My​ ​Darling​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow~

I​ ​love​ ​you!​ ​You​ ​may​ ​not​ ​believe​ ​this,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​have​ ​been​ ​a​ ​closet​ ​Fanilow​ ​since​ ​early​ ​​high​ ​school​! Even in​ ​the​ ​face​ ​of​ ​the​ ​late​ ​nineties​ ​and​ ​the​ ​​Can’t​ ​Hardly​ ​Wait​ ​​generation!​ For awhile, there was that age old and quite useless debate over whether MANDY had been written about a woman or about a dog . . . and my money was always on the dog!

Still while the​ ​other​ ​kids were​ ​listening​ ​to​ ​​Sublime​​ ​and​ ​​Everclear​,​ ​watching​ ​​TRL​​ ​and​ ​wearing​ ​red​ ​Yankees​ ​hats,​ ​I​ ​was going​ ​home​ ​every​ ​day​ ​and​ ​listening​ ​to​ ​​COPACABANA​!​ ​Sometimes​ ​I’d​ ​merengue​ ​or​ ​do​ ​the​ ​Macarena, ​sometimes​ ​I’d​ ​wear​ ​pink and yellow​ ​feathers​ ​in​ ​my​ ​hair​ ​.​ ​.​ ​.​ ​but​ ​I​ ​digress!​ ​This​ ​is​ ​not​ ​a​ ​fan​ ​letter!

I​ ​am​ ​really​ ​only​ ​writing​ ​you​ ​because​ ​I​ ​wish​ ​for​ ​you​ ​to​ ​send​ ​me​ ​ONE​ ​MILLION DOLLARS.​ ​Honest.

Now​ ​hold​ ​on!​ ​Hold​ ​on,​ ​Mr.​ ​Manilow!​ ​Before​ ​you​ ​jump​ ​ship,​ ​let​ ​me​ ​explain:​ ​it’s​ ​my​ ​summer blogging​ ​project,​ ​I​ ​have​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​write​ ​millionaires​ ​until​ ​someone​ ​out​ ​there​ ​somewhere​ ​in​ ​the night​ ​sends​ ​me​ ​ONE​ ​MILLION​ ​DOLLARS!​ ​It​ ​has​ ​to​ ​happen,​ ​it’s​ ​bound​ ​to​ ​happen!​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​see​ ​any reason​ ​why​ ​it​ ​wouldn’t ​happen​ ​and​ ​you​ ​can’t​ ​stop​ ​reading​ ​before​ ​I​ ​get​ ​to​ ​the​ ​part​ ​where​ ​I​ ​find​ ​a bunch​ ​of​ ​new​ ​and​ ​exciting​ ​ways​ ​to​ ​blame​ ​YOU​ ​for​ ​all​ ​my​ ​problems!​ ​That’s​ ​the​ ​best​ ​part!​ ​

This one’s​ ​for​ ​YOU,​ ​Mr.​ ​Manilow!

***

We’re​ ​not​ ​just​ ​two​ ​ships​ ​passing​ ​in​ ​the​ ​night,​ ​you​ ​old​ ​dog,​ ​you.​ ​About​ ​three​ ​years​ ​ago,​ ​my mom​ ​won​ ​tickets​ ​to​ ​a​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow​ ​concert​ ​in​ ​Jacksonville,​ ​Florida​ ​and​ ​of​ ​course,​ ​I’d​ ​have​ ​wrung her​ ​neck​ ​had​ ​she​ ​so​ ​much​ ​as​ ​considered​ ​taking​ ​anyone​ ​else!​ ​I​ ​really​ ​AM​ ​a​ ​big​ ​fan.​ ​We​ ​had​ ​truly, truly​ ​crappy​ ​seats,​ ​yet​ ​it​ ​mattered​ ​not!​ ​I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​the​ ​same​ ​room​ ​with​ ​greatness!​ ​With​ ​the​ ​one​ ​and only​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow! I​ ​shall​ ​remember​ ​it​ ​all ​of​ ​my​ ​life!​ ​

I​ ​can​ ​still​ ​see​ ​you​ ​standing​ on stage, ​bopping​ ​about​ ​in​ a ​metallic​ ​purple disco suit, throwing​ ​glitter​ ​in​ ​my​ ​face​ ​and​ ​shouting​ ​directly​ ​at​ ​me in​ ​sing​ ​song:

