This is not a story about a tragedy. It was 1986 and I was listening to her debut album on cassette. Repeatedly.
(AP / ELISE AMENDOLA)
When we say "this is how I want to remember her," we rarely mean how someone was right before she died, whether ravaged by old age or illness or drugs. Instead we form a collage of moments, often fleeting, usually romanticized, always personal.
So this is how I want to remember.
It is 1986, and I am sitting on the floor in the living room of our house in Brookline, Massachusetts, listening over and over to a new cassette on my parents' boom box. The woman on the front of the tape looks, I think, like a princess: her hair is slicked back and she is wearing a simple strand of pearls, and a vaguely Grecian, cream-colored, one-shoulder dress. She isn't exactly smiling, but she gazes out calmly, confidently. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Until now I have owned only the following albums: We Are the World, purchased in an airport record store, and She's So Unusual, purchased after a friend's older neighbor dressed us up as mini-Cyndis, but we have recently gotten cable and so, in addition to watching hours and hours of Nickelodeon, I have also discovered MTV, which broadcasts Mötley Crüe's hugely age-inappropriate "Home Sweet Home" video alongside songs like "Greatest Love of All," which — as a child — I take to be an anthem that is hugely inspiring and wondrous. If that little girl in pigtails with the "Whitney" name tag could grow up to be the stunning, confident Whitney Houston, in a sparkly white dress, singing in her gorgeous voice to thousands of people, then anything is possible.