Someone shouts, “You better sing, girl!” And then I hear it. The audience, they’re clapping and snapping along with the beat. I trail off with a “da-dat-dat-doo-wah,” then I summon Etta. I let each word soar. I swoop down to hug the little girl sitting on the curb with all her furniture. I visit the girl in the basement with the wrinkled brown bag passing from hand to hand. I kiss the lonely girl who hears ugly taunts from the mirror. I experience every single moment. And I’m not afraid. I am not afraid.
