Reflections || Prince

Reflections || Chapter 1

1983

Valerie Thomas

"Val!"

In the middle of cooking, I whipped my curls around to see my best friend walk through the front screen door. Tracee and I first met back in high school and we kept our bond. Only our need of going to different colleges moved her from me.

Now, my girl reached her ultimate dream and worked as an entertainment journalist. These days, she published countless big-time articles. I knew for a fact that she'd interviewed or met almost everyone in show business. I was so proud.

"Don't make all that noise. What's up, Trace?" Rolling my eyes, I turned off the heat on this stove and faced her. Silence fell between us, but she set down her purse and already opened cabinets to find plates. We'd set this table together.

"Please stop acting like my mother. What's brewing here this time? It's even close to Thanksgiving yet." Tracy laughed between words, knowing that I cooked when she was in town. We began the tradition during senior year in high school.

"Oxtails over rice, string beans, and dinner rolls. Momma taught me the oxtail recipe not that long ago." I smiled. The aroma from my slow cooker she bought last Christmas still offered joy. Cooking wouldn't become my hobby if life didn't change.

I wanted to become a professional musician at sixteen, but my parents couldn't afford to buy instruments. Not long after Dad suggested college, I strived through the music program, rhythms and internal joy galore. It was better for everyone.

Yet, Dad ended up filing for divorce not long after I graduated from college. Money tightened and it was better for me to stay home instead of leaving to begin my own career. Of course, I always knew that Momma needed someone in her corner.

"Guess what?" Trace gave me her news. The biggest smile reached her lips as we sat down and ate. I nodded, waiting to hear what she'd say next. Usually, I'd hear another about her sometimes traveling abroad for those celebrity interviews.

"What?" I asked her between bites. Another round of silence fell in the kitchen as she wiped her lips. I didn't know what to think, but at least the news would be good. Questions raced through my mind with each passing moment before she answered.

"After we finish eating dinner and clean up around here, check my purse." Trace winked at me from across the table. My curiosity peaked, but as promised, we finished dinner and wash dishes before I could finally see what she brought. 

____

Tracee held up two concert tickets for us to see Prince in concert. Not to say that I wasn't excited about the show, but acting like groupies had been out of the questions. We were both smart enough to know the difference between admiration and obsession. Especially with her career, Trace couldn't afford to start tripping.

"His team wouldn't allow me to interview him directly, so I'll have to cover the concert and write down my review of this show in the magazine. We might get some comments from the band, though." Trace lifted the backstage pass that dangled around her neck. Her situation had been better than nothing, of course.

I shared the same I.D. Otherwise, we'd never even breathe in the same exact direction as Prince's own band members. Our heels clicked and headed to one destination, where Trace and other journalists would cram for the big show.

Band member dressing room's had lined up and down this hallway. BrownMark, Matt Fink, Lisa Coleman, Wendy Melvoin, and Dez Dickerson. And of course, I couldn't find Prince's name on one of the doors. He probably just stayed in hotels.

As we entered one of the last doors, loud mummers and the back of many heads signaled her placement. We'd spotted the place. The room glowed in purple fluorescence, but this entire aura belonged on the stage, not some tiny space filled to the brim with entertainment reporters. Even this towering lava lamp cornered near one of the back walls. I gaped for a moment, but still kept myself together.

If it wasn't for the big screen mounted in front of everyone here, I'd probably never see anything. Tracee juggled listening to the music and writing down notes for her article. I nodded along, keeping my cool in public. There was no other choice.

By the time Prince ended his show with "Dance, Music, Sex, Romance," offbeat White men in here already planned to see another gig. Tracee gathered her materials and we ventured out of the confining room to leave. Her notepad scribbled all over with details and the magazine article would be golden for sure.

"Thanks." I smiled a few minutes later after Tracee reached the parking lot. Before this point with me outside, she had taken out her tape recorder and earned a few dialogue nuggets. Wendy and Lisa were kind enough to help her out before leaving.

"No problem, Val." She told me as we headed towards her car. I'd crash at her place tonight for the sake of time and go back home in the morning. To be honest, we only lived blocks away from each other and the proximity helped in high school.

____

When I woke the next morning, there was breakfast and some paper. placed right on the glass coffee table. My jumbled mind didn't know what to think as one of Tracee's blankets fell off my body. She wasn't here for me to yell, hence the note.

Val,

Good morning, sleepyhead! Thanks again for going to the concert with me last night

I just headed out for work. I'm putting my finishing touches on the article before its official publication this week.

Also, if the food is too cold by the time you wake up, heat up your omelette for a little bit. There's brand-new coffee creamer in the fridge, too.

Have a great day, girl.

See u later,

-Trace.

PS: Someone remembers your face.

Without hesitation, I dropped my jaw immediately after reading the last line. At that moment, so many different flashbacks of that rainy night on the street zipped right through my memories. My own heart dropped and pulsed at the same time.

I would never forget his Afro. I would never forget how he shivered to stay warm. I would never forget the way our introverted selves nearly crammed into that small enclosure. I would never forget driving him back home. Without sharing names, we had few words.

Prince was the "Phone Booth Kid"