“And the award goes to,” the announcer’s voice filled her head. She replayed that fateful night often. The media dubbed it the night she became a ‘legend’.
She led a career that would be studied. Awards for writing television, movies, Broadway, radio; some of the greatest to ever hit their medium. Her words were tattooed into the flesh of her fans. Her story lines became iconic to the point of sacred. Her movies filled theaters. Her Broadway shows increased tourism. Television networks abandoned competing against her timeslot.
She won a Pulitzer at 35. The following year she was a visiting professor at CUNY. Her lectures were recorded and circulated on YouTube. The ad revenue paid for a new library.
She was a master of her craft. She helped put words to the feelings a generation was experiencing. Politicians quoted her words to make a case for their agenda.
“And the award goes to,” sounded her head once more. She thought on her success, how her words were viewed as so powerful and so impactful.
None of it mattered here though.
“Say it again, mom!” The children, refusing to sleep, shouted in unison.
She sighed. “Fart pickle.”
“She said it!” She heard in the fit of laughter that followed. Some words are more important than others.