The Online Experience

April 21, 1996

Grumpybluebear: hey, talk to me about what's really going on over there.

My legs curled under me in the black, slightly worn computer chair, as my body leaned forward, my elbow resting on the cheap desk, with my chin held firmly in the palm of my hand. We've been chatting for a few hours now, never once delving back into those words that first appeared on my screen. His words had nearly stopped my heart when they'd first appeared in that cold familiar font. Those two simple sentences had held so much pain and need that it seeped from the frigid screen directly under my skin causing an ache I wanted to fix. I could almost hear his custom heels tiptoeing around the subject every time I tried to bring it up.

SixStringGuy: I've been trying to finish up a few songs.

Grumpybluebear: I see. Those songs giving you a hard time tonight?

Another long pause filled out conversation and yet again my gut started to turn. This wasn't how it used to be I thought as my teeth took out their frustrations on my lower lips. Waiting. Waiting for anything to come from his end. Anything that would give me some real insight into his end of the conversation. Into what was really happening in his world. Into his marriage. Into how he really felt about me, if he still really felt anything.

SixStringGuy: Sydney.

Grumpybluebear: What's wrong Prince? Talk to me please.

The furrow in my brow deep as I watched the seemingly motionless screen, my heart nearly stilling as I felt the cool wave of anxiety roll over me. A brisk chill running up my spine the longer I waited, my imagination creating the worst scenarios for what could really be happening in the part of his world I was not privy to.

SixStringGuy: I'm so tired Syd.

Reading over those words a few times, something not sitting right with what was in front of me.

Grumpybluebear: Syd? That's new.

SixStringGuy: they are about you.

Grumpybluebear: excuse me?

SixStringGuy: the songs I'm working on. They are about you, but my head is pounding and I can't finish them.

The sudden change in topics left me feeling completely disjointed. I felt my cheeks redden at the idea of songs about me pouring out of him. Lyrics flowing from the tip of his pen onto the paper all brought forth by the memory of me, of us. But what caught me more was the mention of feeling unwell. In all these months of talking, sharing so much between each other, never once had he mentioned not feeling well.

Grumpybluebear: what's causing your headache Jamie?

My fingers lingering momentarily over the last letters of my message, remembering all the times I'd typed that name. The feeling of the familiar smile cause by that name pulling at my still worried expression. I tried to picture him on the other side of the conversation, sitting behind his desk, his eyes lost in the events on the screen as those long fingers with perfectly manicured nails tapped over the keys. I found myself lost in what he could be thinking and feeling at that moment and all the questions that come with those images. Mostly I worried about what she had done. Had she hurt him? Had she hurt the baby? Had there been tears caught in his throat or painting the delicate skin of his cheeks because of her? The longer he was silent the more my teeth worried against my bottom lip.

SixStringGuy: I want to talk to you mama. I need to hear your voice.

Grumpybluebear: Ok. Give me a minute to log off and free up the phone line.

My heart had lept in my chest as I quickly signed off the service and grabbed the phone from the front room, dragging it hurriedly into my bedroom. Taking my usual place for long conversations, sitting crossed legged in the middle of my haphazardly made bed. Gripping the phone tight in my slightly trembling hand I began looking over the crisp white comforter. Flashes of memories filtered through my mind, images of our sweaty limbs tangled together in the heat of passion, of our bodies resting together in quiet moments while I landed chaste kisses along the delicate curve of his torso. The sound of his breathing, the inviting smell of his cologne, the tickle of hair peppering his defined belly, it all engulfed me as I sat there letting the movie of our time together run through my mind, wishing his warm body was resting under my hand instead of the cool plastic of the phone. Finally shaking free of the welcoming memories I glanced toward the blaring red numbers of my bedside clock. 45 minutes. My shoulders fell at the realization I'd been sitting here waiting that long.

"Well what the fuck?" Aggravated words mumbled into the empty room around me while fingers began nervously tapping out a beat along the spine of the phone. Now all I could do was watch the clock...the numbers ticking over one by one as a minute passed, then ten, five more. The mechanical trill of the phone cut sharp through the room more than an hour after our chat had ended online.

"Hello?!" My voice edgy, uncertain who or what to expect on the other end, but what I got was so far from anything I could have imagined.

"S, syd, Sydney?" The voice was unmistakable, but painfully distorted by slurred speech. My brow furrowed, lines etched so deep into my forehead it was nearly painful.

"Prince?" My voice timid and cautious. "What's going on? Are you ok?" A string of unrefined noises rolled across the line. The gruff sounds created when you are woken up out of a deep sleep and still haven't figured out what's going on.

"Fine Syd...." words mumbled and trailing off from his end. "Workin.... songs...." pressing my ear closer to the phone, thinking initially that there was a bad connection and maybe I wasn't hearing all his words, but his speech. As though he was trying to talk after going to the dentist and his mouth was still numb, unable to control it properly. Lips asleep, tongue not working as it should.

"Prince you don't sound right."

"Nah... nah... is goo....." a loud clank rang through the receiver, the sound of a phone crashing to the floor or something equally as hard, but never going dead.

"Prince?" My words reflected back against the open line, silence the only answer for a moment before the distant sounds of involuntary gagging hit my ear. "Prince?! Prince!" Fear. Anger. Distress. All emotions I couldn't place at the time, but were clearly evident in my yells for attention. Jumping from my bed, the cold sound of retching still playing through the line I quickly riffled through the papers on my desk before landing on the scrap I was desperately searching for. Taking a deep breath I felt my heart still for the briefest moment as I ended the call. His noises stopped only when I cut the line and the worst possible scenarios began racing through my imagination as my shaky hands tried to dial the number as quickly as possible. It only rang a few times, but in that moment I felt like a lifetime before I was met with a groggy voice on the other end.

"Hm, hello?" The obviously sleeping man greeted, completely unprepared for what was about to happen.

"John, its Sydney, there's something wrong with Prince."