Ms. Daisy Sumner

“I used to be as pretty as a doll,” the aging woman says, staring into an intricate and ancient-looking hand mirror.
“Mmm-hmm?” I nod, asking her to continue.
“So beautiful. They used to tell me all the time,” she whispers, setting down the mirror.
“Who are they?” I ask as I type her words out on my laptop.
“Oh, just about everyone, I guess. Family. Friends of family. Everyone who saw me told me I was the loveliest creature they saw.”
I look around at the black and white and sepia pictures of her as a young woman. They cover practically every surface of the small living room. “I bet,” I murmur. She truly was a beauty.
“I was, as people say, discovered while at a trip to the drugstore. I got offered a modeling job. And then another. And another after that. They gave me job after job! It was so exciting. I was only 16, you know.”
I nod, “Yes, and how did that bring you into the spotlight, Ms. Sumner?”
“Oh, it’s not very interesting. My modeling job got me a little fame, so I was given small bit parts- extra work, really-on television shows. Then I was asked to be in a film. Not starring or anything. I wasn’t even given any lines. But somehow, I got called more and more, and next thing I know I was talking in front of cameras. I was asked to star in small films, then bigger films. It was all so strange and scary, but fun! By the time I was 20, people recognized me on the street. I moved to Hollywood when I was only 17. My parents were sad for me, but proud of me. I came from a small town, so they day I left, the town had this big celebration. ‘Clarksville’s finest!’ the banners said. It was like I was some big celebrity,” she sips her tea pensively before setting her cup down.
“They shouldn’t have let me leave. I became too proud, I guess. I started telling people I was going to be the greatest star to ever live. Better than all the greats. People got mad, told me I only got my parts because I was pretty. I fired back that they shouldn’t be jealous of my looks or talent. I lost friends. The only people who could stand me were my agent and PR manager, and that was because I got them money. Then I started to get fewer parts. I was told I was getting a bit old to play the ‘pretty young girl’ I’d always been cast as. I was only 26. Apparently, all my lost friends were right. I started drinking more. I told myself I was still pretty, still great. I got even less jobs. I barely had my fifteen minutes of fame.” She gives a long, heavy sigh.
I stop typing and look up. She looks sad and defeated. I stare at pictures of the vibrant, pretty girl, then at the deflated, old woman. “Ms. Sumner?”
“Oh, there’s not much more to tell. I stopped drinking, realized I didn’t belong in Hollywood and left. I moved to San Diego for a while, then came back to Clarksville. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me, as if to say, “What once was, what could have been,” so I left again. Came here to Perry. I never married. I didn’t let anyone love me, I guess. I never tried at anything else. I just stayed here and let my life pass. I’m not one of those old Hollywood belles with a tragic life story and some early demise. As you can see, I haven’t died yet. I get to see my ugly old face every morning. I should’ve kept drinking, or taken up smoking. Your story would be a whole lot more interesting.”
“Ms. Sumner, your story is interesting as is.”
She shrugs her frail shoulders. “It’s not much of one. Sorry for taking your time.”
“It wasn’t a waste of time, honest.”
The frail lady shifts in her seat suddenly, and looks me square in the eye. “Young lady, I-I would just like to thank you so much. I really would. You don’t know how much this really means to me. I know I’m nothing, and this article of yours may not matter much, but this has meant the world to me. I just can’t thank you enough.” I see the tears starting to form in her eyes, which are still as clear and bright as the young girl’s in the pictures.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Sumner.”