She was born in a small town off Route 66. Her family included two older brothers, both football stars at the nearby Lincoln High School, a mother who doubled as a hair dresser and a kindergarten teacher, and a father whom she barely knew because he spent all his time working at the steel mill. People categorized them as an all-American family but she wasn't quite sure what that meant.
She had grown up running through tall grass and picking daisies, climbing trees to see across the 66 to the reservoir where the teenagers spent their evenings. She ached to be older and to wear makeup and the tight clothes of the older girls, to get picked up in long sleek cars and go to dinner with a boy. She longed to sing with the high school choir, to stand under that spotlight and close her eyes while she opened her mouth and let the music pour out. She dreamed of going to prom in a long, silky dress with her hair curled and have the crown placed on her golden locks. Oh how she dreamed.
One thing was different about her, however. As the wind roared through the grass, she could only feel it. As the long, fast cars sped down the highway, she could only see them. As the teenagers at the reservoir laughed, she could only hold their faces in her mind. As the prom queen was crowned, she could only sense the applause. As an all-American girl, she has never heard a sound.
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