Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was wild, and free, and without reservation. She loved to perform. Every day she would artfully apply her favorite shade of “Mariah Carey” lipstick, take her place in front of the mirror, and sing her heart out. And she wouldn’t just sing – she danced. She danced with every fiber of her being — until she was breathless.
That little girl was me. And my best friends were Whitney, Mariah, Carol, Janet, Alanis, Fiona and Lisa. I chased waterfalls, I daydreamed, I danced with somebody – anybody, I ran away, I told the world all they oughta know. I dreamed of way over yonder, and I stayed – stayed innocent and carefree.
For the first nine years of my life I was practically an only child. All the way through elementary school we lived on a busy street, so impromptu play dates were fairly out of the question. But it wasn’t a lonely childhood – because I had imagination – and I had my ladies.
When I moved to South Charlotte I scored the perfect room EVER. I had an entire third floor – 900 square feet – through which I could leap, twirl, spin, and generally break-it-down. My stepmom was constantly asking me to turn down the music (and I would, for 15 minutes.)
To this day I can sing every single song on Carol King’s Tapestry. I sang Mariah’s Hero in my school talent show in fifth grade. I was the rebel listening to Alanis belt out teenage girl angst on my Sony Walkman. But my private joy was Whitney’s “I Will Always Love You.” Although I’m 99% positive I butchered it, in my head Whitney and I performed the perfect duet. We harmonized, peaked on the melody, and then I let my girl take it away (no way was I hitting the falsettos, that was all Whit.)
Every once in a while I let out my inner diva. When I’m in the car all alone on a long drive, I reminisce with my old friends. And tonight, tonight me and the girls will get together again, and pay tribute to the one and only Whitney.