Black and Blue Ivy

A New Song

One Year Later

Electric Factory, Philadelphia

I hear the roar of the crowd through the thin dressing room walls. I fluff out my hair that I'd set in hot rollers. It streams down my back in thick, blond curls. I add a bit more dark lipstick then stand and step back from the mirror to check out my outfit: black mesh shirt with angel sleeves, black leather corselet, and chiffon mini-skirt over fishnets and black, platform boots.

Not bad.

The sharp rap on the door alerts me that it's time.

I say a quick prayer and bless myself, bringing the gold cross Luther gave me to my lips and kiss it.

I step into the hallway and follow the stage manager's bobbing head wearing black headphones to the stage right wing. I do a little dance to shake the tension from my limbs. My father is center stage bathed in a corona of light. He turns his head and we lock eyes. I nod that I'm ready and he shoots me a little smile. He turns back to the crowd and lifts his hands in a quieting gesture.

"You know," he begins. "Two years ago I made a mess of myself on this very stage."

Bursts of laughter from the crowd.

"Nah," he says, "It wasn't cool, and I don't blame this venue for banning me for a year." His head drops and the crowd hushes to a quiet buzz. "I hit rock bottom. I was drinking like a pig, doing all kinds of drugs, basically acting like a fool like I had been most of my life." His head snaps up. "Any motherfucking fools out there?"

The crowd roars and whistles.

Luther chuckles. "Well, yeah. I used to think like that too before I got clean. And I'm not here to judge any of you. Everyone's got to work out their own shit, and I'm no exception. But let me tell you where my shit led me." His voice cracks; he takes a moment to gather his composure. "My shit nearly led me to the end of a rope, dangling from a tree." He gestures a hanged man in the air. The crowd is so quiet now you could hear a pin drop. "That's the God's honest truth. But then," he pauses, the drama intensifies, "an angel appeared out of nowhere. That angel saved my life and got me on the right path. So tonight, I'm proud to introduce to you, my angel, who also happens to be my daughter—"

Cheers from the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for Blue Ivy."

The burst of applause pulls me from the darkened wing. A smile lights up my face as I join my father onstage. Someone hands me a microphone and I begin to sing. It's a song my father and I've been working on, along with an album's worth of music, for the past year. The song is called "Morning Star" and it's about how the star that shines the brightest is the star of hope. It's the star that has guided me ever since the day I escaped my prison. You may wonder if I was ever charged with Mrs. Roche's murder. The answer is no. The Robinsons buried my sin as scrupulously as they buried their own. I guess they knew if they went after me, I'd tell the authorities about the abuse, the babies, the murders...

Luther Black, my father, listened to my story. All of it and immediately whisked me off on a two-week trek across country in his vintage Mustang. We stopped, and settled, when we reached the ocean. I could write an entire story about that trip and perhaps someday I will, but for now, I'll just say this. I found not only my father, but my protector, and my fighter. He's sober now and says he owes that all to me. I don't know about that but I do know that I found my voice, and I use it to heal others. I'm a professional singer now, part of Luther Black's band and tonight we embark on a national tour.

I try not to look back, but of course I ache for my baby girl. On my baby's birthday, I couldn't help myself, I googled the Robinson family. I found a recent picture of them, all the kids who had grown so much I hardly recognized them. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson stood front and center, he looking like he could barely stand up, next to a beaming Gardenia, proudly holding out her pregnant belly. Bentley was no where in the picture. Mission accomplished, I suppose. My eyes scanned the photo to little Aileen, now a healthy smiling girl holding a one-year old baby in her arms, blood hair and blue eyes so bright they radiate from the photograph.

My child. In my heart, I named her after my mother.

The music begins. Luther accompanies me on acoustic guitar. I sing the first song we wrote together.

Morning star, burning bright,

Reminding me to always fight,

Teach me not to hate the night,

But to battle for what's right.

So, I wish upon the morning star,

Knowing that no matter where you are,

Before this life ends, we'll meet again.

So, stay strong, stay bright.

Hear my voice, you have a choice.

Let it reach you, let it teach you.

Let it guide you through dark nights.

Let my love be your light.