Dear Midge Maisel,
Dear Midge Maisel,
Telling you “Thank you” would be a gross understatement. I’ll never forget the first time that I heard about you. I was lying in a hospital bed, after a night of too much cheap vodka and, looking back on it, a similar situation to the one you got yourself into the first time you entered The Gaslight Cafe. I made a drunk scene, and took my shirt off. Probably not as empowering as it was when you did it. My Joel? Some complete asshole that I spent hours fantasizing ways to get him to fall in love with me. The kind of man that would never fall for a theater nerd who was invited to a party just because her best friend happened to be hooking up with one of the guys on the basketball team, since she had the most immaculate breasts any single woman had ever seen. We were invited to this party. It was a nightmare hidden behind my wildest dream of being one of the popular girls.
Peter? Yeah, he never looked twice at me. I didn’t know the lyrics to the songs that this crowd listened to. I drove to school blasting the Spring Awakening soundtrack, and spent my nights memorizing monologues and reciting them over and over to my poor mother. That is why this party was so special to me. I made a complete fool of myself and was never invited again, nor was my friend, but it woke me up to the realization that maybe this fast life would never be for me. That was okay. At this time, this was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. With sorrow and lost hope, I accepted the reality of what my high school experience was supposed to be. One that would not be filled with cheap vodka, rap songs I didn’t know the lyrics too, and breasts. I still am a size A.
My mom picked me up from the hospital and chuckled. “Sarah, you remind me of Midge Maisel.” Who was that? Surely just a woman my mom dug up on the internet. A backup dancer in some Broadway show that would talk to me for five minutes. I once wrote to Idina Menzel. Another hopeless dream.
“Mom I’m not in the mood for you to feel sorry for your daughter who just made an absolute fool out of herself at a party that has now defined the rest of her high school experience.”
“Oh Jesus. It’s a character in a new show. Midge Maisel.”
“I don’t care. My head is killing me. I just need macaroni and to never think of vodka or Peter again.My life is over. Seriously mom. This is the worst thing that could have ever happened to me,” I said in between sobs.
We arrived home and I immediately plummeted into the couch. My dear mother brought me a cup of tea and some overcooked mac and cheese. We turned on this show that I less than cared to watch. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Whoopie!
I will admit, I was first drawn to your classic pink dress. I should have been born in the 1950’s. I kind of wished I was friends with you from the start. You seemed to defy the norm, but in more spectacular way than getting too hammered at a high school basement party.
We ended up watching until episode three, when I slowly drifted into my much needed hungover nap. Sunday came and went. School began as usual, with me driving into the parking lot, turning down my Broadway music, and walking to my first class of the day. Biology. Oh the glory days of tenth grade science. Peter was in this class with me, so I would always make sure that I looked my absolute best. I entered class a little late everyday so that he would notice me. The class was also full of some of the prettiest and coolest girls in my grade, who certainly would never be caught in the auditorium reciting monologues or hanging out with one of their only friends: the drama teacher.
I walked in and immediately noticed that one of the girls had her phone held up pointing directly at me. “Sloppy Sarah! Hey girl!” Peter laughed, and my world came crashing down. As mellow dramatic as this sounds, a tenth grade girls heart can be shattered into a million pieces when embarrassed in front of her first crush. I sat down, mortified. “Go back to the theater. We don’t need your face.”
I attended a private school, where apparently bullying didn’t exist. It was only the public schools that had bullies, according to the facade that our school threw on. I had never been shamed for my passion. Theater was something that made me feel safe. I was cast as Mrs. Gibbs in Our Town and a total of thirty people showed up, but that was okay. I spent hours learning lines, and practicing for my big night. I didn’t care that people were on their cell phones, or that the girls were probably making fun of me. I was doing what I loved and nothing else mattered. I was going to become the next Angelina Jolie. I was going to tell my story. If I had known about Rachel Brosnahan at the time of this show, I would have told myself I would end up like her.
In that biology classroom, everything that I had known about myself and my passion, and all the confidence that I carried on my back, vanished. That one line, changed everything. “Go back to the theater. We don’t need your face.” I can’t believe I had embarrassed myself so brutally. Tears began to swell up. I begged my head and heart not to let them fall from my eyes, but it happened anyway.
“I’m serious! You belong in the theater. We don’t need people like you at this school, theater nerd.” The voice of the girl who said that to me, still rings in my head if I let it. Her laughter is still recognizable from miles away.
Again, my school prided itself on creating an atmosphere that was seemingly filled with nice, intelligent people. What did I have to do to fit in? Quit theater? I couldn’t even fathom the idea.
I thought I was pretty? I thought I had a good enough body?
Then the auditions for Legally Blonde came up. I forgot about the bullying in my biology classroom. I was going to audition.
I spent the night before practicing with my mom.
I got the part of Vivian Kensington and I was overjoyed.
The show was 2 months away.
Biology. “You do realize you got that part because of how ugly you are.” I still remember that voice and name, years later. She’ll never read this. She was beyond beautiful, very smart, and the boys in my grade drooled over her. I never realized that such hatred and meanness could come out of one body. It was like everyday the comments and laughter became worse. My biology teacher heard them, and I swear he was secretly laughing inside. At no point did he shut them down.
“Stop fucking staring at me lesbian.”
“Transfer.”
“You are so fucking ugly, cow.”
