Just Brooke: (No Stage Name Needed!)

By Sunshine Rodgers

I didn't know what to expect when the time came for me to go on stage. An attendant with a clipboard and wearing headphones came out to get us one by one in the waiting room as if we were awaiting a Golden Ticket opportunity that may never come.

 

I see cameramen around me, and I am always on the lookout to see if I can spot Gio

• Language: English
• Publisher: RWG Publishing
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088270424

Sunshine Rodgers

Sunshine Rodgers narrates with such conviction and realism in her writing, showcasing the personhood of the Trinity and exploring the depths of God’s true intimacy for His people. She is a graduate of The University of Tennessee where her degree in Communications jumpstarted her career in the television, movie and entertainment industry for a decade. Fascinated with the artistic side of storytelling and art in motion, Sunshine has taken a creative approach to sharing the Gospel, penning her books: God the Father, Jesus the Big Brother, Holy Spirit the Best Friend and Last Night, When I Prayed. Sunshine spends her free time with her husband Travis as they enjoy the beautiful Florida weather.

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Just Brooke

Just Brooke

Just Brooke

(No Stage Name Needed!)

Sunshine Rodgers

RWG Publishing

Contents

Introduction

1 Chapter One

2 Chapter Two

3 Chapter Three

4 Chapter Four

5 Chapter Five

6 Chapter Six

7 Chapter Seven

8 Chapter Eight

9 A Few Months Later…

Acknowledgements

BOOKS BY SUNSHINE RODGERS

Copyright © 2023 by Sunshine Rodgers

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Printing, 2023

Introduction

There are aspects of my story that could, in some ways, remind you of fictitious fairy tales. And I’m not talking about the ones with the singing birds and the magic pumpkins. I’m referring to those hard-to-read edgier stories of scarecrows, black screeching ravens, and women maiming themselves just to get a taste of Kingdom life.

Okay, so my life isn’t that bad.

For example, I have gained a very loyal friend. Meet my constant companion: Disappointment. He follows me around and speaks to me often, and I cannot help but embrace his ongoing, abrasive, icy-cold presence.

And that’s where my story starts.

In a bathroom.

It’s not what you think…

After my dad left us when I was eleven years old, my mom worked long shifts and odd hours as a custodian at the Time To Rise Resort. She was assigned the entry-level job of scrubbing toilets and cleaning fifty restrooms in that five-story resort. And I was always there to lend an extra hand. Or an extra scrub brush. Or toilet bowl attachment.

I became used to these late-night/early-morning shifts. It was a daily routine. I would wake up early and ride in the car as my mom started at 4:00 a.m., and I would help her as much as possible until 7:00 a.m. Then I made the trek to school which was only three blocks away, across the railway tracks and past the fresh bread bakery (which always smelled so good!) and eventually to the school yard. And then, around 2:30 p.m., I would walk back to the resort, waving at Ms. Anderson at the front desk.

The Time To Rise Resort was a truly magical place for a little kid like me!

The hotel, true to its name, was decorated with sunrise portraits. The one on the third floor, next to the vending machine, was my all-time favorite! The endless blue ocean. The golden sky. The lone bird flies off to somewhere better. Somewhere not here. It was called: A Ray of Hope by Photographer Brittany Warren, the artist behind the lens, responsible for nearly all the nature images at the hotel.

A Ray of Hope spoke to me, encouraged me to never stop dreaming, and to believe that someday… everything can all change for the better.

Every room and every corridor at the Time To Rise Resort was another adventure… as the back stairs took me to the floor with the piano or my favorite bouquet of sunflowers by the elevators, and the hotel always smelled of a lavender scent. The regal windows gave off the feel of a large castle with footmen and maids, socialites and tourists all in one place!

I looked inside the Statesmith once, the gift shop out in the lobby. I remember seeing the price tag of a dress: $300, and I ran out, almost in shame, that I touched such a delicate piece of clothing that was way more than I could ever afford.

I explored a lot as a kid. There was a spa and a gym, and a pool. But past that, the Music Hall was across from the utility room. The room was locked, but I peered inside the glass window to view the instruments, the grand piano, and the recording equipment. These kinds of luxuries were never a part of my reality.

I made friends with the other maids and custodians as they taught me the value of bleach, turpentine, and vanilla air freshener. I was intrigued and eager to learn, but most importantly, I was content. I was as happy as any pre-teen could be.

I sat on the floor working on my homework until my mom finished cleaning the last corner, the last checkered tile, and the very last toilet. My mom was five foot zero but seemed almost giant-like as she stood on ladders to dust balconies or balanced on sink stalls to streak smudges off the long mirrors. Though my mom had a bed of curly grey hair and developing wrinkles, to me, she was always young at heart.

I didn’t care where we were or what we did; it was always heaven around my mom. Even with semi red-soaked eyes from lack of sleep or maybe from being around the odor of cleaning products during a twelve-hour shift, she still maintained a positive attitude, and I caught her optimism like dust on a lint brush. She always encouraged me to sing the blues.

I got a B- on an exam?

Belt it out!

I didn't get asked to the Spring Formal?

Sing out my sorrows!

What’s on your mind, Darlin’? she asked me, ringing out the mop. But don’t talk about it. Sing about it, she instructed.

Why? I asked.

Because singing has a way of making everything seem better! You can make things come alive. Like, listen to me. ♫ This is Betty the Mop. I shine the floor to make it clean. No dirt or trash can be seen! You will love your room. Because Betty the Mop is at work just for you. ♫ Her voice carried through the hallowed halls and past the employee locker rooms. I swear my mother could have been a professional vocalist as she possessed such a natural singing gift.

You know, like that. She shrugged.

