(Lights up. A single voice rises.)

Every life begins with a rhythm. Mine began in NYC, where my parents — survivors of Jim Crow with skin too dark to pass unnoticed — taught me that endurance itself is music.

I was a child who would not be quiet. I sang when silence was required, spun stories when no one asked. I created Gypsy Moth and Roger to keep myself in the room, already rehearsing for a life of performance.

The years carried me onto stages, into studios, across continents. I married a man whose bass shook the world, and together we filled a home with instruments, daughters, and song.

But not every chord resolves sweetly. Illness came. Loss came. Homelessness came. And yet — even in silence, I kept singing. Even in darkness, the rhythm continued.

                                                 Now, after decades of music and struggle, I return with stronger fingers, steadier steps, and a voice still carrying. This book is not just memory. It is performance. It is testimony. It is the overture to the next movement of my life.

(Spotlight brightens. The story begins.)