Big Shot | ✓

41 | the heisman, pt ii

I'd never given much thought to what it would feel like to be famous. It wasn't like I ever anticipated a future where I was a celebrity of any kind, and no matter how successful I wanted to be at whatever job I was going to have, that job kept me behind the cameras. For the most part.

The Heisman Trophy Ceremony was undoubtedly the closest I was ever going to get to feeling like a celebrity. Reid, his parents, Lily Lou, and I were all picked up from our hotel in a big black Suburban, where Lily Lou insisted I sit in the way back with her. I tried not to squirm too much in the aquamarine-colored knit maxi dress Reid had bought for me when we arrived at the Lincoln Center, far too aware of how unprepared I was for all of this. I'd also broken the cardinal rule of new shoes - break them in before you wear them for the first time. As picture perfect as my new white and silver strappy Gucci heels were, they hurt like a bitch.

Anybody who was important and relevant who arrived were lined up by media personnel to be sent out to the red carpet and the gauntlet of cameras, and I was almost certain the casual passerby may have confused it for the Met Gala arrivals. When I began to recognize some of the other arrivals (including but not limited to several current NFL players and previous Heisman winners, College Gameday announcers and analysts, coaches and other prominent football people), I was reeling.

I felt Reid snake his hand around my waist, lowering his head to whisper in my ear, "You look stunning. Have I told you that yet?"

Reid looked like a vision in his suit, but I could make out my uneasy reflection in the lenses of his Ray Ban wayfarers.

"About 15 times," I replied with a faint grin, reaching around to find his hand. "I'm not ready for this, Reid."

"Me either," he said through a grimace. I didn't have time to respond as a few media assistants gave us the go ahead that we were next.

Lily Lou, on the other hand, seemed to be the Donahue that was the most well-adjusted for fame. She took Reid's hand and waved at the cameras with the other, heart sunglasses still on with her matching purple sequin tutu dress, while me and Reid's parents followed behind. A few camera people called for his attention, and if he was at all nervous, it didn't show as he grinned and casually posed with a hand in his jacket pocket.

Reid lifted Lily Lou up in his arms, then pulled me to the other side of him. Cameras popped and flashed, temporarily blinding me every half a second, and I tried to smile through the uneasiness. His hand found the small of my back, and his touch alone unwound me. This was his night, and I wasn't going to let anything - even myself - mess with it.

After a few more photos, we were ushered inside. Despite having lived a stone's throw away from New York City most of my life, I'd never actually been inside the Lincoln Center. It was posh and reserved for the ballet and the philharmonic and other performing arts, but for one night they transformed the Jazz room into a shrine for the most important award in collegiate athletics. It was one of the smaller rooms at the Lincoln Center with space for only a few hundred people, but it felt like stepping into a spaceship. Everything was sleek, and the lights had been dimmed as you'd expect for an orchestra performance, except for the strips of deep golden light that lined the stage and every row. Behind the stage was a massive open window that looked towards midtown, where the twinkling lights of the city could have been mistaken for stars and comets in the clear night sky.

The Heisman was the fraternity of college football. Even as a nominee you were a part of it for life, but when you won, you became part of one of the most exclusive brotherhoods in all of sports. Every former Heisman winner attended, so they could participate in the metaphorical and literal passing off of the trophy. They organized the seating arrangements as such, with the four finalists in the front row, followed by the former Heisman winners behind them, and then any family, friends, and coaches making up the rest behind that. Reid gave my hand one last squeeze before we had to go our separate ways, and I watched him walk slowly, almost precariously, to the front of the room.