My Secret Language of Wishes The Black Repertory Theatre of St. Louis

My Secret Language of Wishes
Leaves You Wishing for More

In 2002, New York playwright Cori Thomas changed trains in Times Square when the sight of two young women stopped her in her tracks. One, able-bodied and white, held the hand of an African American woman whose twisted limbs made walking difficult at best.

Intrigued, she wondered about their connection. “It was interesting to me to see a Caucasian as the caregiver,” Thomas wrote, in an e-mail interview.

So intrigued was she by the image of these two strangers she couldn’t get the questions out of her mind: Where were they going? Why wasn’t the girl in a wheelchair?

Thomas satisfied her need for answers by making them up.

The result: My Secret Language of Wishes, a play recently performed by the St. Louis Black Repertory at the Grandel Theatre.

“What is love?” is the play’s opening line, uttered by Jo, an attorney who eventually represents the 17-year-old disabled girl named Rose. “Love is complicated,” concludes Jo, a closeted lesbian.
Who most loves Rose — and her penchant for wearing dozens of barrettes at once — is evident early on. It’s Dakota, the 24-year-old gum-chewing, midriff-baring blonde who wants to adopt Rose. But so does a rich, older black woman named Brenda who’s got money and a racial match on her side. But what drives her relentless desire to take in a special-needs teenager when she clearly doesn’t want be her hands-on caretaker?

As Rose, Vanika Spencer, a freshman at St. Louis Community College, amazingly spends a continuous full hour in act one, flailing her hands, pulling at her clothes and uttering random sounds. Her jerky movements are tempered by almost-graceful quality and the struggle with which she forms her words has a ring of authenticity.

Thomas’ simple but profound use of language is heartbreakingly beautiful as illustrated by Rose’s description of what she loves about Dakota’s baby powder scent.

“You can … breathe in the smell … and it feels like her … hugging me,” Rose labors to explain.
As the custody battle ensues, the play examines the issues of race, class and sexual orientation while progressing to its unexpected conclusion.

A final facet of Dakota’s unconditional love is revealed when we experience the character of Rose as the perfectly able person she is, when she sheds the palsied persona and stands up straight for a moving soliloquy.

“That Rose is in my head,” this version of Rose articulates clearly. “And Dakota can see her.”

by Nancy Larson