Her hugs are the best: warm, genuine, complete, supportive. We join at the stairs in a kismet reunion. Awe and affection overcome me it’s as though I’m meeting a lifelong hero, who just happens to be a relative. Hat low, custom denim jacket, smile illuminating the arena, walking unobtrusively alongside her 30-plus dancers. I‘m instantly smitten by the diamond-shaped stage configuration and dazzling LED panels lit to futuristic perfection. I spot the loading ramp backstage and make a beeline to the front of house. Production trailers and security blockades line the perimeter. My rideshare pulls up to the Prudential Center, but the frenetic buzz hasn’t eclipsed my sleep-deprived bones. Besides, I’m not even sure it’s happening - even if it doesn’t, I get to see Missy and one of my earliest non-biological families tomorrow. I impulsively type out a message to my friends and family, but can’t tap send. ![]() ![]() I think of the joy and unifying power that characterize her artistry, and imagine this transcendent moment being shared equally among everybody. It’s with an adult frame and personhood that I will embody and relay the movements I first performed in 2002, and I look no further than Missy for guidance. I leap out of bed toward the narrow full-length mirror and assess my 26-year-old self.
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