After I return home from our little talk, I change into the clothes I wear when I volunteer at the Arboretum. I know that Prince is going to take his time to mull over what had just transpired in his office, and I have no desire to pace the house while I wait. I get back into my car and drive to the Arboretum, losing myself to the physical labor.
By the time I'm done for the day, I've logged another six hours, I'm tired, sore, and sweaty. Mid August heat in Minnesota is not quite as bad as Tennessee, but the humidity from all the lakes makes it feel like you're in a sauna. I let myself into the house, stopping only to grab a glass of juice. I had had plenty of water today with the heat, but I had failed to bring anything to eat since I was so preoccupied with my visit this morning.
Upstairs, I peel off my sweaty clothes and shower, the thought of going back downstairs in this lonely house and preparing a meal seems like such a daunting task, and I contemplate just crawling into the bed instead. As I step out of the shower and slip on a nightie, my stomach growls, I grumble a response to it before I sigh and head downstairs after all.
In the kitchen, I move from cupboard to cupboard, looking at what I have available to prepare something to eat and nothing appeals to me. I do the same thing in the pantry and again when I look in the refrigerator, my stomach Ames a second plea for food. "I'm working on it," I snap out loud to no one, because this is what I do, I talk to myself in this empty house. Sighing, I grab two slices of bread and put them in the toaster, then pull out the jar of peanut butter, a knife and a plate. I stand in front of the toaster with my hands on the counter and my head hanging in defeat. I know he said there would be a wedding, but right now, as things stand, I don't think I could do it in good conscious. If this behaviour continues, I have some serious thinking to do. I've proven to him that I don't need constant attention, I'm not needy by any means. I can be my own person and stay busy, but he has to prove to me he wants to continue with this relationship or have a family. I know he has a lot on his plate right now, and I have no reservations about being a full-time mother, but I will not accept any man not to be available to his child, especially emotionally.
The toast pops up, it gets smeared with peanut butter, and I head for the back door. This is also what I do now, sit on the back steps of the house as I munch on whatever I have decided to eat. I try to think back to the last meal we had together and realize it was well over a month ago, before things started heating up with Warner Bros. "Again," I huff to myself.
Setting my plate to the side, I fold my arms across my knees and drop my head, running an internal battle with myself. I'm compelled to run every time things get rough, one of these times he's not going to try to stop me, and at what point will his efforts no longer work? He's got to learn to meet me halfway, I try, I really do, I'm beyond patient. Could any woman really live like this? For how long? Maybe I'm just weak? I know he's struggling, too, if he would just TALK to me.
I lift my head and grab the discarded plate to start back into the house, but I've worked myself into such a state of anger and self loathing that I rear back slam the plate down onto the deck, shattering it. I don't even feel the shards cut into my bare feet as I make my way back to the house and up to our bedroom to cry myself to sleep.
*******
It's 2:54, according to my cell phone, when the sound of the piano wakes me, of course, I think to myself, now he's home. I lay there for a minute, the tune is familiar, but I can't place it right away. I recognize it when he starts to sing, but he sounds so raw with pain that tears start to well up in my eyes.
Eye know... I'm not gonna sleep 2nite
Cuz u're not by my side and that ain't right
Eye thought that we bought this bed 4 2
What good is it if eye'm not with you
Oh, Mr. Nelson, I know what you're doing, I think as I throw back the covers on the bed. Once my feet hit the floor, I wince, the shards from the plate. I turn on the light and see that there are actually a few slivers of the china still embedded into the skin.
Gimme a page on my 2-way
Eye'll hit you back with no delay
When you hear all eye've got 2 say
U're gonna c me
Whether in person or the phone
I've got 2 get you all alone
And when eye do, baby, it's on
U're gonna c me
U're gonna c me
It takes me a minute to work a couple of the larger pieces out, and there are several smaller ones I can't get to right now without tweezers. My need to get downstairs is strong, because I can feel how bad Prince is hurting.
There's never a minute that eye find
That you don't ever cross my mind
If you could just hold me tight u'd c
There is nothing harder 4 you than me
I hear his voice crack and there's a pause in the playing, I hurry to the top of the stairs to see his head hung as his fingers are still on the keys. I see his shoulders lift as he takes a breath, and his fingers start to move.
U're the reason I took a rope
& lassoed the moon
2 prove that when it comes 2 you
There's nothing that eye won't do
Eye would stare in2 the sun
If you would be mine
It's not so great a leap
Since 2 all others eye am blind
I have managed to make my way down the stairs on my battered feet, and slip in beside him on the piano bench as he croaks out the last line. He turns quickly, immediately pulling me into his arms. His eyes are filled with tears, we both cling tight to each other as he whispers, "I'm so sorry, Baby."
"You've done nothing wrong," I whisper into his ear, "Neither one of us has done anything wrong. We just need to step away for a little bit, we need to be alone. Just you and me."
He pulls away and ponders this as he stares off into space and nods. His eyes fix onto something on the stairs, and he frowns a silent question. I look back and see what he's noticed, "Oh." There's are smears of blood on the last couple steps, and more on the tile leading from the stairs to the bench.
I pull a foot up to look at the bottom and Prince gasps, "Sugar, what happened?"
"I broke a plate," I skirt the truth.
Now he really frowns with concern, as he eyes the bottom of my foot, he lowers to look at the other one, and sighs, "We've got to clean these up, come on."
Since the main floor bath is closer, he helps me hobble over before he goes upstairs to collect some tweezers, peroxide and a pair of socks. Between the two of us, we manage to get all the little shards out, although he looks at me quizzically several times as we work, he knows I'm not telling him the whole story. With some cotton socks put on to protect my feet, we leave the small bathroom and I'm lead to the elevator.
"Where did you break the plate? I go make sure it's all cleaned up, since you have an aversion to shoes," he adds in his attempt to make me laugh.
I don't laugh, but I offer a smile, "Leave it, I just want you to hold me. Will you hold me, please?"
He nods, following me into the elevator, we head upstairs for the night.
