Always and Forever You- Prologue
Philadelphia, April 21, 2016
Prince is dead. Today of all fucking days. The news is just breaking. My eyes were already swollen from all the tears, four or five breakdowns this morning already, I lost count. I can't imagine I have an ounce of liquid left in my body for Prince, but sure enough, I am bawling again. The news anchor is reporting the details as she has them: died at Paisley Park; cause of death unknown; fans placing flowers outside the gates; third major music legend death this year.
I turn the volume down. The details don't matter; he's gone, and I'm left behind with happy and painful memories. Lily and I had discovered Prince together. My cousin Jackie was five years older, and had loaned us the VHS tape of
Purple Rain
when we were twelve. She assured us we were going to love it, but made me promise that we'd wait until my parents were asleep. She knew how strict they were, and the movie had some stuff in it they would not approve of their little girl and best friend watching.
Jackie was right. We played that movie every weekend for three months. We both bought the CD soundtrack and wore it out. There began our life-long love affair with Prince. "Life just wasn't long enough though, was it Prince?" I say it aloud through the tears.
There's suddenly a new barrage of vibrations from my phone on the bed. I'd silenced the ringer this morning when the first wave of messages and calls came in. Everyone is checking in with me today. I appreciate them, but while they're well intended, their words have no meaning, and their voices are no comfort. I just can't.
There are very few voices that bring warmth to me these days and make this life worthwhile. I hear two of them out in the living room. They're talking about the car. I hear laughter by the louder of the two voices. The other is less animated, but pleasant and engaged.
I look at the phone and as I suspected, multiple messages, all shocked at the Prince news, and most trying to turn the tragedy into something uplifting for me: "Dancing and partying up in Heaven like it's 1999," or some shit like that. Sometimes less is more, dear friends.
Of all the messages from today, there is one missing, and it's conspicuous in its absence. I'm worried. What if something has happened? This is what I do when I'm alone now. I lay awake at night and think the worst. I only do it when I'm alone, here in this bedroom, because I have to be strong for the voices out there in the living room.
I scan the messages one more time, hoping I missed it the first two rounds, I didn't. When I look up from the phone, my closet door catches my eye, just as it always does when I'm here in my room. Today though, something from within is calling out to me. I've avoided it up until now, and it let me, but I'm being pulled toward it. It's not against my will though. I'm ready. I think so, anyway.
The closet is a walk-in, but it's a small city apartment kind of walk-in. My clothes are hanging on the closet organizers so tightly they have no breathing room whatsoever. My shoes are stacked in their boxes along the floor, dozens of them. In the back of the closet, behind my sundresses hanging, I find the box I'm looking for. It's larger than all the surrounding shoeboxes, and it's still taped up from the move last year. There's writing with a black marker across the top, instructions for the moving company.
Rosa's Room - FRAGILE
