The Chase

A pop star, a social outcast, and an older police officer measure the importance of their own lives.

Cassidy went where she usually liked to go when the stress got to her, and stood on the peak of Mount Hollywood. It was almost three in the morning by this time. She had just arrived home from one of her concerts that night, and she had another one planned for the following night. She was ready to put the demands of thousands of fans behind her. She listened to some classical music to block out the noises still in her head of loud, whiny speakers, and naive little girls obnoxiously screaming her name, asking for an autograph, and asking for a second autograph for their friend, or sister. She listened to the music on her phone, which was in one hand, and a small bottle of wine was in the other. She had no qualms about swallowing the whole thing in this one sitting.

“So this is where it all took me,” she said to herself out loud.

The name “Cassidy Miles” meant something different now from what it used to. It used to be the name of a person; a young girl who liked to sing, and play the guitar. Now it’s just a label for some record company’s latest attempt to make money. It was hard for her to imagine that this was the goal she had set for herself. Any excitement she was looking for from the life she is living now is gone. She doesn’t even get to experience the enjoyment of being able to play music and sing like she used to, because she’s not even playing anything she enjoys. She knew she didn’t have the talent of Stevie Nicks, or Janis Joplin, or any of the other women she enjoyed listening to, but when she was playing in her bedroom back when she was in high school, it didn’t matter. She enjoyed what she was doing, even though she got no attention for it.

She was convinced that she needed the attention though. It was like this imaginary goal was dangling in front of her face, and if she didn’t reach for it, it would feel like she had no ambition, and was just an ordinary person, resigned to live an ordinary life. So she had to try for something else, and she would never have been able to live with herself if she didn’t do everything in her power to get it. Now she has it, and she feels resigned to a life of playing crappy songs she can’t stand, about a nameless boy who broke her heart, and how you should be yourself, and how you should always follow your dreams.

The songs about the boys, while trite, at least felt somewhat real. They were songs she had something of a connection with, so she didn’t mind those as much. But Cassidy found something so heartbreaking in telling millions of young girls to be themselves, when she couldn’t even do it. And dreams. The whole concept feels like an illusion. Most young kids don’t even know what their dreams are, so they have to be told. They have to be told by their parents, teachers, the media, and society in general, what they should aspire to be, and then they have to be told by people like Cassidy Miles that they should never stop trying until they reach it. Then what? You’re sitting on Mount Hollywood with a bottle of wine, contemplating where you went wrong.

All the way across the country in New Jersey, a young kid named Francis was sitting in his English class, while occasionally looking at the clock, waiting for the class to be over. He was eighteen, and a senior in high school. At the same time, he was both extremely arrogant, yet had very low self-esteem. He never felt validated in his whole life, so he felt like he was never worth the time or attention of anyone else. He wouldn’t even talk to anyone unless they approached him, because he felt like whatever he was going to say would’ve been an unimportant waste of the other person’s time. He likely had several undiagnosed disorders, which would account for his incredibly poor social skills, apparent lack of motivation, and frequent suicidal thoughts. He only rarely showered, brushed his teeth, cut his hair, or shaved, and often wore the same clothes for multiple days in a row. However, the magnitude of this was ever apparent to him, because he also had an incredible lack of self-awareness.

He had this unfounded idea that he was the kindest person to ever walk the face of the earth. It could have come from the fact that he was no good at anything else, and so the people around him would tell him how nice and kind he was to make him feel better. He was incredibly self-righteous about it. Whenever the other kids at school would ask him if he drank, or smoked pot, he would always make an incredibly condescending comment about how wrong he thought that was. Maybe he thought if he could market himself as “the good kid”, he wouldn’t have to feel completely worthless.