1 month until the show. I could tell that I was slowly deteriorating. My mom was diagnosed with cancer. My dad hardly talked to our family. The bullying became harder and harder to handle. The tears came every single day. The laughter came every single day.
2 weeks until the show. Midge Maisel. I began watching this show my mom was so addicted to. She was starting to spend more time at the hospital. I would leave school in tears, enter her hospital room, and turn on The Marvelous Miss Maisel. Midge, you were starting to become well known for your comedy. You were also starting to become a familiar sign of hope to me. You said “fuck it” to Joel, and your friendship with Susie had taken off. I wished desperately that I had a friend like you. Instead of listening to Sophie, you again said “fuck it.” You were Midge Maisel and no one could get in your way. You were so much stronger than I was. I wanted to embody your drive and “fuck it” personality.
Opening night. I secretly looked outside the curtains. There they were. Each and every one of my bullies. This was something that had never happened before. They wouldn’t have been caught dead at one of my shows. I had a sinking feeling in my chest.
Midge Maisel would do it. She would prance on stage and kill her role. She would get a standing applause and look those bullies in the eyes and say “fuck. It.” Sarah, would not.
What happened that night still stings my eyes. I got up on stage. Vivian had just met Elle. Elle had just found out Vivian was engaged to Warner. This was my grand entrance. Flashing lights came from the audience, as I realized that phones were recording my first scene. The tears began to form in my eyes, but the show must go on. After the show I immediately opened my phone.
“You are the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to this school. Check Facebook.” This was a number that I didn’t have on my phone.
There it was. A video of the performance I worked so hard on. A video of my nights and nights of practiced lines, all presented as perfectly as I could with the knowledge that I was being made fun of.
No caption. Just a stupid emoji crying of laughter.
I was heartbroken. My mom was heartbroken, lying in a hospital bed. The first time she had seen my performance from the bed, was the video on Facebook. She thought it was wonderful and didn’t realize the intentions behind it, so I didn’t tell her. I just sat there watching Maisel and trying to find my inner Midge. You were so amazing. I wished I could just hop into the TV and have you talk to me and tell me “fuck it. Tits up Sarah!”
I wished that just like Joel, the people at my school would watch my acting and realize how talented I was in the end.
The bullying had never been worse, when the next biology class came around. I began to skip the class and my grade dropped. I would sit in the back of my car so that nobody would see me, and cry. The anxiety began to form, and then the deep and darkest time of my life happened.
After being called a “theater piece of trash.” I went to the hospital to visit my mother. She was more weak than I had ever seen her before. I turned on Mrs. Maisel. We were close to the end. I watched you. I watched your optimism, your bravery, and your persistence. No one ever got in the way of your confidence. That night I sat in the bathtub with every intention of dropping my plugged in hair dryer into the water. I am a true believer that everything happens for a reason. My phone screen turned on, with a call from my mom. Her contact photo was of Midge and Susie. I dropped the hair dryer. I dropped it on the side of the tub, refused to go through with what I was about to do, hopped out of the tub, answered the phone, and heard her lovely voice tell me that she had just been informed that she would be okay. Right before that call I saw Midge, and something started to build up inside of me. “Fuck it. Tits up Sarah.”
I walked into school that next day. I walked into biology and smiled at the girls. The typical laughter and comments blared in my ears. For the first time, they began to get old.
What would Midge say? “Sometimes I tune people out, but mostly because they rarely have anything useful or interesting to say.” That’s what she would say. I tuned them out. I started to actually pay attention to what we were learning in this god forsaken excuse for a biology class. I embodied Midge’s attitude.
Junior year rolled around. I got the lead role in Hair. My mother was front and center cheering me on. The popular girls forgot I existed, because I forgot they existed. I held my nerdy theater friends close. I laughed more. I applied to acting programs in New York. I sang in the shower. I was completely addicted to Maisel. My mother and I spent most Saturday nights watching the show, crying of laughter.
I grew so much since the night I blacked out at a party that I would never be caught at in a million years. I looked back and thought to myself: “why did I ever want to be caught at a party like that?” I watched as my senior year past me by. I got into the school of my dreams, my mother was healthier than ever, my friendships were life long, and my mind was full of joy. I sound so ridiculously cheesy, I know.
I decided I needed to put my voice out there, to all the girls who are struggling in high school. First of all, “fuck it. Tits up!” High school is sort of like a crazy dream. It’s all over the place. There will be laughter, heart ache, and lessons learned. If you want to be the bitchy girl who belittles other women, so be it. I hope and pray you will find yourself in the future. If you want to be the girl that pores her heart into the school plays, so be it. I hope and pray you will succeed at your dream of becoming the next Rachel Brosnahan.
I hope you find your inner Midge Maisel. Whether this letter has inspired you to watch the show, or you find a dear friend like Susie, I hope that you find something or someone that makes you wake up every morning and say “fuck it. Let’s conquer this day. Tits up.”
In the wise words of my favorite person in the entire world:
“Why do women have to pretend to be something that they’re not? Why do we have to pretend to be stupid when we’re not stupid? Why do we have to pretend to be helpless when we’re not helpless? Why do we have to pretend to be sorry when we have nothing to be sorry about? Why do we have to pretend we’re not hungry when we’re hungry?”
Thank you Midge Maisel for saving my life.
Sarah
