Southern Utah University student Heather Santini wrote the narrative from which this excerpt is taken for a 1995-96 200-level composition class. Notice that Heather tells a story in order to communicate her ideas about why she prefers "Lola" to the name her parents gave her.

I AM LOLA!

I am Lola. I have always been Lola, and I will forever be Lola. Unfortunately, my mother was not aware of who I truly was, and she named me Heather. It's not an entirely awful name, but it's not Lola. I had gone through 22 years as Heather until one day I was able to show the world, or at least a small group of people, who I really am.

The Revelation I am in England visiting my girlfriends and having a fabulous time. We dedicate the weeks of my visit to being lazy. Our morning ritual is ordinary and comforting. We sit in a tight circle around an old table drinking tea and eating toast, so close together we can barely lift our elbows to bring the steaming mugs of tea to our lips. The sun bursts through a small window illuminating a three-foot circle. We sit scrunched closely together so we can all savor the sweetness of sunbeams kissing our winter white faces. The radio is on. The music is playing, but no one is listening. We attempt to plan out our day, but can not get motivated to leave this haven of ours. The music ceases; an announcer comes on. I only notice because he has the most annoying monotone voice. I figure anything he has to say will not be worth listening to in his dismal drone. Oh, am I wrong. He proceeds to drizzle out the most wonderful information. "Barry Manilow, singer, songwriter, and now director is holding open auditions for a new musical. The auditions will be held today only; there is one part open --Lola--the lead. Auditions are being held at ..." I explode out of my chair. I stand and whirl around in circles until I am dizzy. As everything comes into focus, I can see my puzzled friends looking at me. It seems they do not who I am, scared as if they have a lunatic among them. I shout. "Did you hear that. It's fantastic, it's me. They want me!" I am answered with more puzzled looks. They have not heard. They do know I have been called to my destiny.

1977 "Her name is Lola. She is a showgirl. And with feathers in her hair, and diamonds in her ears ..." The music seeps through walls. I am four years old, perched on a tall stool in the kitchen of the El Dorado. The El Dorado is a bar and night club; my mom works here. She puts on a short black skirt and high black heels that make her walk funny. She wears a frilly shirt and I think she is the most beautiful thing in this whole universe. She tells me to "park it," and I climb onto this stool where I'll sit forever till she's done with work and we'll walk home. I like it here, even though it smells like chicken and sweat. I hate both chicken and sweat; together they are worse.

I can hear people laughing and shouting. In the background, I hear music; I like to try to memorize the songs and sing them my mother on the way home. This makes her laugh. As I sit and listen, I hear a word I really like, Lola. Lola is the girl's name in the song. She has feathers in her hair, diamonds in for earrings and a boyfriend called Rico. ....

1994 We arrive at the auditorium; a line stretches for three blocks, If I am not absolutely sure that I am Lola discouragement may overcome me. Instead, I step from the car into the rain to wait. My friends join me after parking the car. The hours drag on. I have to go to the bathroom. I tell my friends I am going into the theater for the restroom and will be back. They decide to go for coffee. It is depressing for me to see all those girls, soaking under the dripping sky, only to be told that I have been chosen. They will slump, swallow a sob. and in defeat make their way back to their miserable lives. I, on the other hand, will be starring as Lola, as myself.

I reach the theater doors and tell the usher I need access to a bathroom; I am denied. They are calling in the next eight women for auditions. I make myself part of the group and glide through the doors. We follow a greasy ferret of a man down red carpeted stairs into the basement.

I sing my lucky song. I emanate Lola from every pore, I swing my hips and turn my lips up into a half smile. I finish and realize the room is quiet and all the air is gone. Without air I can not breathe. I wait for Mr. Manilow to say something, realizing that without air there is no sound. I am going to die. Then he speaks.

"It is a pleasure to hear you perform; however, I am looking for Lola, not someone to congratulate me on my Bar Mitzvah. Thank you for coming out Miss Santini."

I have to set the man straight.

"I am Lola. I have been ever since I was four."

"I know what I am looking for, and it is not you."

"You will never find another Lola. I am Lola."

"Yeah, you and half the other ladies in the world."

I slump in defeat; through the long hall, past the grimy ferret, and up the red-carpeted stairs into the street. The sky mourns my defeat; it cries with me. I trudge up the block to where my friends wait with cold coffee. Despite my minor setback, I am still Lola. I have come to the realization that I am who I believe I am, and even though validation is helpful in developing myself, it is not necessary. I can mold and change myself at will. As long as I believe in my own identity, I will become the person I create.

So please, call me Lola.

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