreter, piped up. “Yes, he’d love one.”
    Tiffani-Amber pulled a head shot from the stack beside her, signed it and pushed it across the table. “Ross, honey,” she asked, “Do you want to take a picture together?”
    Molly shoved me forward and chimed, “Yes!”
    Tiffani leaned in close. We were literally just inches apart now. I was being pulled into the orbit of a real star and she smelled like a mixture of honeysuckle and the Hollywood sign. Divine. When the camera clicked, I felt a flash of light burn my eyes, and when my sight returned a few moments later, I somehow found myself back on the Seattle streets with Molly.
    “Did it really happen?” I asked Molly while rubbing my eyes. “Or was it all just a dream?!?”
    Molly gleefully recounted the horror story of my doomed Thiessen interaction. “My favorite part,” Molly squealed, “was when you forgot your own name!”
    She was lying. That couldn’t have happened. “You’re lying, Molly. That couldn’t have happened.”
    She was in hysterics now, nearly hyperventilating with laughter. “And then I had to practically prop you up for a picture!”
    “ You shut your stupid mouth, stupid!!!   ”
    I went too far. I’d never lashed out like that before. Molly realized that for me to say something that harsh, she had really crossed a line. Regaining her composure, she wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It wasn’t really that bad. I mean, it was kinda cute in a way. You were like a clueless puppy or an adorable little toddler who just woke up, all dazed and confused and stuff ? You know?”
    I appreciated her attempt at kindness, but she wasn’t helping. This was the absolute worst thing that had ever happened in the history of the world. I couldn’t help but think my life was basically over. I mean, how could it have all gone so terribly wrong?
    Tiffani probably thinks I’m a grade-A idiot, I thought to myself. Maybe she’s even thinking about it at this very moment, laughing at my meet-and-greet meltdown. She’s probably telling her hair and makeup people the story right now. I bet her bitchy hairstylist thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh girl,” he’s cackling while smoothing her flyaways, “you’ve gotta tell Mark-Paul about