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Excerpts
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Ami
While on tour, I specifically desired an opportunity to meet a renowned fashion designer debuting her new bridal line at Fashion Week. I was so honored to meet her that I could barely contain myself.
She queried, “Have you done any modeling before?”
“Yes,” I expressed with anticipation, “but just for magazines and a few commercials.”
“What about any runway work?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I have done a few pageants and fashion shows back in Hawai'i.”
“Interesting! I have an upcoming bridal show. I may have an opening for you showcasing one of my dresses.”
“I’d need to wear my sash!”, I squealed with elation.
“That’s no problem at all,” she responded.
I catwalked in her show as promised, wearing her newest off-white, taffeta A-line, floor-length gown with three-quarter off-the-shoulder lace sleeves. It was embellished with real diamonds at the bodice center. The lights overhead were hot, and the flashes from the cameras were blinding, but I loved every minute of it! I garnered more applause than any of the other models.
Following the success of the show, she gave me an open invitation: anytime I was in New York, the runway was mine. I never forgot that she was the one who saw my potential first. Years later, when I finally made my big break in show business, I stayed loyal—she became my exclusive designer for every red-carpet appearance.
​
Claire
The one and only time I tested the waters with my father, I brought up the subject of race—asking why we couldn’t just find a way to get along. For a fleeting second, I let myself believe the light was finally breaking through, that he was abandoning his archaic, narrow-minded ways. I was dead wrong!
The silence that followed was my first clue that he wasn't converting; he was just loading his weapons. “How dare you bring that blasphemy into my house!!” he bellowed with a stern red face. He promptly backhanded me across my face.
I fell to the floor in anguish, feeling that slap as if my face was slashed with a serrated knife. “I-I-I’m sorry, Daddy!” I wailed with tears streaming down my red-stained cheek. My mother, observing the encounter with a very timid look on her face, never spoke up in my defense.
​ He leveled a stern warning at me, his voice cold and final: “Don’t you ever bring that subject up again in this house!” The air in the room shifted, and I got the message loud and clear. From that moment on, the topic of race was buried; I never whispered a word of it to him again.
Angela
The death of my mom was the one that broke me. One day, she complained of headaches, and fourteen months later, she died from a brain tumor. Seeing her deteriorate from a graceful goddess to a frail, incoherent woman was devastating! Her luscious hair was thinning and falling out. Her eyes that glistened were now glazed over. Her sweet voice gave way to a faint whisper. Her celebration of life was replaced with depression and several attempts to take her own life.
I was working at my daycare center when she took a turn for the worse, and Dad called me urgently to come to the nursing facility. I wrapped things up, grabbed Gabby, and hit the road. She passed away shortly before I got there. I didn’t even get to say “goodbye,” and that haunted me for years. One Sweet Day was playing on the radio, and to this day, I can’t listen to that song.
The year to the day after her passing, I visited her gravesite set at the far end of the cemetery. Her tombstone was near a giant oak tree surrounded by purple and white hydrangeas. Seeing her tombstone on the ground with her name on it brought to the surface all the emotions I had suppressed at her funeral. My legs gave out on me, and I collapsed onto the grass, bawling. I beat the ground repeatedly as my daughter, unfazed, looked on. Suddenly, I felt a gentle squeeze on my shoulder, but when I turned around, no one was there.
Gabby, who was standing in front of me, proclaims, "Mommy, Nanny doesn't want you to be sad. She says everything's going to be alright."
A flicker of unease crossed my mind. I looked up at her, my brows furrowed with confusion. “Sweetie,” I started, my voice careful and quiet, 'how on earth do you know that?”
“She told me,” she affirmed sincerely.
“She told you?” I replied shakily, feeling a cold, prickly sensation on the nape of my neck.
She pointed toward me and commented, “Yeah, Mommy, she’s standing right behind you.”
Angel
Hi! My name is Angel! I'm four years old! I had a big big birthday party. All my friends came over. Their mommies and daddies came too! We played outside on the swing set and slide. We played games like red light, green light, musical chairs, duck, duck, goose, and colored birthday cake pictures!
My favoritest color is purple. My plates and cups and spoons and forks is purple. I even got a purple cake! It had white flowers on it and my name! I had to share with the other kids, but I don't want to. I got lots of presents. I got dolls, stuffies, cards, and lots of dollars!
I love Mommy! Mommy goes to work, so I go to daycare. I like Mommy’s hugs and kisses! She’s the bestest Mommy in the whole world! She takes me to the store and buys me stuff! She takes me to McDonald’s and buys me Happy Meals, too! I have my own room with lots of toys. I have a pretty bed with princess pillows. Mommy says she has to go to work so she can make lots of money to buy me more toys!
I like to play with my friends, and play with toys, and be silly, and watch cartoons and Disney movies, and color, and paint! I have the bestest teacher in the whole wide world! I’m a good girl! If I’m bad at day-care, my teacher will call and talk to Mommy. Hmmph, I don’t like that! That gets me in big, big trouble!