Sting – Shape of my heart.
And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost.
Where is my voice? I cannot seem to find it, but I persist in my pursuit. Casey, the eternally beloved sunshine personified, who always imparts little sugar lumps (a.k.a golden nuggets) tailor-made just for you it seems, once told me that my voice – the speaking one – was one that she loved to hear.
She heard in it strength, she said; a worldly confidence and assurance of purpose.
Stop laughing.
I often wonder (and hope) that maybe my thinking about Casey is right – she’s one of the rarest of beings who holds that mirror up for you, and also takes it down and points far ahead so you see where you can be.
Anyway, it seems to me now that immediately after hearing her comment (and failing to accept it as I now realize), I became terribly conscious of it. My initial reaction was like Eeyore – aw, stop it. Nobody thinks my voice is great. It was almost like I was ashamed of it. I’ve never had that girly, chirpy voice, and it’s not even that I’m sure if I ever even wanted it, but it seemed like it was just one more thing that everybody else had that I didn’t … non-gapped teeth, scar-free legs, the newest anything …
Since then I’ve wondered where it’s gone. I hear it sometimes, but most often what I don’t hear is me talking. I greet people with this voice that squawks – hi, hey, how are you?, what’s up – in a manner that is not unlike a crow that sounds like it’s learning to “caw.”
Then there’s my smiley speak, when every two-faced Southern person with frosted hair comes to mind as I drawl out the most saccharin of “hey’s,” “that’s good’s,” and whatever other small talk I can muster.
Ghetto ebonical girl has surfaced from God knows where, but I suspect she’s that little teeny piece of all-out blackness in me that never got to assert itself fully somewhere along my life’s path. She’s the girl that doesn’t surface around other black people for the most part, she’s what I’ve decided to call Tyra. Tyra Banks is my finest example of the person who speaks black speak to make her seem more down; it’s a strained and in too many cases, desperate attempt, to relate. Still, it cracks me up and she’s damn useful as an icebreaker, awkward silence breaker, etc.
(At this point I re-read and to my greatest amusement find that I may have a strong case for possessing multiple personalities.)
Dave Matthews Band - #41
I will go in this way
And find my own way out
I won't tell you to stay
But I'm coming to much more
Me
Anyway, since Casey imparted her comment, I’ve had other people tell me that my voice is distinctive - in a good way. It sounds more grown up, more confident, even soothing. I won’t talk too much about the drunken-morning-after-voice other than to say it’s awfully raw and croaky and scary.
I heard it today for the first time in a long time as I was just talking – about anything and every little thing with my mom. I even tossed my head back and laughed about something and for that moment, I felt it – there she is. The girl you remember and know best … c’est moi. She sounded full, but in a good way – vivacious, strong, assured.
This took me back to this speech I found while (still) digging around in the box that Kim packed containing many memories from the school days of yore. There was the speech I made about the purpose of education and the picture that went along with it. Holding them both I closed my eyes and heard myself talking all over again. I remember being on that island outside of Charleston with Mrs. Chance speaking to a group of peers and educators about what I had learned education’s purpose to be from my neck of the woods.
Picture it. Danita. 1997. I'm in a room ...
The dreaded tickle cough was in full effect and I was suckin’ and prayin’ on a piece of peppermint to please let me make this speech without passing out from the mixture of nerves and hack-a-lung. All I remember is that I coughed all the way up to the podium, set my paper upon it and a few (astonishingly cough-free) minutes later, gazed out on smiling faces and applauding hands. I can still hear where people chuckled approvingly, and I can still see the look on Mr. Terry’s face (partly proud, partly disbelieving) after I presented the paper again at some school conference during the summer prior to senior year. I hear that voice that was measured and clear and I wonder if that girl then would ever have thought I’d be where I am now, squawking, kee-keeyin’ and drawling in a voice that pries on my upper register like sandpaper upon slate.
Coldplay – We Never Change
We never change, do we?
We never learn, do we?
I think part of why I am not so sure where my voice has gone is because life is speaking to me and it’s not done yet. You know I was raised to speak when spoken to, and not before, so I believe this voice is waiting for its moment. Then, like – but hopefully more eloquently and with a sound far lovelier - Mayella Ewell in the movie version of To Kill a Mockingbird, I’ll open up my mouth and have somethin’ to say.
I think, too, that by and large the voice cannot be certain until I am certain, and I am uncertain of so many things that logically it follows that outside of the love in my heart, the truest thing to come from within me is my voice, and it’s a tough trick to sound assured when you’re really not. As much as I’d like to believe I am an Oscar-winning actress to-be, I don’t think that’s the case. My craft isn’t so good just yet. Still, I think this all is indicative that while theoretically I’m exactly where I should be at this point in time, I’m nowhere near where I ought to be.
Stevie Wonder – As
We all know sometimes life’s hates and troubles
Can make you wish you were born in another time and space
But you can bet your life times that and twice it’s double
That God knew exactly where he wanted you to be placed
When I get there though, and I suspect I’ll gladly know it when I’m there, you will know me by my laughter; like your favorite song, my voice you’ll detect in the first line you’ll hear.
And then, phenomenally, like “the reach of my arms,” “the swing of my waist,” and “the sun of my smile” I’ll bend your ear into the palm of my hand and my voice will remind you of the need for my care …
And then, perhaps I shall sing a song for you, too.
M. Ward – Let’s Dance
And if you say run, I'll run with you
And if you say hide, we'll hide
Let’s dance for fear your grace should fall
Let’s dance for fear that life is all
Aw let’s sway, you could look into my eyes
Let’s sway under the moonlight –
This serious moonlight
And if you say run, I’ll run with you
And if you say hide, we’ll hide …