Under the Elms

Rhapsody

Finally back under the glass pyramids in the atrium of Paisley Park, Prince pulled Sofia in for a quick kiss on her temple. ‘I’m going to finalize some things in my office. You okay on your own for awhile? You can come sit in the office, but you’ll be bored.’

‘There are a couple of things I need to do as well,’ Sofia smiled, touched the end of Prince’s nose playfully and continued. ‘Just be sure and find me later. ‘

‘You can count on that,’ he growled sexily while running a hand along her side, once again memorizing the curves he loved, before walking toward the stairs with the swagger of a man who had it all. Sofia loved watching that swagger, whether it was headed toward or away from her. I hope the swagger I’m seeing really reflects his feelings on this oh, so special day. If I could swagger like that, I would. Who am I kidding, if I could levitate I would; my heart is that full.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Finishing his list for his meeting the next day, Prince walked out of his office. He had been irritated by music intruding on his activities, frequently distracting him. He finally figured out it was leaking faintly through the closed door to his office. I wonder what she’s been up to? Has that radio been bothering her too, or did she turn it on? He stopped short, hearing beautiful piano music wafting up from the atrium. How did she put the stereo on? I never showed her how to do that. He started down the stairs, listening intently, trying to identify the composition he was hearing. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Maybe she figured out how to plug in her music player?

Rounding the bottom of the stairs, he realized it wasn't a recording. Sofia sat at the custom painted Beautiful grand piano in the atrium, still in her coat, eyes closed, fingers dancing on the keys. She had carelessly thrown her white gloves on top of the piano. They reminded him of little mounds of snow on a purple tinged frozen lake at sunset. He stood still and closed his eyes in communion with her, taking a moment to let the music flood through him. Like all great music, it fed his soul, giving him more sustenance and energy than food ever could. He didn’t move until the music ended, listening intently, feeling the vibrations of the notes as they rang through the air, then decayed into memories he stored to listen to later.

When the song ended, Sofia sat for a moment, the smile never leaving her face. Her eyes opened, and she saw Prince standing at the other end of the piano, eyes closed, a matching smile on his face.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed softly. She was partially embarrassed and partially pleased that he had heard part of her performance. There were always moments she wished she could take back and replay, but she had come to terms with the fact that she would never achieve the perfection she secretly desired. That didn’t stop her from reaching for it, however.

Prince opened his eyes, walking toward the piano bench, the smile never leaving his face. ‘That was beautiful. When did you learn to play like that? Wasn’t that Rachmaninoff?’

‘Yes, it’s Rachmaninoff; his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. In the summer of 1994, I decided I needed something new to focus on. I was introduced to a retired concert pianist, who agreed to give me lessons. I still study with her. This was one of the first pieces I successfully memorized. You may not remember, but one of the movies we watched together 'back in the day'-Prince smiled at her air quotes-'was ‘Somewhere in Time’. I loved that soundtrack, and I was determined to learn how to play this. Most days I play an hour after school, either at school or at home, to work off the stress of the day. I hadn’t played for almost a week; it was wearing on me.’

‘You didn't ask me,’ Prince huffed. He was suddenly irritated that his bride-to-be had kept something from him that he could have done for her. He needed her to understand he wanted to meet her every need, wish, desire, if he was able; but she had to ask him. ‘You could have used their studio, or we could have rented a piano for the week we were there. Frankly, I was surprised there wasn't a piano in the living room. There usually is, in the home of a musician.’