“Even as a child I was a whirling dervish in both thought and deed. My mom had another way of describing it. To her I was simply a “mess.” Based on her Southern-Christian-Ladylike upbringing, being disorderly was “bad.” Cleanliness is next to godliness and her unkempt little girl was headed to hell in gasoline undies.
Her mission was to teach me how to stop spontaneously combusting into tornadoes of paper. She focused on the paper and never saw the purpose.
The disheveled piles of paper were my attempt to have my voice heard in this world. It was me being free.”
I’ve known and not known Denitra since we were teenagers, attending the same gigantic high school, slogging through the curriculum just to get the diploma and get the heck out of there.
Our class had over 700 students alone, so maybe we had one course together. It was so long ago.
What I remember most about Dee was her huge smile, her gigantic laugh, and her ability to make friends with anyone — and I mean *anyone* — she met. The cool kids respected her. She knew all the street talk. She high-fived the kids that other people ignored. Above all, she was always a class act.