Still Waiting

I was young, once.

It's kinda funny, thinking about it. I mean, we were all young once, but it always feels like a shock that the person on the bus with the cellphone in his ear and a hand in his pocket once wore Superman underoos.

Heck, some still do.

But forget about them for a second. My subjects the past, not a somewhat odd present. Cause all these strangers were once a whole lot shorter, and once their hopes were a whole lot higher.

I wanted to be famous. We all do, a little, except for the humble, if they exist. But I digress...

I longed for the lights of the cameras and respect and esteem that seems to come only in far away dreams. I didn't want to toil for it, I just wanted it all to be dumped on my lap in a neat little package.

Heh. Yeah, right.

Sometimes, when I'm hunched by the stove flipping burgers at night, I see two little hands pressed hard on the glass, two little eyes fixed on the spatula held askew in my hand, and a single word, one solitary word, that my pretend inner-child asks with the utmost honesty.

I said I'd be famous one day, but...

When?