After nine years of being attached at the hip, Lyric and Prince finally split. Now, on the road to recovery, she learns a new way to view life as Prince is forced to face the music of a song he never wanted to played aloud. Join them as they learn a...
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April 6, 1993 Chicago, Illinois
Finally reclaiming a sense of control over my body, I embrace my return to the United States. Strolling around the city with Buffy, Mike, and Ike is the kind of familiarity I reminisced on when I was stuck in double-digit timed flights over the Atlantic Ocean. My next set of goals are crystal clear. I've rented an entire floor out of a beautiful building in New York's upper west side of Manhattan. New York will be our home for the next four and a half weeks as I finish my album in a cooling sense of solace. This is the space in my life that I was talking about last year. Look, all it took was shading out one figure and I've achieved a new level of tranquility.
Buffy asks me as we cross the street; "You're going to Prince's show?"
"I don't know... Why?"
"Because everybody's talking about it."
She's not lying. He's been here longer than I have, spending a lot of time around the second family he's been adopted into through his connection to me. Thaila's called me, overjoyed, squealing about all the cool and awesome things her uncle does. His arrival is stated to have brought him into the city on the third day of the month and he won't leave until he's been stationed for a total of seven days, they say. I didn't care from across the world but now I know I'll end up seeing him, a concept fueling my want to speak with him.
Our last blow up was something serious. I said some things I didn't necessarily want to say aloud as he said one particular thing that matched the exact level of what I was giving him and then some. The amount of our words doesn't matter. We were both wrong. Although his apology dictates my chances of ever speaking to him again... Whether he apologizes or not, I'll still extend my good graces. I don't want any grudges held.
"Maybe," I admit. "If you want to go, we can go, but that's a call you'd have to make."
"You sure? I don't want to be held responsible for any more blow ups bigger than The A Bomb," Buffy laughs, following me into the complex.
Shrugging my shoulders loosely I tell her, "I'm in a different mood these days. I felt different then." I shrug again with no reasoning to my words. "Do what you want," I tell her.
If Buffy knew why Prince and I weren't on good terms, she'd be a lot more than shocked. Prince calling me a bitch was never the kind of thing to have on your bingo card. I haven't fully explained the argument to anyone for a reason. Alexis would try to cut him if she knew.
That doesn't stop Buffy. In a matter of minutes, she's standing at my door telling me she's got the seats for the Prince show, leaving me a couple of hours to figure out what I would be wearing.
My fingers trailing along my clothes in my closet, I'm in search of the right attire for tonight. I don't remember there being a memo like past shows so I'll wear whatever, something I'll say I would've done anyway if we're confessing our honest truths. I solely haven't dressed myself up in a couple of months. My reliance on calling Lisa to pick my outfit out over the phone is becoming too much. I'm on my way to losing my touch. Tonight's outfit has to come from the deepest depths of my brain.