How did she do that? I always wondered.

How did she just make everything seem okay?

What if I can’t figure out what to sing? I protested.

"It’s easy. Look inside your heart. Now, I caution you. Never do anything for money, fame, or stardom. Do what you love because you love it. Always stay in your passion. And just let it flow naturally! was her advice to me. Don’t you worry, Darlin’. You’ll figure it out." She winked at me.

I always believed that I was a Somebody around my mom. I vowed to sing like her, to make something beautiful and wonderful come alive through my vocal cords.

As a young girl, I entertained my mom as she wiped the counters using a microfiber cloth and sprayed the stalls with a disinfectant. She would sing with me, our chosen song for the night, and the acoustics were perfect as the sound echoed off the bare walls. I would dance around that checkered tile, twirling on the freshly cleaned floors.

On a not-so-fun side, I witnessed my mom treated like a servant as posh high-society elite would walk in and scold her for not having enough hand towels or the organic kind of soap they preferred. Or even worse, she would be ignored altogether.

She used to say to me, "Darlin', no matter what people say or do to you, you are accountable for your actions." She emphasized those words of wisdom as we rode the bus together because her car broke down, once again. She said that to me at a fast-food place as we counted pennies to purchase the ninety-nine-cent soft serve.

And she said that to me right before, well… to continue with the fairy tale motif, a witch took her away from me. And I would never see her again.

I warned you.

Disappointment. He is my only real friend now. He is someone I can always count on.

I was fifteen years old when I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle in Virginia.

No more fooling around! I knew then that I needed to grow up. Life is uncertain. I would never be that little singing bathroom dancer ever again.

This life isn't a fairytale.

No singing birds or talking squirrels.

No magic left in this world.

Far from it.

1

Chapter One

Did you watch last night’s episode? Gina smiles at me from the back of the kitchen at Hudson’s Diner. The entire place smells like French fries and stale onions. Tiny beads of sweat pour down my brow as steam from the stove slowly engulf us as if we were on the set of a bad sci-fi horror flick from the 1930s: Attack of the Grease Cloud—part Four.

Gina has been my best friend since High School. A natural beauty, her long face is accented by her short platinum blonde hair and fashionable square frames.

The crowds are finally thinning out. It was a busy morning followed by an even busier lunch hour.

Working at Hudson’s wasn’t my idea. It’s all part of The Master Plan.

✔ Start as part of the Wait Staff

✔ Learn the back end of the Kitchen

✔ Check the Account Balance Sheet

✔ Manage the Family Business

✔ Prepare for the role as a Hudson's Diner Franchisee

It’s not necessarily a bad plan for someone like me living in a small town in Bridgewater, located in eastern Virginia. Thanks to my Uncle's successful Diner business, I have worked at Hudson’s through High School and College, so clocking in and tying on my blue apron is a somewhat normal routine for me.

I was forced to major in Business Management at Virginia Turnpike University to understand the value of education. My Aunt and Uncle, as financially well off as they are, paid for my college, but… wait for it, they are insistent I pay them back, every penny, to understand the value of money.

But I also wonder if this is all just a tactic—another way to try to control me.

To answer your question… I take a sip from my large sweet tea I purposely hide under the counter, away from the customer's view. No. I did not. I had to work the closing shift yesterday.

Do you want me to tell you…or do you just want to watch it for yourself? Gina’s eyes widen.

You can tell me… I shrug.

"Bad Boy Brian left! He got eliminated off the show!" Gina is jumping up and down at this point, clearly hysterical over a man she's never met and probably never will.

Gina is referring to the show currently making headlines: The Tune to the Top.

I’m sure you’ve seen it—just another singing competition show.

That’s right.

One of those.

The show selects different areas in the country to represent and then sends the regional contestants to an all-inclusive tourist destination for each season.

It’s a fun show to watch.

If you’re into that sort of thing.

I never liked Brian. He was too….

Handsome? Gina interrupts me. Debonair? Charismatic? Did I mention handsome?

Yes, but his melody was all off. I mean…he sang all the right notes but didn’t sing from his heart. Where was his passion? I wipe the counter clean with a rag.

"You know, you should be on that show…" Gina collects empty plates from a nearby table.

I know why she said that.

It’s no secret I still love singing!

Singing the blues, as my mom would say.

Gina has caught me countless times writing songs or singing in the walk-in freezer. And she knows about my short stint in the Tenth-grade Choir. Gina also has met my disapproving Aunt, who has a tight lock on my life, holding the key to my personal jail cell for nearly a decade.

Musicals.

The Opera.

Broadway Plays.

I haven't been to any of those.

It’s for your own good, Aunt Karen once told me. "Your mother, rest her soul, was improper at your upbringing. Unfit to be a mother. Who allows their child to be around such filthy conditions? Honestly! You need structure. You need order. You need a plan. And your Uncle and I have arranged everything for your success."

I can still hear her cackling voice in my head.

Can I be the first one cut today? Gina asks Brad, our Manager.

Sure. Brad writes her name on the clear-erase board with a blue marker. What about you, Brooke? Do you want to leave early, too?

"No! Absolutely not! I need the extra money!" I insist.

Gina gives me a side look as a party of eight just walks through the door.

After the host leads the large group to the back, I approach the table of mostly rambunctious kids using the space as their own personal playground. One toddler hides under his seat, and a girl in pigtails uses the chair handles as monkey bars.

Welcome to Hudson’s. Our special today is meatloaf with roasted sweet potatoes. Do you need more time looking through the menu, or do you know what you would like? I ask.

The mother doesn't even look at me; she just scrolls through her phone, which irritates me.

Just look up for one second!

Engage with me!

Put the phone down!