​“BRIANNE​ ​SLOAN!​ ​This​ ​is​ ​BARRY​ ​MANILOW!​ ​If​ ​you​ ​are​ ​getting​ ​up​ ​every​ ​day​ ​and​ ​going​ ​to​ ​a​ ​job you​ ​hate,​ ​don’t​ ​DO​ ​that​ ​anymore!​ ​I​ ​never did things​ ​I​ ​did​ ​not​ ​want​ ​to​ ​do​ ​and​ ​look​ ​at​ ​what wonderful,​ ​magical​ ​things​ ​have​ ​happened​ ​to​ ​me!​ ​Now​ ​I’m​ ​BARRY​ ​MANILOW!”

Or​ ​something​ ​like​ ​that.

After​ ​you​ ​said​ all ​this,​ ​you​ ​mumbled​ ​some​ ​faint​ ​apology​ ​about​ ​how​ ​you​ ​didn’t​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​responsible on​ ​Monday​ ​when​ ​everyone​ ​quit​ ​their​ ​jobs,​ ​but​ ​you​ ​were​ ​too​ ​late!​ ​I​ ​wasn’t​ ​listening​ ​by​ ​then!​ ​Barry Manilow​ ​(THE​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow!)​ ​had​ ​just​ ​stood​ ​on​ ​the​ ​stage,​ ​telling​ ​me​ ​exactly​ ​what​ ​I​ ​wanted​ ​to hear!​ ​At​ ​Jacksonville​ ​Veteran’s​ ​Memorial​ ​Arena!​ ​In​ ​front​ ​of​ ​God​ ​and​ ​everybody:

“BRIANNE​ ​SLOAN!​ ​Get​ ​rid​ ​of​ ​all​ ​your​ ​backup​ ​plans!​ ​Write​ ​books​ ​all​ ​day!​ ​RISK​ ​EVERYTHING!”

I​ ​decided​ ​right​ ​then​ ​and​ ​there​ ​that​ ​was​ ​what​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​do!​ ​We’re​ ​talking​ ​nanoseconds!​ ​I hardly​ ​even​ ​saw​ ​your​ ​go​ ​go​ ​dancers​ ​anymore,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​too​ ​much​ ​glitter​ ​in​ ​my​ ​eyes!​ ​At​ ​that moment,​ ​you​ ​and​ ​I​ ​were​ ​ONE,​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow!​ ​It​ ​was​ ​US!​ ​You​ ​and​ ​me!​ ​TOGETHER!​ ​We​ ​were​ ​just alike,​ ​you​ ​and​ ​I!​ ​YOU​ ​wrote​ ​the songs!​ ​*I*​ ​wrote ​the​ ​stories!​ ​You​ ​like​d to​ ​make​ ​money!​ ​I​ ​like​d to​ ​spend money!​ ​Peas​ ​in​ ​a​ ​pod!​ ​We​ ​were​ practically​ ​the​ ​same​ ​person!

(Well.​ ​Had​ ​you​ ​been​ ​born​ ​a​ ​woman.​ ​With​ ​no​ ​musical​ ​ability​ ​whatsoever.)

Of​ ​course​ ​I​ ​trusted​ ​you.​ ​Who​ ​wouldn’t​ ​trust​ ​you?​ ​You’re​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow,​ ​a​ ​cultural​ ​icon!​ ​You’ve​ ​sold upwards​ ​of​ ​eighty​ ​million​ ​records,​ ​you’ve​ ​played​ ​concerts​ ​around​ ​the​ ​world!​ ​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​you​ ​were my​ ​age,​ ​you​ ​were​ ​already​ ​stuck​ ​on​ ​Band​ ​Aid​ ​Brand​ ​and​ ​you​ ​were​ ​State​ ​Farm’s​ ​good​ ​neighbor! No,​ ​that’s​ ​an​ ​understatement!​ ​You​ ​were​ ​State​ ​Farm’s​ ​GREAT​ ​neighbor!​ ​You​ ​helped​ ​McDonald’s tell​ ​all​ ​of​ ​America​ ​it​ ​deserved​ ​a​ ​break​ ​and​ ​I​ ​ask​ ​you​ ​this:

Doesn’t​ ​BRIANNE​ ​SLOAN​ ​deserve​ ​a​ ​break​ ​today?

