Purple Rain

Chapter 2: Dream Factory

I was spending most of my time in my bedroom or at the storage unit. Ma and Hayward were always in my space coming into my bedroom whenever they wanted, so the weekends were really my only time alone during the day. I decided to move my old desk next to the mattress in the storage unit and was sitting there writing a song for the night. I had my headphones on and was listening to a tape I recorded yesterday with my acoustic, trying to get lyrics to the song. I felt the storage unit vibrate just a little and I took my headphones off. I had my pen between my fingers and I realized the vibrating was  banging on the door. I paused my tape and stood to walk over to the door and raised it up some. Samira was standing there, and she smelled like...food. She had food in her hand, too.

"Hey! Sorry I've been missing your calls. I've been working like crazy." She said with a nervous laugh. I raised the door up some and she walked inside. I shut it again and saw she was looking around. "Oh wow. It looks like you've got yourself a good setup here, and it's cleaner than I last saw it. Way cleaner." I rubbed my neck. "Thanks, I've been cleaning up every now and then. Uh, take a seat." I said motioning to the mattress on the floor. Samira fixed her skirt before sitting down. "I brought you some left over spaghetti from the restaurant. I hope it's not too cold." I shook my head and smiled. "Thanks. I don't mind it." I took the food and pulled up my desk chair before opening the to go box. It smelled amazing.

"So, you work at a restaurant?" That was probably a really stupid question. "Yeah, I've been working there for about a couple of years now. Just trying to pay rent and keep food in the house. The utilities is what kills me every month." I took the fork and twirled it into the noodles. "Are you like...a chef?" I asked her. She giggled. "Kind of. It's complicated. I'm a line cook. Nothing impressive, but it's something that pays the bills." I took a bite of the spaghetti and it was...amazing. "Mmm. This is really good for a line cook." She was trying to keep her legs crossed. "Thanks...I try." She said. "You're welcome. You can cover up with my blanket if you want. Take those heels off, too." She almost seemed relieved that I said that and covered up before kicking her heels off.

"How's work for you, Skip?" I was stuffing my face and didn't realize how hungry I was. "Ummm...I'm working on finding a drummer right now. Know anyone?" Samira shook her head. "Maybe check around at the churches in Minneapolis. You're bound to find one." That was not a bad idea at all. There was silence, but she was watching me eat. I didn't feel self conscious by it. "Wow, you look so...different from when we were kids." Samira said. I smiled a little before setting the spaghetti aside. "I got into sports as a teenager so that thinned me out. Got me some muscle. You know..." I wanted to ask her the main question. Where had she been and how long had she been back? Why couldn't she come see me? We were so undeniably close.

"I'm gonna go ahead and address the elephant in the room. Um...my parents split up years ago...that's why I sort of left out of your life. My dad wanted me to live with him and...that's how that went. We lived almost in every state. Then, I wanted to come back, but when I talked to your dad he said you were in upstate New York with your older sister and...I just always assumed you were there." I cocked an eyebrow. "I mean...I did live with Sharon for a little while, but then I left for LA. I wasn't there for long before coming back here. But this was years ago. Maybe five or six years ago." Samira was feeling my blanket.

There was silence again. This silence was killing me. "How long ago did your parents split up?" She asked me. "Oh...man, we were kids. It wasn't long before you sort of just, left." Samira nodded. "I'm sorry I never told you goodbye or wrote to you...it's a really long story. Let's just say my dad didn't want anything to deal with Minnesota when it was all said and done." I felt bad for her. I sat down next to her on my bed. "Can I ask what happened to your mother?" I didn't want to bombard her with questions. "She's still here in Minnesota somewhere. At least when I saw her last year she was here." The look in her brown eyes told me she was uncomfortable with something. I left it at that. "So..." I stretched out and placed my arms behind my head. "Do you really think that a drummer would be at a church? At least a good drummer?" Samira perked up. "Definitely! Especially Baptist ones. Your dad's church could have one." It was perfect. "When I get a drummer it'll be easier to record, you know? I don't have to do so much stuff." I admitted. Samira laid next to me as my feet were on the floor and my knees were up.