In my dream, I'm five years old again and it's a summer night at our camp at Spring Creek. Mama and all us kids--me, Little Shep, Baylor, and Lulu--around a bonfire. Mama's gang of girlfriends, the Ya-Yas, and all their kids are there too. Mama goes inside and puts Little Richard on the record player. She cranks the music up so loud it bounces off the pine trees. Then she comes back, takes my hand and says, Alright now, Siddalee: Dance!

Ooooh, My Soul! Little Richard begins, shouting out a warning for the weak of heart. And Mama's already shaking, she's boogying, she's jukin, she's slapping her thighs and rolling her hips like I've never seen her do before.

Baby baby baby baby, don't you know my love is true?!
Ooooo!
Honey honey honey honey, get up offa that money!

That man sings nasty. Those horns blow nasty. My body takes over and I'm moving. Sunburned legs shuffle across the ground, head rolls around. I turn in circles, I face Mama and shake my shoulders and hips faster than the human eye can see. I shake so hard that freckles jump off my face.

Baby baby baby baby, don't you know my love is true?!
Ooooo!
Honey honey honey honey, get up offa that money!

My hair flies in my face, it flies in my mouth. Mama stomps the earth with her feet, I can see her Rich Girl Red painted toenails against the dirt. I laugh, I spin, I almost stumble over the other kids--but when I do, they help me back up and I keep on dancing. Richard, Little Richard, he's shining like a shooting star, he's the hottest thing in the Louisiana night sky. He hollers right up into my four-foot frame, he wails and horns blow, oh those horns blow!

Love love love love love Ooooh my soul!

Arms and legs have new lives all their own. Every single part of me dances. And that 45-rpm record plays over and over and over, and we're singing with Little Richard now, we're blowing saxophones! And if Daddy drives up in his pickup, you know he'd yell at us, white women dancing like that, you know he would! But Daddy doesn't drive up, and me and Mama go on dancing and all the Ya-Yas and the rest of the kids are yelling and clapping for us! Oh, they yell and clap and hoot and holler! And I know--you can't tell me different: something secret, something sweet, something strong is shooting up from the earth straight into my body, making my limbs quiver, making me crazy-dance all over the place right there in my orange and white sunsuit.

When I wake up from my dream, I'm laughing and my face is streaked with tears. My body feels relaxed, loose, good. And for a minute, I swear I feel Mama in the room. Feel her Jergen's-lotioned hands touching mine. The way they used to when I was little and she'd say, Come here dahling, I've rubbed on way too much, let me give you some moisturizer.

I roll over in bed and I'm 33 years older than in my dream, and I still want to hold Mama's hands. I'm crying and I'm laughing and I still want my mother to come to me and take me in her arms.

Copyright © 1992 by Rebecca Wells