Member Poem

Aisling pondered frequently why people compared her to a larger than life celebrity. Was it her aura or legal eagle looks? Some said she bore an uncanny resemblance
to her mother, Anthea, who also had this magnetic halo even though she was dimly aware of it.
"People always stop you and I because we seem to know where we're going."  Anthea, to the point as always.  All these thoughts gathered pace as she, Aisling,  peered out the window into her hometown.
You know, the sort of town that really belongs to a bygone era.  A place like that is characterised by signposts pointing in the wrong direction  or just as likely to have pavements with loose slabs as open invite to an accident and emergency ward.
You can throw into the mix dusty shops with half filled shelves and items well past their sell by date and I think you get the picture.
But perhaps these are the very things that make towns like this special.
Life can be strange.
Events which bear all the hallmarks of a hidden hand intrude in the blink of an eye. Sudden fame is one of them. Celebrity that  comet with a hazardous end tail.
Aisling often wondered what it would be like to be famous. Many's  the time this thought intruded mischievously as her well- manicured fingernails absentmindedly leafed through some dull brief which her superiors had a penchant for studiously avoiding.
“Fame is an exotic dancer that sometimes tango's seductively  in the mind when one is stressed." 
Her mother used to say.  The brain is a conjuror with no upper limit when it comes to creating colourful  images  about the good life and it's attendant colossal fortunes.
Celebrity has its drawbacks but on balance the benefits are huge.                                       
As a practicing lawyer Aisling had a most unlikely encounter with being a public figure and ultimately it's disappearance.  Aisling’s brief dalliance with stardom emanated from her appearance on a chat show.  When she applied for a ticket as an audience member nagging doubts lingered in the recesses of her mind.   Doubt is a vagrant, a clueless  roamer that drifts widely  across conscious states littering every hopeful thought with pessimism.
Some months later her ticket arrived.
According to her mother and close friends there was a look of joy which was comparable only to a woman who had just given birth.  “I had that look when I had you." Anthea said. 
"Your eyes have a diamond sparkle.  Keep it up.”  Mother again.
Aisling was part of a select audience of experienced legal practitioners whose role would be to ask awkward probing questions  of retired ex judges on sensitive constitutional matters.
The excitement in her house was palpable. Needless to say all her family spread the news far and wide. She couldn't believe this was happening to her.  Then there was  the preparation.  There was a letter accompanying the ticket to the show with brief instructions.  She had been allocated two questions and that was all. The questions had to be phrased with an economy of words which in turn had to be squeezed into the tightest time frame with strictly vetted borders. It was clear she had been given a skeletal slot and indeed a very bony, emaciated skeleton at that.  Between the  wardrobe and questions she had exactly two weeks in total.
In the interim she received phone calls from friends who had been informed of what happened. There was a shift in her status as a person from confident  courtroom champion to a blushing  awestruck awkwardness when spotted by someone. "Setting boundaries will be an awkward burden.”
Mother chipped in.  Celebrity can be (depending on circumstances)
an Olympic champion virus that spreads it's  tentacles in double quick time without warning.
Immunisation remains  elusive for sudden shifts, dips, peaks in popularity, that mutating gauge. “Much to my amazement, people I hardly knew or hadn't spoken to in a long while stopped me as I went about my business. It wasn't fan mania or anything remotely like it  but I was beginning to get a taste of what it must be like.”  Aisling observed.
The weeks passed quickly enough.
It was more than ample for the decisions she was going to make on questions and her clothes. They all agreed at home that she should dress conservatively.  Conservatively but not somberly.
Go black was the decision with a  cream blouse. The simplicity of that allowed her to concentrate on the questions she had formulated in her mind.  Of course Aisling  hired a taxi to the studio on the night of the programme. The very personable taxi driver was a joy talking mainly about pleasantries. When she arrived at the Studio  the driver beamed as  her ruffled tip parachuted silently onto his lap.  A token of the human surge that was welling up inside.  "Ah, you've a heart that ripples.
Like my mother.”  The taxi man said.  "Getting real poetic, like. The poetic streak comes from the fam. Starbound are we, if you don't mind my asking?
The rush they get from being in the limelight.  Where you are going is where all stars begin.  It all starts in the audience.  The trick is to get the host to do a bit of focussing.  Once you are on that camera, milk it."  She listened spellbound.   "My mother had a way of summing things up.
Fame is like a moon- lit cuddle round midnight.  Just a passing whim.  It's just a fly- by- night." 
