AN: Huge thanks to my reviewers for the last chapter. Nice to see you guys back! Special shoutout to Elphie Bubble who guessed this was Mimi's chapter. She belongs to John Larson. The poem isn't mine either.

Mimi Marquez, 19, Dancer

Miss Mimi may be on the younger side of the Peeps, especially when she's standing next to Roger, but nobody can say it better than she herself did when they first met. "I'm nineteen but I'm old for my age." It's true she's been knocked around her fair share and probably knows more about life than people three times her age. Well now it's time for me to learn a little bit about her.

"Mimi chica!" I sing, sticking my head into her room. Roger is sprawled the entire length of their queen bed wearing only his favorite jeans, torn beyond repair, and a guitar pick on some string around his neck. Somehow I know what owes to his lack of vestments.

"Finishing up?" I snort. He grins at me. Men are hopeless.

Mimi appears out of the adjoining bathroom pulling on a pair of brown leggings with her wild curls soaking wet.

"Should I come back, hon?" I ask, hand saucily on my hip. She goes a little red against her tawny complexion.

"No, no, we're done I'm ready. Rog, go away."

"Oh that's real nice, Meems."

He gets up and makes for the door but she stops him.

"Wait just one second; I think I put my poem in your pocket."

I don't want to know. I really don't.

Roger reaches slowly into his pocket and pulls out the folded piece of paper, putting it between his teeth. She growls.

"You are impossible, you know that?" she fumes, snatching it from him. Roger just chuckles and plants a kiss on her mouth. She fights him for a minute but soon melts into it, snaking her arms around his neck. I know far better than to interrupt. After a second Mimi's eye peeks open and she remembers the presence of another life form. She pulls away from him and he makes this barely audible puppy groan, then goes red when he realizes I heard. I snicker at him.

"Bye, Rog."

He bolts. As the door slams Mimi and I double over with gales of laughter. When we manage to calm ourselves she says:

"Okay, okay we're really done now, promise. Let's get started."

"Cool."

She sits down Indian style on the bed, a pose I couldn't attempt with a gun to my head, and unfolds the paper carefully.

"Hey, Meems, before you start I just want to be sure of something real quick. This isn't 'Life Doesn't Frighten Me' is it?"

From what Angel said it could be that Angelou's work was her favorite too and I didn't want any reruns.

"Oh no, I know Angel called dibbs on that one don't worry. This is totally different."

"Okay. Just making sure."

"It's all good, girl, no problem. Okay…This is called 'The Latest Latin Dance Craze' by Victor Hernandez Cruz."

Her Spanish accent floods back saying the poet's name. Mimi has a very distinct voice, lower and raspier than most women's, like that of a smoker's, it adds to the aura of harsh beauty that surrounds this little East Village whirlwind.

"First
You throw your head back twice
Jump out onto the floor like a
Kangaroo
Circle the floor once
Doing fast scissor work with your
Legs
Next
Dash towards the door
Walking in a double cha cha cha
Open the door and glide down
The stairs like a swan
Hit the street
Run at least ten blocks
Come back in through the same
Door
Doing a mambo-minuet
Being careful that you don't fall
And break your head on that one
You have just completed your first
Step."

"Oh Meems, that's so cool!"

"It is really cool isn't it? Yeah I love this so much. Heard it for the first time when I was in high school, before I dropped out," she adds quickly. "Yeah, um, I think my first boyfriend may have showed it to me. I don't remember him really clear. All the men start to blur after a while yanno."

She forces a laugh to try and blow it off. She tries never to think about those two years between leaving home and meeting Roger. She's got enough reminders of it as it is.

"So yeah my high school boyfriend…wow does that seem like a long time gone." She shakes her head. "Yeah he was really big into books and stuff, more than me. One day and he's like, 'I found this poem that makes me think about you.' And I mean what fourteen year old girl doesn't want to hear that right?"

"Tell me about it," I agree.

"So yeah he read it for me and I liked it. So I asked him if I could have keep it and read it again. I think I only really paid attention once I didn't have him to distract me. You know what a bad attention span I have."

She cocks her head to the door Roger left through and the two of us share a good laugh.

"So yeah uh I think that's how it happened. I mean obviously the relationship didn't fly because well freshmen in high school c'mon." She laughs again, more dryly. "But yeah, the poem really stuck with me. I actually just found the copy he gave me in a box of stuff I was going through about a month ago. After all the moving and shaking I've done, believe it? And I have no clue how it got there."

"Wow." I have to admit that is a little weird. Mimi really doesn't have that much sentimental attachment to things. She's like me that way. "After all those years."

"Isn't that fucked up? Don't tell Roger, he'll probably get all weird about it. Man's jealous of the mattress I sleep on."

I snort. No way to deny it.

"But anyway," she continues. Even reading it now it still got me all fired up. It's really rare that something I read can make me feel that way."

I nod.

"So why does it make you feel so stirred, do you think?" I ask.

"Um…" Mimi twirls one of those tight, brunette spirals around her finger. "It's hard to explain. It's like…It's not just about dance. To Latin people it's never just dance. Dance is tied into so many other things for us; food, language, family, sex. Life. I think that's the message of the poem. Whoever Victor's talking about, and I think it's a woman don't know why, he's using this dance as a way to describe her life. And it's a hard life, you know. Or else she wouldn't have to worry about 'breaking her head on that one.' 'Hit the street and run ten blocks.' She's breathless and tired from running. But she can't leave. She can't find a way to leave. That's why it says 'and come through the same door.' I can't tell you how many times before I hooked up with Roger I came through the door in my apartment and felt the weight of the same door. Even the way it ends. 'You've just completed the first step,' you know. That implies that there are other steps. After all that long complicated shit she just did it's only gonna get longer and more complicated, or she's gonna have to do it all again. That's what it means to be a Latina woman. We may never get to do what we want to do but we always do what we have to do."

She pauses and lifts one finger with its nail painted sparkly blue.

"But," she says. "But even with all that, even with her roughness, even with her flaws, maybe even because of them, he loves her. You can tell in the way he says, 'glide down the stairs like a swan.' And there's such grace in her 'mambo minuet' and the way she 'throws her head back twice.' He loves this every-Latina. A girl like me."

There's a silence. Mimi's eyes change, like she's lost in her own thoughts. Then suddenly her head snaps forward and she grins sheepishly at me, averting her eyes.

"I'm sorry I'm talking too much."

"No!" I jump forward and take her hand in mine. She's wearing a jingly charm bracelet. "Mimi, that's so amazing. That's so cool."

"Really? Okay cool!" Her confidence is back in full force. "So, so yeah. That's all there is really. That's my favorite poem."

I nod. Then lean over and push the button to stop the recording.

"Meem, you're the coolest. Thanks so, so much. We're done."

She smiles widely. Her dark eyes crinkle up with its force.

"De nada, niña. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to dash towards the door and get my boyfriend back in here."

"Double cha-cha-cha!" I tease, shaking my hips.

She giggles and cuffs my cheek. Then she leaves. I follow her out the door.

Not the same door, I don't think.