“Cypress, didn’t I tell you to come straight home from school to help me with this cloth? You’ve been standing round that ballet class, haven’t you? Ballet is for white girls; now, can’t you understand? Your ass is too big and your legs are too short, and you can’t afford all those shoes and special clothes . . . but if you must be just like my sister and hanker after classical movements and grace, I’ll send you up to New York. Effie is working with some Negro woman doing ballet; I took care of her long enough for her to take you for a while . . . I’ll write her; see if all that white folks’ mess doesn’t fix your hard-headed behind for a minute . . . Cypress, I don’t want to see any of my children hanging round any crackers down heah to learn anything. If you want to study dance, you’ve got to wait ’til I can send you to Effie. If you don’t, I’ma fix you so you won’t be able to move anything at all, not a muscle! Now get started on that tapestry for Mrs. Fitzhugh, it’s got to be done by Spring, before you leave for New York. And I’ll be damned if you don’t come back some kind of ballerina . . . all proper.”

Then they worked, and Cypress made a secret promise to her mother: to dance as good as white folks and to find out the truth about colored people’s movements, because she knew dancing was in her blood . . . every step.

Effie wore a lot of makeup and lived six flights up on the East Side in New York City near Brooklyn, sort of. Cypress didn’t go to school, she went to class and rehearsal with Effie, and she sweat and arched and cried because she hurt. She tried to learn French, and the difference between modern and classical ballet.

Effie was impatient and mean about dancing, because it’s got to be right, and Cypress went on. Her body was tight, her mind astounded by dancing in New York, no fresh food, funny languages, old Ukrainian women looking in garbage cans, the moon hidden by concrete offices, Effie entertaining dancers and singers ’til the next rehearsal . . . and always more to learn, more energy to find; and no congratulations about getting better. She was almost sixteen, and didn’t know anybody under twenty-five.