April 21 was a day I will never forget. Until the day I die I will never get over how tight my chest felt at the sounds coming through that telephone line. How helpless I felt, how I simply didn't have a clue what to do for someone so far away, but so clearly in desperate need. John had been my only real option, the only person I knew there that would take me seriously or that would possibly truly care about what was happening. And I was right. John had been quick to act, quick to thank me for the call, quick to try to calm me and quick to get off the phone. I had done all I could do, but still as I sat there surrounded by the silence of my apartment I wasn't able to ease that tightness in my chest.

I had paced my apartment for the next few hours. All the worst possible scenarios running through my mind while I waited. I don't know exactly what I was waiting for, but I waited. Maybe part of me thought he'd call, tell me everything was alright, that he was fine. Or perhaps I thought John would call with an update, something to put my mind at ease. Instead I was met with silence from his part of the world. Hours later I found myself sitting on the couch running the events of the evening through my head. The images my mind concocted about what was really happening with him and around him grew increasingly worse the longer I was left to my own devices. And I was most certainly left to my own devices.

The next morning I woke with swollen eyes and a shattered heart. The radio, new channels, the internet, I checked them all and nowhere was there even the slightest mention of Prince. No news was good news and I told myself he was fine and I'd be hearing from him in no time. A quick hello on instant messenger, or an email or maybe even a phone call. Anything to tell me he was ok, but as the days passed the less certain I was that I would ever hear from him. I busied myself with classes and work and going out to the bar with my roommate and her friends, but he was a constant worry in my mind.

Eleven days after the incident I found myself sitting at my computer aimlessly meandering through the internet looking for chat rooms to jump into. I'd grown tired of my friends asking me what was wrong and had decided to lock myself away for a few days while I tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

SixStringGuy: Hello Sydney.

With a quiet hiccup my breath caught in my throat as the message popped up on my screen. The last time we spoke it sounded like he was barely breathing and now here he was online, throwing a casual hello in my direction. With a deep breath I leaned back in the chair and felt my fingertips caress the black, plastic keys in front of me.

Grumpybluebear: hello yourself. It's been a while.

SixStringGuy: I'm sorry for that. I've had a lot of things going on.

Frowning at the screen I was at a complete loss for words. "So is this how it's gonna be?" I asked my empty room out loud. In a split second I decided if he was going to pretend like nothing happened, I sure as hell wasn't going to let him. 

Grumpybluebear: A lot going on huh?

SixStringGuy: Yes, a lot going on. I do have a record that I'm finishing and planning to put out all on my own. You could say that takes a little attention and time.

Grumpybluebear: And I'm sure it does. Don't get your panties in a twist I'm not suggesting your not a busy guy.

SixStringGuy: Ok then. What have you been keeping yourself busy with?

Grumpybluebear: Keeping myself busy with?

SixStringGuy: Yeah. You know, other than missing me being there with you ;)

Cocking my eyebrow at the screen I settled comfortably into my conviction that I was owed an explanation about what happened. About why I'd not heard from him until now. I was not going to let him ignore this topic.

Grumpybluebear: what happened last time we talked Prince?

SixStringGuy: I thought you liked calling me Jamie ;)

Grumpybluebear: I'm being serious

SixStringGuy: So am I mama.

Grumpybluebear: Stop it. I want to know what happened.

Anger crept into me as I waited for him to respond. For him to a finally open up to me. 

SixStringGuy: What are you talking about? Last I can see in here it looks like we had a short conversation about how I wanted to talk to you.

Grumpybluebear: you don't remember calling me after that? You don't remember any of it?!!

SixStringGuy: remember what Sydney? What is it you think I did?

My fingers hit the keys with the strength of the scream I felt pulsing in my blood. How could he not remember talking to me? He was oblivious while every time I lay down to sleep My mind replays the gurgling, strangling noises that came through my phone that night.

Grumpybluebear: You called me Prince and we talked for a little while. But not too long after our conversation started it ended, abruptly. It sounded like the phone fell or something and you wouldn't answer me. I yelled for you, but all I heard were noises! The most horrendous noises I've ever heard.

SixStringGuy: Sydney what? I don't remember talking to you.

