Melissa Explains It All: Tales From My Abnormally Normal Life by Melissa Joan Hart Read Free Book Online

influenced my style a lot. She gave me her funkiest hand-me-downs, including a pair of black leather lace-up Kenneth Cole flats that she called “fence climbers,” since they had extremely pointy toes. Mom and I usually shopped at Daffy’s on rehearsal breaks, where I tried to channel her style. Back then, the discount clothing store carried the best designer stuff for kids and adults, so we really cleaned up. Daffy’s clothing was also a big difference from my usual preppy gear from Kids “R” Us. So much of a tween’s identity is linked to her clothing, so Calista’s suggestions and validation mattered more to me than she knew. Spending time with her felt like I was hanging out with Molly Ringwald in a John Hughes flick—complete with us as self-doubting, mildly neurotic characters and a Simple Minds soundtrack in my head.
    When we had time to kill before a matinee, rehearsal, or evening show, Mom, who was only nine years older than Calista, came with us to Seventh Avenue and Bleecker Street for our favorite pre-show meal at John’s Pizzeria. This place has been famous for its brick-oven pies since 1929. I thought their pizza had the most delicious thin crust, rumored to taste so good because of New York City’s tap water. Mom, Calista, and I could each eat a whole pie by ourselves. Years later, when Calista was rumored to have an eating disorder, I was tempted to leak shots of us surrounded by some big ol’ pizza pies to prove the gossipers wrong. I suspect she’s always been thin because she has a lot of nervous energy, and every time I read about a study that links fidgeting to weight loss, I think of Calista. Sometimes when she focused on a scene during rehearsals or listened to a director give notes, she crossed her arms around her body and rocked back and forth. I’ve always had a lot of energy myself, and if people diagnosed kids in the ’80s with clinical conditions as thoughtlessly as they do now, I’m positive I’d have been labeled ADHD and prescribed some serious meds. Though people just said I had “excess energy” back then, Calista’s rocking still looked appealing to me, so yes, I started to mimic her. Once she noticed it, she told me to stop, and said I shouldn’t rock like her. She never explained why.
    Looking back, I realize that Calista probably felt nervous and insecure about her first role on Broadway. She was always hard on herself and concerned about other people’s impressions of her. On the night our New York Times review came out, she was particularly anxious. Mom drove Calista home most nights, since she lived near the Midtown Tunnel, which we took to Long Island. In the car, she was really concerned that the critic Frank Rich’s feedback could negatively impact her career and the show’s run, since his was the only review that seemed to matter. I remember how Calista’s adrenaline was pumping, and how confused she was about his review. It said:
Among the younger alter egos, Ms. Flockhart, in her New York debut, shows unusual promise. She brings consistent emotional clarity to messy post-pubescent effusions, not the least of which is the line, “No wonder this place is such a slushy dung heap of a horror!”
    Impressive, right? Mom told her this, over and over, but I could tell from my mother’s insistent and strict tone that Calista’s nerves were on overdrive. Maybe Calista needed to hear how good she was from my mom, whom she admired, in order to believe it herself. I thought Calista was perfect, but nobody asked the thirteen-year-old in the backseat.
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    While my own reviews on stage were top-notch, my peers at home gave me questionable ones about who I was becoming, and what I began looking like, without their influence. As my wardrobe gradually took more cues from Calista’s closet, mixed with influences from our show’s young and punk backstage crew, Long Island didn’t celebrate my inner riot-grrrl. I’ll never forget when one chick came up to