***

Let’s​ ​be​ ​honest.​ ​By​ ​the​ ​time​ ​I​ ​went​ ​to​ ​your​ ​concert,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​already​ ​ten ​grand​ ​in​ ​the​ ​hole,​ ​but after listening to YOUR crackpot advice? WOW! ​Ten grand turned to sixty in no time, the debt came along just like a song! You’ve​ ​never​ ​seen​ ​anyone​ ​shop​ ​like this,​ ​I​ ​started​ ​immediately!​ ​I​ ​did​ ​not​ ​even​ ​wait​ ​for​ ​the​ ​concert​ ​to​ ​be​ ​over​ ​before​ ​I went​ ​downstairs​ ​and​ ​loaded​ ​up​ ​on​ ​drinks!​ ​The​ ​big​ ​kind,​ ​of​ ​course,​ ​in​ ​the​ ​commemorative​ ​glass!

Twelve​ ​bucks​ ​a​ ​pop!​ ​I​ ​must​ ​have​ ​had​ ​eight​ ​of​ ​those.

Then after​ ​that,​ ​there​ ​was​ ​no​ ​stopping​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​went​ ​SHOPPING.​ ​I​ ​SHOPPED​ ​for​ ​years.

The​ ​end​ ​result​ ​was​ ​nothing​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​saw​ ​coming,​ ​but​ ​all​ ​my​ ​credit​ ​cards​ ​were​ ​snatched​ ​away​ ​at once.​ ​So​ ​cruel!​ ​So​ ​quick!​ ​There​ ​was​ ​an​ ​angry​ ​season​ ​of​ ​volatile​ ​phone​ ​calls​ ​and​ ​hate​ ​mail and​ ​process​ ​servers,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​did​ ​not​ ​pay​ ​it​ ​much​ ​mind.​ ​There​ ​were​ ​lawsuits​ ​and​ ​telemarketers and I could ignore all that ​.​ ​.​ ​.​ ​it​ ​was​ ​just​ ​some​ ​of​ ​the​ ​old​ ​songs​ ​and​ ​I​​ ​knew​ ​all​ ​the​ ​steps;​ ​I​ ​changed my​ ​phone​ ​number​ ​and​ ​called​ ​it​ ​a​ ​day.

What​ ​I​ ​couldn’t​ ​ignore​ ​was​ ​the​ ​hurricane,​ ​whirling​ ​like​ ​a​ ​cyclone​ ​in​ ​my​ ​town.

​

​Ouch.​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​see​ ​that​ ​one​ ​coming​ ​either.

***

It​ ​was​ ​October,​ ​2016,​ ​late​ ​for​ ​a​ ​hurricane​ ​to​ ​be​ ​sure.​ ​Still​ ​it​ ​was​ ​major,​ ​a​ ​Category​ ​5.​ ​We​ ​never​ ​get storms​ ​like​ ​this,​ ​what​ ​we​ ​do​ ​is​ ​heed​ ​the​ ​warnings,​ ​then​ ​go​ ​have​ ​bonfires​ ​on​ ​the​ ​beach​ ​and​ ​do​ ​rain dances​ ​on​ ​sewers,​ ​that​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​thing.​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​think​ ​it​ ​could​ ​happen​ ​to​ ​me,​ ​the​ ​State​ ​of​ ​Florida​ ​had simply​ ​cried​ ​wolf​ ​too​ ​many​ ​times!

I​ ​was​ ​off​ ​on​ ​a​ ​writing​ ​binge,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​no​ ​time​ ​to​ ​hurricane​ ​proof​ ​and​ ​if​ ​I​ ​had,​ ​I​ ​doubt​ ​it​ ​would​ ​have mattered.​ ​This​ ​storm​ ​was​ ​so​ ​far​ ​beyond​ ​hurricane​ ​proofing,​ ​any​ ​efforts​ ​my​ ​town​ ​would​ ​make proved​ ​to​ ​be​ ​more​ ​or​ ​less​ ​futile.​ ​My​ ​roof​ ​collapsed,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​26​ ​inches​ ​of​ ​water​ ​damage​ ​and​ ​if​ ​you think​ ​the​ ​British​ ​did​ ​a​ ​number​ ​on​ ​St.​ ​Augustine​ ​back​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sixteen​ ​hundreds,​ ​you​ ​should​ ​have seen what​ ​Hurricane​ ​Matthew​ ​did​ ​to​ ​the​ ​Nation’s​ ​Oldest​ ​City​ ​in​ ​2016!