Grumpybluebear: I finally gave up screaming for you and called John. I told him something was wrong and you needed him. Nearly two fucking weeks Prince and now I hear from you? Now you want to act like nothing happened?

Tears streamed down my face as I mentally relived the events of that night. All the worry and concern. All the stress I've been living in wondering if he was ok. All exacerbated by the fact that he had been living his life not even knowing I was agonizing over this.

SixStringGuy: Sydney I don't remember talking to you. I'm sorry I haven't talked to you until now. I'm very sorry.

Grumpybluebear: I've been worried sick about you. I've tried to call and you never answered   You've kept me completely in the dark.

SixStringGuy: I never meant to keep you in the dark or hurt you. I am truly sorry Sydney. I love you and I would never want you to worry about me like this.

I could nearly hear his voice in my head as I read through this words. They were very him, there was no denying the honesty I saw in his words, but if he didn't remember talking to me . . .

Grumpybluebear: if you don't remember talking to me then what do you remember? Did you just wake up the next day and assume you were fine? Did someone come to help? What happened?

There was a long pause. Much longer than it needed to be for the response I got.

SixStringGuy: I woke up in the hospital and she told me she found me. That we had been on the phone, making up, and she could tell there was something wrong so she came looking for me and got me help.

If felt as though all the air was sucked out of the room. As I read his words over and over I found I had no real response for him. She had told him that version of things which he seemed to readily believe, and John apparently never corrected. I couldn't even think of a single word to say to him so I did the only thing I could think to do and logged off.

Tears streaming down my cheeks and anger raging through my mind I jolted up from my computer, pacing through the small, confining space of my bedroom.  "She knew something was wrong?" mumbling the accusatory question between deep breaths, "crazy bitch wouldn't know there was something wrong with him even if it happened right in front of her." Flinging my bedroom door open it crashed thunderously against the wall as I stormed out of my room and into the greater expanse of the living room. The trill of the phone was cold against my ears as I had expected it to be. Pulling the receiving to my ear with a second thought for calming myself.

"Sydney, I'm sorry." his soft voice rang in my ears, the mere sound of his baritone, alive and well, threatening to make me right there on the spot. I instantly wanted to curl up in voice, to just listen to him talk, to feel the warmth of his words flow through the line, wrapping around me like the arms I'd missed so much.

"Why didn't you even answer when I called!?" my voice was filled with rage in my head, but as the words tumbled over my lips they sounds less like as enraged lover and more like that of a lost and terrified child. I needed him in that moment, I needed every piece of him I could have in that moment.

"Sydney, let me explain everything. I want to explain everything, but first you need to sit down and take a deep breath.  I can hear you pacing. Just take a deep breath and calm down a little. Please sweetheart." Throwing a quick glare at the phone I sat begrudgingly on the couch and drew a few deep ragged breathes.

"Fine. I'm sitting."

"Sydney, I, that night, um," that normally soft, eloquent voice tumbled over itself trying to search out the words that felt right or sounded best, "I made a mistake. I'd had this horrible headache for a few days and it just wouldn't go away.  I'd taken some medication, and it seems I forgot to space out the doses that day, I. . ."

"You overdosed?"

"Technically. Yes, that's what happened. I do not remember talking to you on the phone and I'm sorry. I cant begin to tell you how sorry I am you were a part of that. I'm sorry for whatever you, heard," his soft trembling voice cracking just the slightest as he uttered that word, "I'm so incredibly sorry." The phone filled with the sound of deep breaths coming from both ends as we steadied ourselves.

"I called John and told him you were at Paisley Park and you needed help." my voice came through just above a whisper. "Maybe she did find you, maybe she could. . ."

"Neither you or me believe that" the smallest, self deprecating laugh came through the phone and I couldn't help but mirror it slightly.

"You're fine now? You're not hurt?" I whispered into the phone as if speaking it any louder would made him vanish.

"I'm fine Sydney. In fact I'm perfect now that I'm talking to you."

"But. . ."

"No, not right now. Let me just tell you how much I love you and miss you. Let me just be with you on this phone right now and we can talk about the rest of it later. I promise, just let me love you right now." And those were the words that caressed my lonely soul and broke down my walls that night.