The driver's anecdote touched her somehow.  As the taxi sped into the distance a shadowy sense of history descended upon her. The studio's exterior and the car park occupied that phantom zone between the halcyon, high jinx of bygone eras and an impatient twilight at the gate. Aisling’s  jittery, pre-show reflections were suddenly interrupted. She was brusquely ushered into an historic studio by an imperious  member of security whose sullen demeanour bore a frightening resemblance to an East German Border Guard.  She could sense from his cold eyes an instant dislike for her as an individual that he was recording in his mind. 
At least that was her impression. "Keep straight ahead, then take a right ". He said in a peculiarly lifeless tone. The geometrical shaped marble floors with their eye-dazzling sheen  coupled with the star-studded array of mosaics and murals of previous guests added a light nuanced backdrop to the structural design. She rang her mother before going into the venue. "Aisling, you'll be fine. We'll all be rooting for you." She said. "You passed your law exam.
You’ll  pass this".
Anthea’s daughter duly took her place.  An august body of judges soon arrived. They were introduced by the gracious host to what must have been one of the most critical juries they ever faced.  The  Ex-Judges followed each other in fraternal single file  as they were directed to the Pu leather upholstered seats reserved for them.
It was Aisling’s turn to speak. Her two questions concerned accused persons on bail as flight risks or likely offenders. Judges could be forensic in response to a nervous pitch plagued by jitters.  Decades of sophistry and bogus plea bargaining  only  enhanced their capacity for seering through ill-thought out cant.  As she started to speak, currents of dizziness course through her mind.
A ghostly blank descended upon her but somehow she coped. 
Anthea’s image appeared in her mind almost as if she was present.
“Your thoughts on bail.”  To herself she said,
“Aisling, to the point." 
Deep breath. 
"Who is to fame .. Freudian slip I mean blame
(Guffaws)...if the courts are too lenient?”
"And is there any numerical evidence to show that more crimes are committed on bail?"
Phew, that wasn't too bad. Why the word numerical? The first part of that word sounds like numb.  The questions and responses drew applause. The judges responses were surprisingly diplomatic.  They were also evasive to a degree. 
They had reasons.
We should be slow to modify long-standing constitutional guarantees and international human rights covenants.
There were also references to our standing in the international community.
She couldn't help but smile with regard to the slight gaffes but they did humanise the whole affair. They added a little levity to what could have been an overly somber occasion.
On balance she did herself proud.
The issues passed and so did this very special evening. She returned home to family and friends who were very complimentary about the whole affair. "I told you you'd be fine."
Her mother with her arms extended. The next few days she went about her business as normal.
Greetings from the public continued for a while longer.  She was recognised and complimented while out and about.
Aisling said  to herself a little anonymity  wouldn't go amiss. 
It  was soon to be imposed on her.
Gradually  the weeks passed  and so did the attention she attracted.
The curious stares diminished as did the sudden, unexpected approaches.  Walking casually or staring vacantly in windows were simple pleasures that she was slowly rediscovering and savouring anew.
Though, Aisling,  was equally prone to thinking were these simple pleasures all that important.
Had they been magnified?
Icon status has its many stellar benefits.
However, the  low level profile which put her in the spotlight had disintegrated before her very eyes.  Weeks turned to months as the distance between this limited fame and Aisling  grew.
One day she was inhaling the scented spring air while walking casually on a  fissured pavement whose green shoots jutted out from the cracks near the curb.
A car pulled up beside her without warning as an elderly lady in her twilight years enquired.about the nearest supermarket. 
Something told Aisling  she had other reasons for stopping but she  gave the lady the  directions she was apparently looking for. 
This  lady stared at Aisling and said. "Your face it seems ...well, not exactly familiar but.! 
I spotted you frequently as I have been driving around this area over the last few days."  Aislihg listened carefully.   “Oh yes, you used to be somebody, right? Gosh, thats a terrible way of putting it.  You were on telly, weren't you?  My thoughts are flying through my head.  I have two sons, one a security guard.  He's very shy and distant. He said you had something.  There was something about you when he waved you through.
His face reddened” 
Aisling  was fixed to the spot at this point.  "I said someone fitting your description asked questions.  Not like my quiet bodyguard, he seems aloof.  Unlike the other fella."  This lady stopped for a moment. “Ah look, I won't keep you.  Thanks a lot.  I'm sure you enjoyed your little bit of spotlight.  Well, as I always say to the sons, it's just a fly by night."  The mysterious lady drove off at top speed.
She never got around to saying what her other son did but bearing in mind her last expression one can easily guess.
Life like fame is indeed strange or maybe it's my mother's looks.