To Todd Savage:
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I met Quona one night in late 1991 through a mutual friend. Quona was wearing a white shirt and black overalls, and she had extensions. She spoke in a man’s voice at first, but later on that night she used the sexy woman’s voice on me and blew my heterosexual mind. I was 18 at the time–she must have been 17–I can remember thinking how strange she was.
After that second meeting, we would hang out between classes. I was taking all of my classes on the third floor, and Quona was taking a general drawing class. She and I would bullshit all the time, and then ride the trains and go out for coffee. She was very loud, and I was often embarrassed by her. I can remember getting pissed off at her for telling me I wasn’t putting my powder on my face the right way. She said, “You are supposed to pat it on, you don’t smear it!” I just gave her a look like, hey! who’s the real girl here?! But there really was something about Quona that forced you to submit to her hilarity.
I can recall many things about Quona, and I know that a lot of other people do as well. Thanks to you, hordes of people who never got to know Quona the person have read about her, and have gotten a taste of the true, fabulous Quona. Perhaps the other readers have also gleaned from your article the overall message that I did: the incredible urgency of life.