He was an adamant fan of baseball. He was never good at it. He was a decent runner, but the game required coordination, and a lot of observation of what other players were doing and planning. He couldn’t really keep up with all of that if he were playing, but he loved to watch it. He would watch the school’s baseball team play every time they had a game, or even a practice. He signed up to be the equipment manager, but he always showed up late, or not at all, so eventually they just got someone else to do it, but he still went to the games and practices. Of course he would also watch the professional games on TV any time he could. He had a ton of baseball cards scattered all around his bedroom somewhere. He had an unbelievable amount of information regarding statistics, teams, and players. He would only be able to carry out a conversation if baseball was the topic.

Baseball was the really the only thing that didn’t make Francis angry. He was inept at everything he tried, whether it was school, social interactions, or any given skill like art or music. School was the hardest for him, because when he wasn’t getting criticized by a teacher, he was getting neglected or otherwise tormented by another student. He was a senior in high school, so the tormenting was a lot less obvious and more subtle, disguising itself as more mature, but it was just as brutal. Sometimes, in his head, he still replays some of the less forgettable moments from years before. It seemed like any time he was in the room with a group of people, no matter what they were discussing or how invisible he was making himself, the conversation would turn into a Francis-bashing contest. He remembers an art class in middle school.

“Here, Francis, I can draw your self-portrait for you”, he remembered one kid saying, before drawing a deliberately deformed face.

“No, that’s way off”, another kid would say, before connecting the two eyebrows and adding acne.

Then everyone would laugh, as if there was any cleverness or wit to it. These kind of memories stuck with him. He let them decide what kind of person he was. He knew the older he got, it was just going to get more and more disguised, and therefore more and more acceptable. It was nearly impossible for him to get up every day, knowing what was ahead of him, and then be proven right every single time. Every day he convinced himself that there was something around the corner for him. He deluded himself into thinking that one day he would wake up, and something would come to him that would change his entire life, and he would never have to feel the same way again.

Back in Los Angeles, Officer Tom McConnell was sitting at his desk, working on a report. He worked with a sense of anxiety. He was waiting for his upcoming retirement. It wasn’t that he was waiting in excitement. He loved his job. He was being forced out. He was waiting just to be done with the feelings he had acquired over the last few months. He had been trying to talk himself into thinking that retirement won’t be so bad. Then he would talk himself into the idea that his retirement was for the good of the public, because he is getting old. Then he would just talk himself into trying to enjoy the time he had left while he had it. He was tired of all of this. He was tired of trying to convince himself not to feel like s**t about himself. He figured that when he retired, he would at least be able to focus on something else in his life. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to perform the last month on duty to the best of his abilities.

There was also the issue of the money. He had been pretty reckless in the past, with his drinking, and the fact that he always gave his wife and daughter everything they wanted. He was pretty sure they only cared about him for his money, so of course he gave it to them. There was also a mild inclination towards gambling that Tom had recently been pretty good at suppressing. He had spent far more than he should have throughout his life, and didn’t put nearly enough money away for his retirement. He hated himself for this. He didn’t know how he could be so stupid. Now he was going to have to suffer for it. He probably had enough that he wouldn’t have to worry for about a year. He was going to have to get another job. It made him wonder what he was doing everything for. He never really accomplished anything as a police officer. He didn’t have any remarkable arrests, or any exciting moments that he thought he would have when he took the job decades earlier. It was just something he enjoyed doing because it was something to do. It created casual enjoyment in the moments, but not lasting memories. The money was a major benefit, but now that’s gone too. He had nothing left.

He remembered the conversation that he had with the chief of police. It still bothered him, even though it was months ago. The chief came into his office, and broke the news with a false tone that imitated sympathy. Tom replayed the conversation over in his head.

“When you took this job, you knew that there was a good chance you were going to be around for this moment. Age has taken its toll on so many great officers we’ve had, so we have come to dread when we have to do this.”

Tom could hear the condescending tone in his boss’s voice. The chief would have to think Tom was pretty stupid to buy any of this. This only insulted Tom even further. He would’ve preferred to have just bluntly been called incompetent.

As the chief was talking, he started to take things off of Tom’s desk. He removed Tom’s nameplate, as well as a cup of pencils. Tom noticed this, but was intent on listening to what the chief was saying. He knew that the chief’s words, in combination with the fact that he was taking things off of Tom’s desk, meant that Tom was fired.

