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Susan Stinson

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02:39 pm: Donna Summer
Donna Summer's music defined my late high school years. It's hard to believe that she's gone. I started my first novel, Fat Girl Dances With Rocks, with two high school girls practicing their disco moves to Donna Summer's Last Dance in a suburban kitchen. Here's an excerpt:

Felice, oh, Felice could dance. She put Last Dance on the stereo and moved the speakers into the empty room. She wore a silver disco purse slung across her black tank top. A small edge of fat swelled over her jeans. She didn't hide it, but she had thrown away today's lunch. Felice closed up to things she needed -- no milk, no bread, no greens -- but when she was thinking from her nerves and muscles, she was hot.
All I had to do was follow...
We had a couple of hours before Felice's parents would get home from work. The music started out dreamy, then woke up. Felice pushed me through the moves: twist, step, twirl out, twirl back. Then came the hard part: crossing and uncrossing our arms, circling each other, bumping hips to keep the rhythm, first left, then right, wanting every move to be in perfect time, but the whole dance moved us out of time. We had no relation to five o'clock when ... Felice would finally let the needle slide on over to the next song without lifting it back to the start of Last Dance, when she'd have to turn on the stove and start browning the meat for her family's supper. That was never going to happen. She would keep her hand firm against my back. I would learn to understand the beat.

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[User Picture]
Date:May 17th, 2012 07:49 pm (UTC)
I got a little misty when "Last Dance" came up on the radio late this morning, I did.
[User Picture]
Date:May 17th, 2012 08:06 pm (UTC)
I know!
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