The Beautiful Ones

Prince died today. I feel overcome with an unexpectedly profound sadness and can't seem to stop crying. I have never been so sad at the death of someone that I did not know. When I started crying 45 minutes ago I tried to distract myself from the sadness, and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Mike came in to say goodbye and rubbed my back while I cried.

"I'm an idiot," I said.

"No you aren't" he said.

I'm not an idiot. I'm just heartbroken. I have a tendency to mistake my own heartbreak for stupidity.

When I think about what Prince meant to me, I just have memories. Like how my Dad loved "Diamonds and Pearls," and played it over and over back when my parents first got a CD player. About dancing to "1999" at the Senior All Night Party in the gym at Southfield High School. About listening to "Pink Cashmere" on repeat on the plane home from France. About how the soundtrack to "Girl 6" and "Batman" are the best parts of those movies. About listening to Purple Rain in its entirety on an overnight bus in Ecuador. About sitting around a table at a bar with friends when "Little Red Corvette" came on and we stopped talking and sang it. How there are too many memories associated with "Erotic City" to single one out to mention here. And about standing at a bar in Detroit with a tall firefighter who confidently, knowingly asserted that "The Beautiful Ones" is Prince's greatest song.

There are countless ways to categorize people. Some people are Prince people. I am a Prince person. When I think back on the people I've known in my life, the people I've loved the most who have loved me the most in return - my family, my closest friends, my most beloved - we are all Prince people. The Prince people are my people.

So while I did not know Prince Rogers Nelson, in some strange way he must have known me. At least a little bit.

The beautiful ones always smash the picture, always, every time.

His Purple Majesty