The Longest Yard
© James C. Hess
Among the celebrities attending was one fellow I had never thought to be past his prime, because I had never realized, until I saw him there, he had a prime.
You know the sort of person of whom I speak: Owing much to their talent, ability, and skill, certain individuals seem timeless. This fellow in question was one such person.
But as I watched him, obviously bored by the proceedings and less than thrilled by the dinner he had before him, I came to realize something: Such talent, ability, and skill may prove to be more of a liability than an asset. After all, it isn't enough you get a free meal for making an appearance, you have to also perform for it, and as this poor fellow sat there, all eyes on him, waiting for a turn of his wrist, a flash of his trademark grin, a grope of a woman's anatomy, I realized the greatest punishment a human being could have inflicted upon them is celebrity.
Because you can't have a moment's peace to just be yourself.
Or so it would seem.
Shortly after the meal had been served, shortly after the majority had made sufficient picking and poking of it, reducing it to high-priced waste, the celeb in question stood, excused himself, and went outside, presumably to smoke one of his legendary cigars.
Given my shared boredom of the proceedings as well, I stood, excused myself, and went outside as well.
To the other side of the great lodge where we had all gathered.
As I stood on the deck, the dusk beginning to gather, the sunset burning away to nothing, I found myself wondering if I would ever find myself in the same situation as the celebrity, who was now alone on the dark side, pulling on a cigar, doing so because, apparently, it was expected of him.
And I hoped in that moment I never would. Then I decided the only way to assure that would never happen was to avoid seeking celebrity and just be myself.
Apparently I was deep in thought because I didn't hear him come around the building, and up next to me, a forgotten, lit cigar in one hand.