It was only after a few minutes when the chief brought up the word “retire” and the phrase “in a few months.” Tom was slightly relieved by this, knowing that he wasn’t immediately fired, but now he was confused as to why the chief was removing things from his desk. This confusion lasted until the chief was finished his speech.

“Now,” the chief said, “just to prove my point, I have been taking things off of your desk throughout this entire conversation.” He says this as he puts the items back on the desk. “You obviously didn’t notice, since you didn’t say anything. I can’t be satisfied to have you to perform your job to the best of your abilities if your abilities don’t even allow you to notice something that’s right in front of your face.”

Tom knew that the logic behind this made no sense for many reasons. The chief didn’t make it clear that Tom was not being fired, and even if he did, Tom could’ve just been silent about the chief’s actions just for the sake of politeness in letting the chief finish speaking. Still, Tom knew that any attempts at logic or reasoning with a man like this would have been futile. It’s possible the chief even knew how ridiculous his trick was, and was just looking for an excuse to justify his decision. Plus, as much as Tom enjoyed having something to do during the day to distract himself from life, part of him was ready to go. He had been working there for a long time.

“Thank you,” Tom said, as he shook the chief’s hand, and watched him leave.

Still, after thinking back to this conversation, Tom decided he wanted to make the chief regret his decision. He wanted to be the greatest police officer the chief had ever seen, just to shove it his face.

It was time for lunch back at Francis’s school. He was sitting with the group of kids he always sat with, just because they felt bad that he was sitting by himself on the first day. A conversation started about sexual experience. Of course, Francis was lacking in that department. The conversation was interesting to him, because it seemed different now from what conversations like these used to be. For the last few years, he had heard classmates talk about their experiences, but the tone of the conversations never stayed consistent. First, it would all sound so fake and contrived. Frances could tell that the majority of the kids in freshman year were most likely lying when they talked about this sort of thing, so he didn’t really mind hearing it. Then, it sort of evolved to sound more believable. Even though Francis was not experienced himself, this still didn’t really bother him. The other kids still sounded excited to talk about it, and they were even bragging about it. At least then, it was something that was viewed as a goal to be attained. Now though, everybody is talking about like it’s not a big deal at all; like it’s something everybody should be doing.

“We only went out one time after we had sex”, one guy said, so casually.

“I’ve actually never done oral at all”, a girl said, as if it were an unusual thing to say.

Francis felt like he was falling behind his classmates in just about every aspect of life, and this was no different. As he sat there at the table in the cafeteria, listening to them talk, he would slowly get more and more upset. Even the nerdier kids would have something to add to the conversation. He would notice specific silent gaps in the conversation, which would have been the perfect time to add his own insights. Usually during this time, he would’ve made some remark about how promiscuity is wrong, and how the other kids should be ashamed of themselves, but at this point, he was even getting tired of playing that role. He knew that the other kids were noticing the fact that he wasn’t contributing to the conversation. He felt knives, stabbing their way through his body, because he knew what they were thinking about him in that moment. He just kept his head down and kept eating.

The conversation changed to music. Francis didn’t really care about this one way or the other. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy music, it’s just that he didn’t know how to go about talking about it in conversation. To him it was like talking about wallpaper. Still though, he was glad to get away from the previous topic. The table was filled with a mix of guys and girls, with all different opinions. They talked about rappers, rock bands, pop stars, and country singers.

“Rap used to be so much better than it is now. It became a big deal at first because of how revolutionary and artistic it was. Now it’s the exact opposite,” one kid said. That sounded true, so Francis just nodded along.

“I actually think that’s true of every type of music. A country song now doesn’t sound like a country song fifty years ago,” another kid said.

“Yeah, and I’ve noticed that people who don’t listen to a specific genre, all say that the music of that genre sounds the same,” a girl said. “People who don’t listen to country say it about country. People who don’t listen to rap say it about rap. With harder rock music it’s the same thing.”

