When I heard about the death of Donna Summer, the first thing I thought of was her daughter, Mimi. When I was twelve or thirteen, my family's hairdresser, Charlene, gave me Mimi's phone number. Charlene did Mimi's hair, too and thought she and I might get along. Charlene said we were a lot alike.
This was way before cell phones, so the number Charlene gave me was to Mimi's personal line in her room (the fact of which I was insanely envious because my parents refused to give me my own line). I kept Mimi's phone number in my wallet for months but never made the call. I thought that, without us having been introduced, it would be strange for me to call her out of the blue. I was sure Mimi was wary of people trying to become her friend just because of who her mom was.
I should have trusted Charlene. After all, who knows you better than the woman who does your hair? Now, I can't help but wonder what might have happened if I had just gotten over myself and called Mimi. Would we have become friends? Would we still be friends this many years later? I could have called her today and told her how sorry I am to hear that her mother is gone.
I spent many, many hours at my local roller rink. Donna Summer and disco balls will always go hand in hand in my mind. Rest in peace, Disco Queen.
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