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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July 23, 1993 Chicago, Illinois
I set my purse down next to my foot. As I cross my right leg over the left, I take a full look around the room and sigh. "If we're doing, this we need to do this right. I'm not with the wasting of time. I leave for New York tonight." Aaliyah flicks my ear. "Fine." The stinging of her acts lingers around my nerve system.
A tall, thin white woman sits down at the desk. Her curly gray hair rests on her shoulders, contrasting against the black pant-suit she wears. She clearly is the woman in charge of this session. "I can already see where the line is in the sand." She says, putting on her glasses, as she catches a glimpse of my scattered family. She points in my direction, asking, "Why are you three so far from mom and dad?"
"'Cause we're the cool side," shrugs a laughing Eddie. A snicker of mine is swallowed as Aaliyah flicks his ear the exact way she flicked my own.
She clears her throat as she pulls out a fresh binder. This'll probably be our patient file. I'm not unfamiliar with therapy. "I'm Dr. Cosgrove..." Her eyes fall on my sister. "Great to see you again, Aaliyah." Taking a deep breath, Dr. Cosgrove smiles at us in the moments of making her first request. "I'd like to start with something easy. I want everyone to say their name and identify their role in the family." She points at my father. "Starting with you, sir."
He smoothens his navy blue slacks in the stiffest way a man can. Today, my parents are matching. I call this an attempt at displaying a sign of unity in a broken family. Matching clothes for one day doesn't fix anything. We're all still a hot ass mess, especially the one's who are suppose to be running the ship! If their attire does anything, it amplifies the separation between a set of parents and their children as the three of us are on a different wave. Aaliyah in a skirt and blouse, Eddie doused in Karl Kani, and my decision to walk out of the house in jeans all team up to make the vision crystal clear.
"I'm, uh, Dominic Johnson..." My father's eyes scan the room in a scattered motion. "Husband to Giselle," he motions to my mother, "An— And, uh, I'm a father of four."
"I only see three," says Dr. Cosgrove. "Will they be joining us?"
I mumble, "Problem number two."
Dr. Cosgrove points in the direction of a woman who has taken over my mother's body. After Prince's mishap, I'm starting to think there's a target on my back. "I'm Giselle Johnson, mother of those three." Dr. Cosgrove nods in surface-level understanding as she takes notes of whatever she is taking notes of. It must be my mother's lackluster attitude.
Eyes travel to my side of the room, Eddie being the first of our trio in sight from the opposite side of the room.
He, refusing to sit up, kicks a leg out as his own person fuck you to my parents. "I'm Eddie and I'm just the little brother," he shrugs. The gradual shift of his attitude toward them over recent years has broken my heart. I hate how much our childhoods differ. He pauses momentarily. "Unless Tina isn't mad at us, then I'm a big brother too."
