Genny Gordon always dreamed of something more. She always dreamed of being someone more, someone else.
Now that she’d become this someone else, well, let’s just say, it didn’t turn out the way she’d always dreamt.
Before all that however, Genny found herself in her mid-30s, this creeping desire for more aching at her. Mrs. Gordon was a childless wife, married to her husband just shy of a decade now. She worked as an elementary school teacher, finally having achieved full-time status. She’d chased this security throughout her recent youth; those good old days, simpler times, she’d reminisce.
She’d attained the mortgaged house, with a white picket fence too. Her debt was slowly being eaten away, the frugality working. It turns out staying in and practically having no social life did wonders for one’s bank account. It was all looking up from here, and her parents eagerly reminded her of how proud they were of her.
“You did well kid.” Her father would say, his hand tightly clutching Genny’s mother’s palm. The two of them were Genny’s inspiration, the carrot on a stick she’d spent so long chasing. And now, barely at the midpoint of her life, she’d done it, or was close to it at least. She’d tuck in next to her husband, himself drenched in a book, and she’d follow suit, reading alongside him.
They were the perfect image of responsibility, upstanding members of mature adulthood, in bed all before 9pm.
It was smooth sailing from here.
Yet, as the book stared back at her, her self-imposed bedtime expiring by the second, Genny found herself asking for more, wishing she hadn’t just focused on making her parents proud. Rather, what if she’d made the world proud, what if she’d met her full potential, become more than herself, and ascended to be the self she wished she was.
That answer lay in her past, back before those good old days.
Then, she dreamt of her 20s, but instead of early nights and frugal saving, she dreamt of late nights in busy cities. Of stolen kisses and leering stares. She dreamt of mansions and castles. Of princes and stars. She dreamt of the spotlight, of diamonds, pearls and flashing lights. Of fame, of beauty, of wealth, of romance, of vanity.
Of Genevieve.
“Genevieve” became Genny’s adolescent alter ego, a well-constructed artifice that fulfilled all the wishes and desires she never could after having survived constant bullying and isolation as a child. After having sat at empty lunch tables on her own, outcasted and shunned, watching the popular and beautiful shine in the thrones of high school hierarchies.
Genny yearned for an escape, a savior, and her salvation came from within. Some would call it acting, but Genny thought it surviving, and when she changed schools, the perfect stage presented itself. In the new schools, she hid her true self, with her desired self. She was no longer dorky, nerdy and awkward Genny, but instead, quirky, intelligent and mysterious Genevieve. From her new peers, Genevieve attracted envy and reverence, to the boys, she evoked curiosity and desire.
If she remained as Geneivieve, those twenties of her dreams with late nights and shining stars were on the cusp, particularly since her acting could be applied on more than just Genevieve. The theatre adored her, so much so that she won a scholarship.
But no matter the kisses, the stares, and the praise even if Genevieve could fool the world, she couldn’t fool Genny. No matter how badly Genny desired to be this someone else, it wasn’t sustainable and it wasn’t real.
Genny learned that the hard way when the façade fell, and hearts were broken. She couldn’t even grieve her own breakup because the one that had gotten away was right, she had lied to him. How could she fault him for not loving the real her when she had never given him a chance to fall in love with the real her in the first place. He had fallen in love with the artifice, with Genevieve, and she had withheld the truth from him, the truth that was Genny.
Thus, once her twenties began, Genny buried Genevieve alongside her broken heart, tired of all the lies, no matter how sweet they were. This new chapter would be a decade of truth, a decade of authenticity, of responsibility, of maturity, of the real Genny.
A decade of all the right things.
Now that decade was long gone.
Genny met the right man, one who fell in love with the real her. Yet, his love began to dim in her eyes, for she never really even loved herself in the first place, still yearning for Genevieve.
She wondered what her husband would think of Genevieve. She’d have probably been way out of his league, she thought, a vain pleasure trembling from the thought. What would Genevieve think of her, all responsible and mature. All boring and dull, a wasted youth, those would be her thoughts, Genny concluded.
And Genny believed her.
In this moment of weakness, Genny then dug up old graves, unearthing Genevieve and wearing her once again, desperate for this lost youth.
She wondered the streets, dressed up, gorgeous and carefree, dancing, dining and drinking. Staring, kissing, beaming.
She was alive once again.
Yet the sun would rise, and Genny would beckon back, removing the mask that was Genevieve.
Yet that would be the first night of many.
A new ritual dawned, a double life emerging as reality and fantasy meshed into one another.
A story of two women.
One, a teacher, a wife, beautiful, responsible, stable, one to be proud of…
The other, an actress, a lover, gorgeous, carefree, exciting, one to be envied…
The duality of woman, perfectly balanced.
If it had remained balanced, Genny would’ve likely kept the artifice until death, but of course, Genevieve had to go ahead and break her heart once again. The two selves diverged, as Genevieve’s light began shining bright, so bright that it began overshadowing Genny’s quiet and peaceful corner.
Her theatre acting had brought her to streets such as Broadway, film directors and producers spotting a blooming starlet. All of a sudden, Genny couldn’t hide Genevieve from her husband as Genevieve came right through the front door. She invaded through paparazzi, front page portraits and magazine covers. Her stardom burnt so bright that despite Genny’s best attempts, she found her husband seated in the front row seat of her latest play, all eyes on Genevieve.
And once confronted, after almost ten years of faithful and loving marriage. Genny looked at her husband with heartbreak as the truth finally came out.
Genny didn’t weep because her husband discovered her lie. No, she wept, because in her husband’s eyes, Genny saw that he had fallen in love with her lie.
He’d fallen in love with Genevieve.
Image by: Thando Bhebhe | WLUSP President
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