When leaving the nursing home, I usually have the music cranked up in my car, disappearing to the beat, singing at the top of my lungs trying hard to shake off emotion before returning home to be "mommy". Today we met with Hospice and leaving, I just wasn't in the mood. I drove in silence for a long time, finally turning in to the drugstore parking lot and running in for a pack of cigarettes.
Yea. I did. Shh.
Rushing back out to the car a certain level of defeat washed over me from having caved in; resigned to say "fuck it" and allow myself the crutch for the time being, I started the car. When I pulled up to the stop sign to exit the parking lot, I decided a little Prince was what I needed to make these gray skies blue, so I hit CD on my stereo, the disk having already been in there from last nights karaoke car ride. As the music kicked to life, a man rolled up to my left on a motorcycle, stopped, smiled, and waved for me to enter, giving me plenty of space to ease into the line of waiting traffic at the light. And Zeus strike me down for lying, he looked like an absolute carbon copy of Prince himself.
I drove back to work jamming out and strangely enough, every left and right turn Prince made with me, all the fucking way back, he was either in my rear or side view mirrors, I shit you NOT, my rock fucking star escort.
So gonna bust out a beret when I get home.
I only wish it were raspberry.