“Oh, wow, that’s actually true,” said someone else. “I never noticed that.”

Francis didn’t really have much to add to this conversation either. Occasionally, a name would come up that he would vaguely recognize, but he didn’t know anything about any of the musicians who were discussed, or any of the songs.

Then they started mentioning specific artists. One of the girls brought up Cassidy Miles. It was a name that Francis had heard once before from one of his younger female cousins, but he didn’t know anything beyond the name. It was such a different world from anything he knew about or was interested in.

“I like a lot of her songs,” a girl said. “They’re so catchy.” The other girls nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s like, I hate to admit it because her music is so bad, but I love it.” Francis was completely confused by that statement, but decided that the girl who said it was just trying to give her honest opinion, that she liked the music, without ruining her credibility.

“I’ve actually downloaded one of her songs,” a guy said, with a casual smile, inviting laughter. “She’s f****n’ hot too,” he said, and all the guys agreed. Even the girls nodded.

“You think she’s hot, Francis?” someone said. Francis could tell this question was merely asked for the sheer humor in the idea of associating him in any sort of sex-related context. It didn’t feel very malicious though, so he wasn’t too offended. He just nodded in agreement. Sure enough, the conversation turned back to the topic of sex. The guys talked about the most attractive girls they had been with, and made fun of each other for the less attractive girls.

Francis listened to all of this, and figured that it wouldn’t be enough to change his reputation if he just dated any girl. For the past few weeks, he had had his sights set on the most attractive girl in his high school, not for aesthetic reasons, but for reasons of social status. He couldn’t even talk to her though. He decided it would be much easier to talk to someone who he would never have to see again if she rejected him, rather than someone he would have to see at school every day.

He figured a famous pop star was of a much higher caliber than any girl at school. He realized that if he dated her, and that made it into the news, and he would gain the respect of everyone at his school. Either that, or they would be incredibly jealous. Either outcome was fine with Francis. Over the next few weeks, Francis looked on the internet for plane tickets to Los Angeles, and used money he had saved up, so that he could meet her. He planned out what he was going to say to her, and how he was going to say it. He was suddenly determined to win over this girl he knew nothing about.

On the day of his flight, Francis did all the things he had neglected doing before. He got his hair cut, performed all the necessary hygiene related rituals, groomed himself, and dressed nicely in his brother’s clothes. He actually looked pretty good. He realized that he had wasted his entire high school experience being an outcast, when he could have just been doing this the entire time, in which case he could’ve fit in a lot more easily. Now though, there was nothing that fixing his behavior could have done. These people in his school had already formed their opinions about him. He had to keep his mind set on the mission he had planned. He printed out a picture of Cassidy from the internet so that he would know what she looked like when he saw her. When the time came, he went to the airport.

Cassidy was getting ready to do a shoot for a commercial for a certain shampoo. She used the shampoo during her morning shower, as she was instructed to do. She took her friend Samantha with her to the commercial shoot, just so she could have someone to talk to. Cassidy sat in her chair in the makeup room, as Samantha stood next to her, watching the makeup artist help create the Cassidy Miles character. There was a lot of makeup involved, a flatiron, and a lot of additional hair products, because apparently the shampoo itself wasn’t enough for the commercial.

“So, they’re not offering the astronomy course over the summer, and I need it to graduate, but I did find the community college was offering a similar class, so I can just take that, and it will transfer,” Samantha said. She and Cassidy had an understanding that this was the kind of conversation topic that was more than welcome for when the two of them were at these types of shoots together.

“That’s kind of exciting, then. Are you ready to get out of college, or do you think you’ll miss it?” Cassidy asks her.

“Uh… A little bit of both, I guess. It’s funny because, you go to school for the goal of finishing, and the whole time, you kind of can’t wait to graduate, but now, it feels weird. I get the diploma, and hopefully I get a job, and that’s supposed to be the goal, but doesn’t that seem kind of boring? You either have something to look forward to, and you’re waiting for it to happen, which is pretty agonizing, or you’ve achieved your goal, and the wait is over, which is what you wanted, but now you have nothing to look forward to. So, either way you’re screwed.”

