Hannah

I remembered a girl I knew many years ago a few nights ago in my dreams. When I woke up the realisation that I actually knew this girl, now a gorgeous woman struck me, not like lightening but like rain, as beautiful and life giving and sometimes sad as it is or wild as it is or as sweet or angry or delicate or full and curved or crystal clear or pelting down real loud to say “HEY, I’m here, I’m a voice and I’m me.”  

I’m going to tell this story because it’s part of mine and in case this lady might come across it one day. I hope that’s ok. I mean everything I’ve done with good intention. I knew a few girl’s called Hannah. It’s a lovely name. I always thought so. It means grace. You might not think of this Hannah in words like grace but that’s because some people don’t know what grace means. Grace can mean many different kinds of ways of being graceful. It doesn’t just mean you might sit around sipping tea looking like a Princess. It might mean that in the face of other people’s dis- “grace” you stay true, make a mark and stick to your own ideals or goals. Hannah was living with some people near to my house. There was more to the story that I didn’t remember  at the time, that I now do remember, which is a whole other story that I cannot yet tell. I’m hoping one day to do that. I was closer to Hannah than I realised but I started to know Hannah as a friend. We both liked to dance. Hannah is a beautiful dancer. There are many ways to be beautiful. It doesn’t always mean dancing on your toes though it can. She was beautiful in that way of feeling the beat, holding onto the floor with her heart right down to the ground, in a tight way, then a free way, all her own way. But she wanted to learn some steps for a while. Yeah, she had Down Syndrome so finding a class for her was, back then, near impossible. It struck me as rude, downright strange and frankly revolting that anyone needed to be convinced about Hannah. We found one alongside people who didn’t have Down Syndrome. She was a decidedly gorgeous match to music. Music and Hannah were a match made in Hannah. Years later I saw her performing. She was like rain and the feeling after rain, she was like light and the feeling of the night too. She was intriguing. She was not a diva in the annoying sense. She was a fever, that kind of good fever you might get on the dance floor when you’re not too afraid of the floor or the air. She was Hannah all grown up. I was impressed. Discovering I knew her before, only now makes me feel all the more impressed because she’s come along way, but she’s still Hannah, brave and beautiful and bold. 

I went to see her perform in a show and then outside near the water. She was worried about her costume the second time. The second outing was set up by a man I work with performs with her. He had insisted I come along because he wanted it to be about Hannah, he wanted me to see Hannah again. The costume was made of plastic.  She didn’t want to wear the costume and had asked for a different costume. In such contrast to her reality, her humanity, her willingness to bravely go where many had not gone, to forge a path forwards for others like her, I had commented that whatever she did and whatever she wore could never remove the genuine and fine woman she had become. I was proud then to have met Hannah and had the chance to see her shine. Some people are meant to dance. That’s Hannah. She’s the true Dancing Queen that woman. I only wish I’d got an autograph.