Callie was nineteen years old, and lived with her stepmother Joan, who had two daughters. Her father had passed away when she was only nine, a year after he’d married Joan. Things took a turn for the worse, and Callie ended up being the one that did all the chores, essentially becoming the maid of the house.
Callie was also a scholarship student, that was how she got into the same college as her step-sisters. Although she was way more intelligent than the other two, they never hesitated to poke fun at her. She took it in her stride and never complained, continuing to excel in school. Callie was well-loved by her teachers who were always impressed by her demeanor and how hardworking she was.
This continued for a while, with her balancing school and household chores.
But Callie, like every little girl out there, had grown up with a dream. She had a passion for music, and she could sing like an angel. She and her dad would often jam together before he died but with him gone, Joan forbade any sort of singing or music in the house.
“It reminds me too much of Karl,” Joan would say.
Which meant Callie could never sing or play the guitar with Joan or her daughters around. Callie had a guitar, passed down from her late father, the only thing she had left that reminded her of him. Everything else had been taken away from her and she held on to his Gibson like it were priceless. And it was. She would often play Summer of 69, by Bryan Adams, when her step-mother and step-sisters weren’t around. Callie had become really good at it. This hiding and practicing. Eventually she taught herself to play more songs and she would sometimes sing in the backyard when she thought she was alone.
One day on her way back from college, Callie noticed a billboard announcing an audition for a reality TV show. It was called The Right Chord, and it promised a fat check to the winner, along with an exclusive contract with one of the biggest record companies in the country. She was intrigued. She wanted to participate. Callie wanted to go to the audition and win and get out of her miserable life. The audition was on the very next day, a Saturday.
Joan got wind of the situation.
And as evil as she was, she set chores for Callie to complete, right on the day of the audition. After all, the girl wasn’t her own flesh and blood, anyway. Callie couldn’t say a word because saying anything would mean giving away the whole thing, and she didn’t want Joan to know. So she cleaned windows, tears running down her face, while Joan went to the grocery store, with a stern warning that she better get the house clean before lunch.
Five minutes after the she left, the doorbell rang.
Callie went to answer and saw Mrs. H, her apparently snobbish neighbor, who seemed to be in a rush, on the porch. Everyone said Mrs. H was a stuck up old lady who liked to keep to herself and waste her millions on her dogs.
She handed Callie a package.
“What are you waiting for, girl? Get that guitar, we’re going to that audition, so you better hurry. Dear God I hope that dress fits and those shoes fit. We can deal with your ma later!”
Callie was dumbstruck.
“T-thank you, Mrs. H!”
Callie gave the woman a hug and said thank you again and ran upstairs to change. Mrs. H owned a rather fast sports car, and the pair actually made it in time. Callie had a successful audition, and went on to do great things. She was a modern day Cinderella. The goal she had was not a prince, but freedom.
This goes to show that fairy godmothers do exist.