“Set a new goal then.”

“Yeah, I guess I could do that. But then it’s like, is that all it’s going to be after that? Just me trying to set new goals so I don’t have to be bored? I don’t even know if I like the anticipation any more than the boredom. It’s just exhausting”

The room is silent for a few second.

“I don’t know, it just sounds like I’m rambling. I don’t even know if I’m making sense,” Samantha says. Cassidy laughs.

“No, it’s totally okay,” Cassidy says. She lets the conversation stand as it is for a few seconds before saying, “You are sounding really emo though.”

“I mean, we can’t all be mega superstars,” Samantha says, smiling.

It takes Cassidy a few seconds after that before she laughs along. She thinks it’s funny how girls in their early twenties talk in comparison to older men and women. They’re much more blunt with what they’re feeling. It’s like they don’t really comprehend the magnitude of their feelings, otherwise they might not say it. It didn’t seem, in this moment, that Samantha understood what she was implying by what she was saying. Cassidy’s smile is fading as she’s thinking this to herself, seeing her friend a little differently now than she did five minutes prior. Then she grabs Samantha’s hand and holds it, without saying anything. They stay like that, holding hands, until the makeup artist is finished. Cassidy walks over to where they are about to film.

“Alright, Cassidy, you look great,” the director says. “Just stand there, smile, and read the prompter. Speak confidently and convincingly.”

The filming starts and Cassidy delivers her lines.

“Using the wrong shampoo in the morning can really mess up your entire day,” she says with a calm sense of enthusiasm. She continues reading in that matter. Then they film another part of the commercial where she is just asked to keep turning around and smiling, while showcasing her gorgeous hair. When the commercial was finished, Cassidy and Samantha both had separate things that they needed to do, so they said goodbye to each other, and went off. Cassidy was driven to a recording studio, where she was scheduled to record a song for the soundtrack of some children’s movie.

Just as she arrived in the building, less than a block away, Francis was just getting in. He had taken a cab from the airport in Los Angeles, to somewhere in Hollywood. He didn’t care where. He had no luggage with him. He didn’t really have a plan. He just knew he had to find Cassidy wherever she was, and convince her to date him, or have sex with him, or do anything that he would’ve been able to brag about. He got out of the cab, wearing his brother’s skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black vest. As he stood up and starting walking, he put on his sunglasses.

Rather than just pacing around through life, the way he did normally, he had a goal in mind. It was funny how different this person was in appearance and mannerisms, from the kid who was walking the halls of a New Jersey high school just a couple of days prior. He was thinking about how the people walking by were seeing someone he wasn’t. He had never met any of them. They knew nothing about the awkward kid he was, and a couple of days ago, they would have been able to tell just by looking. Francis wondered if it was fair for him be walking around like this, looking halfway decent, looking and acting as if he were a normal person, projecting a lie to everyone who didn’t know him. And how far could he take that if? If he were to suddenly develop some decent social skills, and everyone here liked him, would that be fair?

He kept walking, past the recording studio, and a few blocks down. He saw a homeless man holding a bucket, and asking people for change. He would walk up to a given person, tap them on the shoulder, and ask them for money. If they wouldn’t listen, he would follow them for a few yards, still asking for money. Francis was shocked to see that people weren’t really giving him anything. He didn’t know how someone could look at a person in this man’s condition, and not want to do something to help. He had seen this lack of caring before, and there was no way he was going to contribute to it. He started to approach the man to give him some money, before he was interrupted.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the area.” It was Tom, clearly going out of his way to do what he had contrived in his own mind to be what a good police officer should do. It had nothing to do with whether or not the homeless man was actually doing anything wrong. Of course, Francis didn’t know this. He was just confused as to why a police officer was spending time on this. He wondered about the way society is structured, and how it felt like things were on an endless loop. People get labeled as criminals, or losers for no reason at all. Then the “good” people, the authority figures and the people who are perceived to be the hardest workers, keep their status by labeling the others, thereby decreasing any chance that the order will change, all while keeping up the disguise that they want to see crime and poverty disappear. Francis was someone who grasped for an identity, any identity, and being the naive rule follower was it. But seeing Tom harass this man changed things. Francis didn’t know how long this new attitude of his would last, but it was what he was feeling in this moment, so he went with it.

