The night of the Governor’s Ball, I remember standing in front of the mirror with that fan, the colors of it matching my outfit. The inner body was black. The skirt-pants billowing out, the outer jacket of red trimmed in black and silver. The collar was high but not so bad that I could not look over it. Yolanda, my maid, had pinned most of my hair up so that the curls ran wildly around my head and down either side of my face as well as down my back. It was like being Dracula’s niece from the Orient. I also felt like a prisoner awaiting my execution, and the steps leading to the guillotine where those that lead to the governor’s door. It didn’t strike me until later that red may not have been a suitable color for a lady but more for a hooker, and I really hoped that I was getting my cultures confused.
*From the memory of Danielle Kane