TLWM: The Hate Experience

\XXIV/ The Wait

     "Prince—don't play with me."

"I ain't playing." And of course, she got lost somewhere in her head. I called her name twice and got nothing back. "How far out are you daydreaming?"

"I need to..." She tossed in my bedsheets. "We need to talk."

"Um..."

"When you get back though. Okay?"

"Okay, but you know you can speak your mind now."

"No, thank you. I'm going to hug this pillow and dream about you. Call me when you're here."

"I don't like how you're pushing me away."

"I'm just ending this conversation before it gets out of hand."

Women didn't do this—this thing where Letty was always ending our call prematurely or disconnecting without a goodbye. It honestly put me on edge every time we were connected by a telephone line. "I'm not ready to let you go."

"I know but... I just want to sleep."

It wasn't cool but if I didn't comply, she would press END and leave me without closure. "Can I tell you something real quick first?" The silence that followed felt inviting so I continued. "To be clear, I wanna surrender more than my body to you." And I was something like—too shy to admit how easy that'd probably be. The butterflies painted with her name were already in my chest with hard hats on. "You gotta meet me somewhere in the middle though, Lette."

"I'm sorry," she said, her soft tone sour with guilt.

"I'll be home Saturday."

"Okay. Have a good show tomorrow night."

"Thanks."

Next should've been bye but she was holding on to it.

"Speak, woman."

"Before we hang up, I want to leave you with clarity too... I want the same thing, and it's flattering to be a source of inspiration for you but it's going to take more than a few songs to get me to cloud nine."

Staring up at nothing from my place in bed, I bit my tongue as she paused, because it felt like she had to say more and I didn't want a reaction to pollute her feelings. What I really wanted to do was point out how many pages I ignore when we're on the phone, and how dry '93 had been 'cause I was only after her, and tell her the foul shit my ex said to me last week when I told her we couldn't speak anymore 'cause I was getting serious with someone else.

"Muses come and go for artists. Though it may be impossible, I need more than that."

"What makes it possibly impossible?"

"Mmm—Saturday."

"Saturday makes it impossible or are you shooing me away again?"

"Dream about me."

"I do every time."

"Liar. Goodnight."

Only, it wasn't a lie. "Goodnight, baby."

Mid-squeal, the line cut off. I don't know if I was supposed to hear it but her pleasure put me in the mood to go downstairs and sit at my piano.

Saturday/February 27

I didn't make it home. The hours got so blurred that I didn't even get to call Letty. At one point, I was going to ask Beverly to call her for me but the idea flew out the window quick. I could only imagine the sass Letty would give the next time she got a hold of me.