“Officer, he’s not doing anything wrong,” Francis claimed.

“Kid, I can handle this. Please let me do my job,” Tom replied.

“Believe me, I would love for you to your job,” Francis insisted. He was quick-witted when he had to be. Tom’s next response was delayed.

“Kid, you’d be well off to keep walking.” He then turned to the homeless man. “Sir, aggressive panhandling is illegal. I’m going to have to arrest you.” Before he could get anything else out, Francis was quick to intervene.

“You can’t arrest him. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He was touching people who didn’t invite them to touch him, and he kept following people after they turned him down.”

“He wasn’t hurting anyone. Are you telling me you wouldn’t do anything you could to get a little bit of money when you had none? This is his life we’re talking about.”

“He should’ve thought of that before he chose this life.” After hearing Tom say this, Francis was shocked. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so insensitive, especially after seeing the condition this man was in. Francis saw that Tom wasn’t factoring in this guy’s background, or the lack of opportunities he probably had, and that this man’s position in life may have had nothing to do with the choices he made. Francis was confused by Tom’s illogical thinking, and this confusion came even without knowing about his economic issues. Tom continued to speak.

“Kid, if you insist on interfering with the arrest, you’re an accomplice. Please walk away.”

Francis wasn’t sure if it was his morals, or the implied challenge that Tom just posed to him, or the crowd that was gathering, seemingly demanding a show, but something prompted him to keep going.

“Officer, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I allowed this to happen.”

“Very well. I’m going to have to arrest both of you then.”

It wasn’t long before Francis found himself in a jail cell. He had so many thoughts about the homeless man, and the police officer, and Cassidy Miles, that he wasn’t even comprehending the fact that he was in jail. When he finally did, he just reminded himself that it was a minor offence. He was waiting for Tom to give him his one phone call. He would have to tell his parents where he was. He hadn’t told them he would be flying across the country. He was getting frustrated with Tom, who was fitting at his desk watching TV. This frustration grew when he saw another officer approach Tom, to have a conversation.

“Hey, I hope you’re not gambling again,” the officer said in a joking matter. Tom laughed, and then responded.

“No, just watching.” Francis realized that Tom was watching baseball. He was still frustrated, but now he was interested in the game as well. A few minutes later, his frustration subsided to the point that he could think more clearly, and he got an idea.

“Tom,” he said. “Come here.” He called him by his first name, because he was trying to seem friendly. Tom walked over.

“What is it?” Tom said sternly, feigning authority.

“I’m a big baseball fan myself,” Francis said. “Just to let you know, New York has this game won, no question.” Tom was interested.

“What makes you say that?”

Francis rattled off several facts and statistics, most of which went over Tom’s head. Francis spoke with confidence. He had a goal in mind, but he couldn’t be the one who put the offer on the table. He had to be smart about it, so he kept showing off his baseball knowledge, and casually mentioned how good he is at predicting games. He had enough information about Tom that he could reel him in. After Francis was finished talking, Tom went back to his desk. After the game was over, and Francis was proven right, Tom approached him.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m going to talk quickly. I’m in serious need of some money. The details aren’t important. Normally I wouldn’t even consider this, but if you help me predict some games, I’ll bail you out.” This was exactly what Francis wanted.

“You have to bail the homeless guy out too,” he said. Tom agreed. Soon enough, both Francis and the homeless man were freed, and Francis was giving gambling advice to Tom. Just as he was about to finish, he realized he had lost sight of his initial goal.

