I'm Yours (PRN)

ꓵ ɥʇᴉM ǝW ǝʞɐꓕ

The sun sits on the sky's horizon, waiting to fall. Too exhausted after a full twelve hours of hard work, he allows a special Minneapolis native to take over the work of brightening the city with a full smile. Bad news is delivered upon the sigh expressing exhaustion following a full day of work. The chosen one opts out, passing the baton to the moon. Minneapolis awaits her arrival, a process turning the sky a multitude of blues, oranges, and pinks. It's in this moment that purple makes their entrance, both through the sky and a unique tenor.

On its hook, closest to the television, a landline registered to Iris Tucker begs for attention. Sighing, yet again, she drags herself across the room. The pessimistic attitude she feels brewing is washed away as she focuses on the bright-side of the ringing phone. She isn't ready to cook dinner just yet. Perhaps, depending on who is calling, she can have a moment of leisure.

The phone is lifted to her ear. An introduction isn't made, no greetings are exchanged. Instead, her friend's hound-dog hearing jumps into the deep-end of it all the exact moment her breathing is made audible on the line.

"Can you come visit?"

Laughter rings from her chest in an instant. It all makes sense now. No introduction or greetings are necessary. Formalities between the two were thrown out of the window years ago, possibly around the time her friend sent her to every lingerie shop in the city to buy him the funkiest, spunkiest panties she could find.

Prince left her in Minneapolis four months prior. One visit for two or three days in the middle of February came and went. He didn't have much time for her during his other rare sightings in the state. As much as she misses her friend, Iris doesn't bat a single eyelash. He keeps her updated on what is happening, calling at least twice a week on average. This call marks his fourth. By his opening request and his decision to hike up their average, she can tell he's getting homesick.

"You want me to visit?" Iris laughs, dropping her body on her couch. "You're making like four albums at once and want me to visit?"

Grumbling, she can hear Prince tinkering with the kind of plastic that has an extra ping when it hits metal. "Yeah, I'm tired of this place now," he confesses. The pout in his lip makes it through the phone. One thing he remains with her is honest. He's had his share of Los Angeles.

As she often does, Iris tries to find the best in his circumstances just as she'd do for herself. "Aren't you coming home next week?"

"Yeah, you can come here and spend the week with me then we can go home," he suggests. Too smart not to, he adds on the sweet innocence he knows sells his idea the best in moments of persuasion. "It's like a vacation."

"No, Prince."

He'd taught her to practice many forms of rebellion in their years of knowing one another. One thing he never had to teach her, however, was how to decline his offers. As time passed, she learned to sugarcoat her reasons for denial less and less, being able to trust that he knew her character well enough not to assume the worse. Some days he did anyway, his nastiest of attitudes coming with it. Most days, he didn't. The most delicate flower in his garden being an Iris, he usually remains mindful of her good intentions.

Feeling the rejection in his chest, his tone drops to the closest sound to a whine his melodic vocal cords can take him. "Why not?" He doesn't see why she wouldn't want to come to Los Angeles. She's never been to the city in the name of personal enjoyment and he knows it.

"I have to work."

He continues to have the answer to everything when he shouts back, "You work for me!" He's calling bullshit on her reason not to visit.

Iris' eye for fashion has never been a secret. On the Christmas Eve of 1980, when the then 22-year-olds met, she worked in a call-center. It was a job her father's best friend offered as a favor once she realized she may have chosen the wrong degree in college, one that was in touch with her passions but not something she'd want to do for the rest of her life. Her interests in fashion were one of the first things Prince learned about her after learning she loved cartoons like JabberJaw and Tom & Jerry, owned two of his albums, and was Aunt Donna's husband's daughter.