Thieves in the Temple: A Prequel to Purple Rain

CH. 17 Martial Law- Prince

Kid got his proposal ready, written in his best cursive for Monday morning. He decided not to speak to Mona at all when he got to school. He would put the paper in her hand and walk away.

He stood at the gate waiting for Mrs. Cox to drop her off. The bell would ring in two minutes. Where are they?

The bell rang and Kid stood waiting for another ten minutes. The assistant principal was late to school too. He parked his car in the staff lot. Most students would start running to class seeing the assistant principal coming but Kid did not budge. "Get to class, Smith!"

Kid woke from his nightmare. She is never coming back to this school because of me.

Kid did not want Mona to see him coming so he snuck by her homeroom class to see if she got by him but she was not there. All day, he went to her classes at the beginning and end to see if he found her. He hung around Morris at lunch as usual. Kid stood at Mona's locker. Should he slip it in? What if she never came back? It's true. The Coxes left Minnesota.  There was no band rehearsal at Morris's house this Monday. Sunny Day said Morris couldn't have company because of the C he "earned" in Math. It would be a long lonely walk to Clinton.

Kid heard James Brown hiccupping as he dragged his feet up the stairs. Francis had finished his lunch and sat on the couch trying to squeeze a little bit of joy out life before he got back in the cab. "Come here boy, listen to this." He waved Kid over. Kid was aching to call Mona, but he knew never to defy Francis. "Listen to that! On the one, Boy! The one!" Francis was in an unusually good mood considering all that happened Friday night. A bandage covered his right eyebrow. He didn't smell like alcohol. Why is he telling me something I already know? "You got it, Boy? You always have to hit it on the one!" Francis opened his eyes from grooving.

"Yeah, I got it. I gotta pee."

Kid snuck around the corner to the kitchen. He grabbed the yellow receiver off the wall and dialed Mona's phone number. What would he say if Mrs. Cox answered? He decided to hang up if Burt answered. No one answered after three rings.

"Do you hear those horns, Boy?!" Francis called.

"Yeah," he called back over six more rings. Kid imagined the worse again.

"Come here, Kid. I want to tell you something."

Kid hung up the yellow receiver back to the wall. He dragged his feet back to the living room where Francis was turning the James Brown record over.

"Did I ever tell you the story of what happened when James Brown was born?" Francis had told this story a thousand times but Kid knew he had to listen to it again.

"James Brown was born in South Carolina. Lots of people think he was born in Macon, Georgia but he wasn't," Francis looked at him as if he was giving him some top secret information no one else was privy to. "His mother's belly was low and pointy so everybody knew he would be a boy. He was one week late and had a veil over his face. The night James was born, it was clear night. No storm coming or anything. But people say that as his mother was giving birth to him there was an earthquake in South Carolina. Everybody in town woke out of their sleep from the loud rumbling. Pictures fell off of folks' walls! Some people say it was a freight train because they want to deny the mystical power of his birth. Believers... believers knew that the child would be something special because the earthquake happened. And sure enough, look what James turned out to be; a revolutionary!"

Why Francis worshiped James Brown so much was a mystery. Francis never listened to or played rhythm and blues or soul. He only owned jazz records. The only records he had with anyone singing on them were James Brown. It was plain weird that Francis believed this earthquake story. Even if it was true, it had nothing to do with James Brown's undeniable talent. Kid could not see any way he was like his father, even a little bit, except this one fact; they both loved James Brown.

"This dude gave me a twenty dollar tip today in the cab after I told him that story," Francis revealed the reason for his unusual glee.

Kid sat next to Francis, both of their buttocks barely sitting on the edge of the sofa. They patted their thighs to the beat flat handed and stomped on the floor as one human instrument.

The phone rang. Kid tripped his way back into the kitchen, "Mona?" he answered. It was not Mona. The Minneapolis Metropolitan Police picked up Juanita for public drunkenness.  Kid handed Francis the phone and backed to the furthest end of the kitchen. Francis' temper was quick and unpredictable. He calmly answered the police officer's questions with direct yeses and no's- no variation or panic- simple. 

When he hung up, he looked at Kid with apologetic eyes. They apologized that his good mood was ruined for the night. They apologized that he did not make enough money driving a cab to support his family. They apologized that he had no control over his liquor-stewed wife. He apologized that eventually, Juanita's bad behavior would be taken out on Kid-eventually.

"They'll let her out in the morning. I'm going to work," Francis said as he slunk his arms into his jacket. He left two dollars on the table. "Go get something to eat." 

Kid was glad Francis did not have to go get Juanita until morning. Both of them would be sober in the morning. Francis never drank much except with Juanita. He could not hold his liquor without vomiting. Drinking was not fun unless he did it with Juanita and he only drank because she asked. Francis found it hard to deny her anything when she was in a romantic mood.

Juanita would always have as many drinks as she could once she got started.  But Francis pretended to believe her when she promised to only drink one. Then she'd promise only two. Juanita was more fun and at ease after the first and the second drink. She didn't nitpick over things that did not matter like which way the towels faced in the linen closet.  But the third drink on made her into an obnoxious bitch who Kid refused to call, "Mom." Juanita became insulting and loose. Francis fooled himself into believing if he drank with her, the warmth of liquor cascading through his chest would shield his heart from the sting of her sharp opinions. Her favorite drink, Hennessey was a cruel truth serum. She missed her family in Mexico, she wanted to be a dancer, she hated the cold winters in Minneapolis, she was not meant to work every day and her unhappiness was entirely, unequivocally, with out a shadow of a doubt, Francis' fault.

Kid wondered what kind of fool she had made of herself today. Did she pee in an alley? Did she vomit on the sidewalk? Did she ask a stranger to take her home? Did she beg the man at the liquor store to extend her credit? Maybe she fell down in the street and skinned her knee, tore her stockings. Or maybe she got in a fight accusing some woman of wanting Francis. "My husband used to be a big musician in this town!" she'd tell everybody at the bar. Whatever she did, somebody saw it. These were the times Kid wished he could disappear. Why did God let him be born to these two people?