Instead of gospel and choir, I was living life
with movement*. I want to dance forever.
I left my man a while back once I told
him I’m leaving for Vegas. He no different than
Papa. Drinks and smokes all day and night.
We argued a lot; so much sometimes he would
hit me or pull out a gun or knife drunk. We’d
sneak out and make out on top of his trashed
car to demonstrate our affection afterwards. I
never smoked before him, but now I pull a
cigarette to destress. I guess a lover can
change one’s life.
People call me crazy. My friends try to
keep faith in me, but they just like my mother:
sees no better life outside St. Louis. They tell
me “Jane you ought to find a Momma’s boy
and live! You too much these days”. Just
imagining a life similar to my mother’s makes
me shake. It would never be fun. I am young,
and want to embrace my passion and desires. I
am also beautiful, which is a greater
advantage. There was a story in Sunday’s
paper about Las Vegas. They doin’ so good
after that damn Depression! We learned about
it in school. They got money from casinos and
shit. Even better, there are dancers from all
over that come to perform. I have been
rereading the section to make sure I was not