I​ ​made​ ​it​ ​through​ ​the​ ​rain,​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow!​ ​I​ ​managed​ ​to​ ​save​ ​my​ ​little​ ​dachshund too,​ ​but​ ​all​ ​the Prada​ ​and​ ​Chanel?​ ​All​ ​that​ ​designer​ ​junk​ ​I​ ​hadn’t​ ​paid​ ​for​ ​yet?​ ​When​ ​daybreak​ ​finally​ ​rolled around​ ​one​ ​week​ ​later,​ ​no​ ​matter​ ​how​ ​much​ ​I​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​believe,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​absolutely​ ​time​ ​to​ ​grieve!

All​ ​the​ ​Gucci​ ​and​ ​Michael​ ​Kors​ ​and​ ​every​ ​single​ ​shoe​ ​I​ ​owned?​ ​Gone!​ ​All​ ​gone!

But​ ​WAIT​ ​a​ ​second!​ ​Do​ ​I​ ​still​ ​have​ ​to​ ​​pay​​ ​for​ ​all​ ​that​ ​crap?

Well.​ ​According​ ​to​ ​Capital​ ​One,​ ​I​ ​do.​ ​I​ ​came​ ​home​ ​six​ ​months​ ​later​ ​to​ ​find​ ​out​ ​Capital​ ​One​ ​had sued​ ​me​ ​for​ ​some​ ​measly,​ ​laughable​ ​amount​ ​while​ ​I​ ​was​ ​waiting​ ​for​ ​my​ ​house​ ​to​ ​be​ ​rebuilt!​ ​What a​ ​fine​ ​how​ ​do​ ​‘ya​ ​do​ ​that​ ​was!​ ​Now​ ​I​ ​can’t​ ​laugh​ ​and​ ​I​ ​can’t​ ​sing,​ ​I’m​ ​finding​ ​it​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​do​ ​anything.

***

But​ ​it’s​ ​all​ ​right,​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow!​ ​I​ ​have​ ​a​ ​plan,​ ​a​ ​glorious​ ​plan!​ ​I’M​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​take​ ​a​ ​chance​ ​again, ready​ ​to​ ​put​ ​my​ ​pride​ ​on​ ​the​ ​line!​ ​If​ ​all​ ​this​ ​works​ ​out​ ​the​ ​way​ ​I​ ​think​ ​it’s​ ​going​ ​to,​ ​it​ ​could​ ​be magic!​ ​It​ ​starts​ ​with​ ​YOU​ ​giving​ ​me​ ​ONE​ ​MILLION​ ​DOLLARS​ ​in​ ​exchange​ ​for,​ ​um​ ​.​ ​.​ ​.​ ​​nothing​!

Yet​ ​it​ ​won’t​ ​stay​ ​nothing​ ​for​ ​long!​ ​You​ ​may​ ​not​ ​be​ ​able​ ​to​ ​see​ ​it​ ​now,​ ​but​ ​just​ ​imagine​ ​what​ ​*I*​ ​will turn​ ​around​ ​and​ ​give​ ​the​ ​world!​ ​My​ ​talent​ ​is​ ​for​ ​words​ ​not​ ​music,​ ​but​ ​a​ ​dreamer​ ​is​ ​a​ ​dreamer,​ ​Mr. Manilow!​ ​Behold!

It’ll​ ​be​ ​a​ ​miracle!​ ​A​ ​true​ ​rainbow colored spectacle!​ ​A​ ​miracle​ ​come​ ​true!

Someone​ ​once​ ​told​ ​me​ ​that​ ​we​ ​dreamers​ ​have​ ​our​ ​ways​ ​of​ ​facing​ ​rainy​ ​days​ ​and​ ​somehow​ ​we survive.​ ​We​ ​keep​ ​the​ ​feelings​ ​warm,​ ​protect​ ​them​ ​from​ ​the​ ​storm​ ​until​ ​our​ ​time​ ​arrives​ ​.​ ​.​ ​.​ ​and hopefully​ ​*this*​ ​dreamer’s​ ​time​ ​is​ ​NOW.