“Before I give you the last few games,” he said, “I need a bigger favor.” Francis was nervous, but he knew the officer wasn’t going to arrest him again. “I want you to give me Cassidy Miles’s address.”

Tom initially thought this was crazy, but he had nothing to lose. His job was leaving him, and he would have no money to survive on anyway if he didn’t win it by gambling on these games. His wife and daughter only saw him as their own personal bank, and nothing more. All he had left in his life was the pursuit of money. Nothing else mattered anymore. He had to do it. By making this move, Tom resigned himself to the life he had been aiming for, without even realizing it. He was now in a position where his entire worth to the people around him was going to be measured not by his actions, or how enjoyable of a person he was, or what good be brought to the world, or how much he enjoyed life, but by the amount of money he made. He realized when he was trying to spend his last few months being this great police officer, that it wasn’t to do justice or to prove a point, but to give himself worth. He had no worth as a human being, because he never gave himself any worth as a human being, so his only potential value anymore was as a monetary source for his wife and daughter. That was what he had chosen for himself, and now he was stuck with it. He had wasted his life up to this point, and he wasn’t in a position anymore where he could feel useful doing anything else but to waste it even further in this way.

Before long, Francis was on his way back to wandering around in Hollywood. Now, he knew where Cassidy lived, so he had more of a plan. He figured that she had to be out doing something now, but she would have to come back at night. He decided to just wait outside of her house until she got back, and then he would approach her. He wasted no time finding the house. It was not as large as he expected. This was good for Francis, because he figured this way would make it easier to notice her coming in. It was starting to get dark. There was nothing left to do now but to sit there and wait.

All this happened while Cassidy was recording her song in the studio. It was for a movie about a little girl who owned a horse. The lyrics were about how friends encourage each other to reach their goals. She was annoyed by this as it was, but this feeling heated up when they asked her to change a line after the first take.

“We actually decided we’re going to change the line ‘And with your help I think we’ll make it’ to ‘And don’t give up until you make it,’” the producer tells her.

Cassidy was disgusted by this. The first line was bad enough. She thought about all the little girls who listen to her music. This new line would be putting the same exact pressure on these girls that she felt her whole life, and that resulted in the empty existence she has now. She understood that she was probably reading too much into one line, but it felt important in this moment. This was another instance of many where she was being told to fit into a role she didn’t think suited her. She thought about saying something, but she wasn’t sure. Normally, she would just nod along to what the producer had said, and deliver the line. This situation was different though. Usually she just felt one pressure at a time, which was hard to deal with, but not enough that she wouldn’t keep doing her work as instructed. This time though, she was feeling all the pressures of her entire professional career, all at the same time, one on top of the other, all in this moment. After debating in her head whether or not she should, she decided to speak up.

“Don’t you think that line is a little presumptuous?” She said. “What if you genuinely lose interest in achieving a particular goal? What if your attempts to achieve that goal are taking an emotional toll on you, and you decide it isn’t worth it? What if you find another goal you think is more important?” Cassidy understood what she was saying, but she could tell the producer did not.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a generalization. Most kids aren’t even listening to the lyrics anyway.” The producer sounded annoyed when he was saying this. Still, Cassidy persisted. She refused to say the new line. The two of them argued about this for almost ten minutes. Eventually, the producer put his foot down.

“You have two options. You can do the line, get paid, and forget about the whole thing, or don’t do the line, quit, and the word will get out about how difficult it is to work with you.”

Cassidy was shocked by this, because she hadn’t realized how the argument would be perceived until the producer said that. No one would care what point Cassidy was trying to make. If anything, the producer was the one who was just trying to get his way for the sake of getting his way. Cassidy had a real reason for not wanting to say the line. It wouldn’t matter though. Both Cassidy and the producer could give a completely honest account of the argument, and Cassidy would still look spoiled, or hard to work with. It was strange, because it isn’t how she saw herself at all. She cared about what the little girls in the world were hearing from people they looked up to. She knew what it was like to deal with pressure from the people around you, and to work towards something you don’t really want. She knew that this perception the producer had of her was inaccurate, but most people wouldn’t see it that way. She didn’t want those girls to hate her, and she didn’t want any other producers to refrain from working with her in the future. As hard as it was, she sang the song again, with the new line, signed all the papers she needed to sign, and left. She was on her way home.

