The Understudy

By Betty R. Goodstein

My parents were so proud. I, of course, was ecstatic. I was on the staff of my high school newspaper, and I was chosen to interview Eleanor Roosevelt. The southbound train for Washington DC (still) made a stop in Trenton. All the details having been worked out, we waited for The Day.

Two days earlier, I seemed to have developed a cold. “I’ll be fine,” I assured my mother, who busied herself preparing tea with honey and lemon. Soon I was feeling cold, hot, and achy.

When The Day came, I could barely get up. Dr. Levine was summoned. “It’s the flu,” he announced. “Stay in bed, drink plenty of liquids.” And mother was to fill a prescription immediately.

“But I have to get up!” I moaned.

No use. It occurred to me: it was the Third Grade Disaster once again. To make matters even worse—SHE was going to take my place.

All through that day, the events of the Third Grade Disaster kept replaying in my ‘feverish’ mind. I thought about the school play, “Sleeping Beauty.” I was to be the Princess, who slept for 100 years, remember? In came the same Doctor. He immediately pronounced: “It’s Chicken Pox.”

No! I moaned, but one look in the mirror and I knew my life was over. Guess who was the princess? Right, the same one.

These two incidents do a ‘replay’ over the years—from time to time.

Wonderful things have happened, of course, and some not so wonderful. We try to keep things in the proper perspective. It’s all part of growing up, maturing, and finally, of growing older.

But, I wonder. Whatever happened to Her?