Sometimes​ ​I​ ​may​ ​feel​ ​afraid!​ ​Yet​ ​I​ ​am​ ​aiming​ ​beyond​ ​the​ ​clouds​ ​and​ ​rising​ ​above​ ​the​ ​crowds!​ ​I’m starting​ ​my​ ​OWN​ ​parade.

Barry​ ​Manilow!​ ​My​ ​parade​ ​just​ ​needs​ ​some​ ​start​ ​up​ ​capital​ ​please!

***

Sweet​ ​Manilow,​ ​I’ve​ ​come​ ​to​ ​you!​ ​The​ ​answer​ ​to​ ​all​ ​questions​ ​I​ ​can​ ​find!​ ​Hopefully​ ​my​ ​spirit​ ​will move​ ​you​ ​high​ ​up​ ​where​ ​the​ ​stallion​ ​meets​ ​the​ ​sun!​ ​​ ​I​ ​am​ ​only​ ​looking​ ​for​ ​ONE​ ​MILLION DOLLARS;​ ​isn’t​ ​that​ ​a​ ​relatively​ ​small​ ​feat?​ ​After​ ​all​ ​the​ ​magic​ ​and​ ​miracles​ ​you’ve​ ​bestowed upon​ ​the​ ​world​ ​in​ ​your​ ​time?​ ​

After​ ​the​ ​joy​ ​you’ve​ ​brought​ ​to​ ​billions?​ ​The​ ​joy​ ​you’ve​ ​brought​ ​to ME?​ ​ONE MILLION DOLLARS​ ​should​ ​be​ ​nothing​ ​to​ ​you,​ ​but​ ​to​ ​ME?!​ ​*ME*?​ ​You​ ​can’t​ ​even​ ​begin​ ​to​ ​comprehend​ ​what it would​ ​mean​ ​to​ ​me!​ ​I​ ​could​ ​pay​ ​everyone​ ​everything​ ​I​ ​owe​ ​them​ ​and then​ ​some!​ ​Debt​ ​shall never​ ​chain​ ​me​ ​again!

Then​ ​I​ ​bet​ ​I​ ​could​ ​even​ ​take​ ​some​ ​time​ ​off​ ​to​ ​write!​ ​Fly​ ​off​ ​for​ ​a​ ​weekend​ ​in​ ​New​ ​Guinea​ ​and dedicate​ ​all​ ​my​ ​books​ ​to​ ​you:​​ ​To​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow,​ ​who​ ​helped​ ​me​ ​make​ ​it​ ​through​ ​the​ ​rain!

Now​ ​have​ ​a​ ​great​ ​daybreak,​ ​Barry​ ​Manilow!​ ​Think​ ​about​ this ​as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​you​ ​need​ ​to,​ ​I​ ​will​ ​be​ ​waiting right​ ​here​ ​for​ ​when​ ​you​ ​call​ ​just​ ​to​ ​say​ ​you​ ​love​ ​me~​ ​or​ ​at​ ​least​ ​when you just call to say you​ ​loved​ ​my​ ​letter.​ ​I’ve deserved a break for so long, so why not NOW? Why not TODAY?

This letter is​ ​MY​ ​American​ ​Handstand!​ ​Hey!​ ​Mr.​ ​Dick​ ​Clark​ ​agrees​ ​he’ll give it ​at​ ​least​ ​a​ ​seventy​ ​five​ ​.​ ​.​ ​. which​ ​is​ ​about​ ​a​ ​million​ ​after​ ​taxes.

And​ ​baby,​ ​there’ll​ ​be​ ​dancing​ ​in​ ​the​ ​streets!​ ​Mr.​ ​Manilow,​ ​I​ ​can’t​ ​smile​ ​without​ ​YOU!!!

Yours​ ​in​ ​a​ ​Worldwide​ ​Symphony!

Brianne​ ​Sloan

XoXoXo!

P.S.​ ​I​ ​am​ ​deathly​ ​allergic​ ​to​ ​Band​ ​Aid​ ​Brand​ ​Band​ ​Aids.​ ​Just​ ​sayin’.