Francis was sitting outside Cassidy’s house, with nothing to do but look out for her arrival, and think about whatever happened to be going through his head. He thought about how close he is to meeting her. All she had to do was come home, and he would start talking to her. He thought about how he was going to approach her, and how she was going to react. If he got anything out of her at all, he figured it would be on the news, and people at his school would hear about it. He figured his life would change completely. It would only take a few days.

Francis sat there waiting. It was dark now. It was taking several hours for Cassidy to arrive. Francis was getting tired, and was fighting sleep. He had enough time alone to think about what he was doing. He wondered if what he was doing was considering stalking, and if Cassidy was going to get him arrested. He tried to justify it in his head, by reminding himself that it only seemed weird because of how far away she was. All he was going to do was ask her to date him. He wasn’t planning on hurting her, or pushing her too hard. If she lived next door to him, he would just have to walk a few feet and knock on her door, and no one would think it was weird at all. But then of course, there’s still the fact that he’s not actually interested in her at all, and was just trying to improve his own status.

He thought about how cruel everyone he encountered in his life must have been, to drive him to the point that he would fly thousands of miles to seduce a woman he had never met. He wondered why he cared that much about how people viewed him. He wondered why he couldn’t just live his life as he was, enjoying baseball. The opinions of the people around him didn’t need to have any effect on how much he enjoyed his life, nor on his ability to function, and yet they did. He realized that he could have made things so much easier on himself by thinking logically, and realizing that his status and his reputation were just illusions, and never mattered at all. He thought about the police officer he met who lived his life according to these illusions, and how he didn’t want to end up that way.

It was almost midnight, and Francis decided to cancel his mission. He just walked about Los Angeles for a while. Eventually, he came across Mount Hollywood, and out of sheer boredom, he walked for a couple of hours to its peak. He sat there looking at all the bright lights below him, and the night sky, and he realized how much bigger the world was than his reputation. After almost and hour, he heard footsteps approaching.

“Oh, hey.” Cassidy was surprised to see someone else in her spot. Francis looked over.

“You’re Cassidy Miles,” Francis said. There was an obvious tone of surprise in his voice. Cassidy was annoyed, because she thought Francis was another fan excited to see the character. She came up here to get away from that. She didn’t realize his shock was just for the mere coincidence that he had stumbled upon the person he had just given up looking for.

“Sorry,” Francis said. “I was just surprised to see you.” Now he sounded like one human being talking to another, and Cassidy felt more relaxed. She sat down next to him, and they stared at all the lights below in silence.

“Do you want some wine?” Cassidy asked. Francis, being eighteen and being the rule-follower he was, almost turned her down. Then he reminded himself of what he just realized, about reputation being an illusion, and he accepted. There was something about Francis’s casual attitude towards Cassidy, that made her realize that no matter what she did, there would be people who didn’t care, so it made no sense to factor the opinions of others into any decision, let alone to your entire life aiming for it as a goal. That was the message she wished she could tell her young fans.

Francis and Cassidy sat together, with Cassidy’s classical music playing, for about two hours. They both were at the same point in the world now. They realized that they were entitled to enjoy life as it was. Happiness didn’t have to be earned by winning over anyone else, or by achieving a particular goal They had already succeeded just by existing. Life itself should be a gift, not a challenge.

The two of them sat there at the top of the mountain, with all of the answers that people go their whole lives without finding. They didn’t know how long this enlightenment would last. It was very likely that they would wake up the next day and go back to being the same people they were just a few hours ago. But for now, it didn’t matter. They were resting right now. They had solved the mystery.