Christine Frederickson

Blurry lights are still a constant in Christine’s life. The blurring of lights hazed through subway windows; the sunset filtered through smog coated windows; the buzzing LEDs in Greasy Sal’s Diner. But there are new ones too– the playful dancing lights of a campfire; the hot, blinding lights of the stage; the golden light that worms its way through the windows in the early morning, caressing Odette’s hair, a soft hand on her face and shoulder.

Okay. Maybe that last one was a bit of an exaggeration.

But nonetheless when Christine wakes up, and drags herself to the shared, moulding apartment kitchen, the sun rises. There is no light quite like the comfortable glow in the morning, as two lovers share a cup of coffee. And though she can’t see the stars in the city, like in Anchor Rock, the lights on the city streets as they walk back home from the theatre suit Christine just fine.

It would be another lie to say that Christine is a Broadway star- to put it frank, she isn’t. She is the ensemble cast, the third understudy, the lineless character, but she can work her way up. And when your girlfriend looks up at you from the orchestra pit, cheering as though you are the only actress on that stage, you know that you have made it. Christine was once called the ‘Biggest Liar in Anchor Rock’, a failure, a wash-out, a waitress. And Odette wasn’t wrong, Christine is a Liar, a waitress and all of the above but she has the makings of a star.

The next months go by in a blur of cold pizza, petty arguments, and truly awful graphic t-shirts. Visiting friends, writing letters, making sure no one is forgotten. Moving boxes, leaving the apartment, hoping Romilly doesn’t cancel his bank cards. It would be wrong to say that Christine and Odette settle down- they are incapable of that. Christine cannot stay still and Odette cannot stand anymore placid domesticity, so they keep it interesting. Faded red hair fried by bleach and pink dye. Two new tattoos added to the patchwork sleeve– an Anchor and a Violin. Music notes replace tarnished gold jewellery and a wedding ring finds its way to the bottom of a polluted river. They live a life of frantic chaos, anonymous in the blur of the city, overshadowed by lights up ahead that they can’t quite reach.

Christine has made it. Leaving Anchor Rock was worth it. She is a collage of all the people and places she has met and been, a patchwork sleeve of motifs and slogans. Mitch, Felix, Flo, Jennifer, Priscilla, Oleman, Orion– all fragile pieces of a glass puzzle, slotted together just right. And Odette– she is the glue that holds the puzzle together. Fills in the cracks, stops it from falling to pieces when pressure is applied, another audition falls through. She is the glue on the envelope when it arrives on Mitch’s doorstep, a Broadway ticket closed inside.

By Faith C.