For now, I exited into the dark Providence night. Past unlit alleyways, looking over my shoulder, finding not danger but serenity. The breeze’s cool fingertips snapped me conscious. I was real. I quickstepped home and climbed into bed. The slightest awareness, not a worded koan but a pulse’s nod, swam through me that excited, sleepless night. This is what a beginning feels like. The apprenticeship is over.
It was, indeed, the last time. Four possessions, my life’s allowance. Quaker meeting, Dr. Phillips’s essay test, Holly Hughes’s identity list, and I am a whore. Even at forty, over a decade later, the final one lingers. The hush vines up my arm, a thrill robes my skin, and I am reminded viscerally of my inheritance. You, my Perez women, understand because you are the throne and the dance. You shook your asses as the world’s walls tried to crush you.
Mami, primas, hermana, no one else qualifies for the job. We must be our own librarians because we alone are literate in our bodies. By naming our pain and voicing our imperfections, we declare our tremendous survival. Our offspring deserve to inherit these strategies. We have worked hard to be here. We owe them ourselves. We owe each other.
And since our archive is in us and of us, let it grow not in word alone but also flesh. The hum of our bodies together is nothing less than the book of our genius. That is why, on opening nights, you sit beside me and I touch you. Your elbow perches on the armrest, my hand finds the flat smoosh of your knuckles, and we watch our old silences become loud songs. We are here.
For the Grrrl descendants
of Obdulia Perez,
Past, present & future
Acknowledgments
For Ray Beauchamp, my husband, whose emotional and logistic support made this years-long work not only possible but enjoyable, I am grateful beyond words. He brought me meals as I wrote. Grasped my hand as I stumbled through rough patches. Said, “You better get to it,” and also, “Maybe put it down for a bit.” In taking care of Cecilia and Julian, our children, he modeled for them how to nourish and cheerlead a writing woman.
For Chris Jackson, my editor and publisher, whose literary gift and communicative finesse urged me ever inward. His precision of thought and stewardship leave me humbled and improved.
For Virginia Sanchez, my mom, whose insightful, splendid, and astute notes on various drafts led me to a breakthrough in this book. Her immense knowledge is not taken lightly.
To loved ones mentioned briefly or not at all in these pages, please know that word count does not represent my depth of feeling for the safe havens, companionship, and joy you’ve given me. Aunt Linda the punk rocker and Uncle Rik the wild trumpeter who included me in their artists’ universe. Fay and Gary, whose levity and togetherness are a balm. Ariel and Forrest, whom I treasure. Edie, a big cuz and heart-healer. Nick, Rachel, Rafi, and Ellie, an adventurous foursome. Cap Rush, who directed Sweat of the River at Yale. Awilda Peña, who ran Casa Comadre alongside mom, and the dedicated network of Casa supporters. And many more relatives, friends, and collaborators who participated in the events described here. And John Buzzetti, who entered my life after the events of this book, and then made the telling my bread and butter.
Ian Kleinert, my agent, asked me: “If you could do anything, what would you do?” When I told him, It’s time to write my book, he shepherded this endeavor into being.
Gratitude, aché, and peace, y’all.
About the Author
Quiara Alegría Hudes is a playwright, wife, mother of two, barrio feminist, and native of West Philly, U.S.A. Hailed for their exuberance, intellectual rigor, and rich imagination, her plays and musicals have been performed around the world. They include In the Heights, a Broadway musical soon to be released as a motion picture, and Water by the Spoonful, a drama about an online recovery community. She recently founded a crowd-sourced testimonial project, Emancipated Stories, that seeks to put a personal face on mass incarceration by having people behind bars share one page of their life story with the world.
Twitter: @quiarahudes
Instagram: @emancipated_stories_project
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