A Prince's Tale

Chapter Six

July 7th

He brushes his hair into place and eyes his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His brows crinkle as he struggles to find a way to rearrange the permanent downturn of his lips – something he’s noticed has happened since the day...

Anyway.

The door opens and another cousin comes sauntering in with a soft apology. There’s no real privacy here since so many of them have to share the bathroom. So it’s pretty much been dealing with whose turn is next, or who the hell has my shaving razor, or missing combs and hair brushes, a dizzying array of colognes and soaps that assail the senses , and three people trying to brush their teeth at the same time while another is in the shower screaming for them to get the hell out. Despite the organized chaos, there is still a somber tone in the air; a realization that today is going to be the first of many painful reminders of just who they’ve lost. Everyone seems to move about on autopilot; forcing smiles on their faces or simply going about their daily activities as if nothing really that grand was to take place. It’s a desperate attempt for normalcy in a situation that’s anything but.

Last night was not easy for him. He hadn’t cried as he had assumed he would, but he hadn’t slept much either. Paris’s decision to visit Forest Lawn with Aunt LaToya yesterday was something he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Even though he had been asked to go, he had declined politely – refusing to allow himself to deal with the idea of seeing the casket...

(where your father will remain for the rest of his life)

...without wanting to scream. Just seeing her tear-streaked face alone when they returned almost did him in.

How the hell was he going to survive today then?

“You ready, Prince? We gotta go downstairs,” Jaafar announces with a stick of his head into the steam-clogged room. Like his cousin, he is dressed in an all black ensemble – a nice new suit specially made for them. The yellow tie is a nice touch, but unlike the older men in the family, the young ones can’t wear the yellow or red roses attached to their suits. Something about it being a little too tacky for the kids.

Wiping his suddenly damp palms down his thighs, he takes a deep breath and leaves the room, following Jaafar and Auggie who is engaged in conversation with Siggy over something about their girlfriends. He wants to tell them to shut up about such trivial matters; that worrying over something as stupid as why his girl didn’t text him back last night, even though she’s downstairs waiting, should really be the least of their worries. However, he bites his tongue and keeps his dark thoughts to himself...only for them to return with a vengeance as he notices Omer. Their ‘surrogate brother’ is sitting with Blanket by the living room; helping him fix the shirt of that damn doll of Daddy he keeps carrying about. When Omer looks up to notice his presence, he desperately tries to muster a smile, but he can’t do it. He hates himself for feeling this way, but deep down...he knows it’s a feeling of bitterness that will never really go away. He’s seen the seemingly thousands of pictures Omer has taken with his father over the years. He knows of all the places they’ve traveled to together, all the fun they had, all the amazing, fantastic things that he will never get to do with his father. Omer had all the luck and he’s not even a real son. How unfair was that? He had thought of voicing this thought to Paris when it hit him a few days ago, but he said nothing, preferring – yet again – to keep such horrible thoughts from his mind.

“You okay, man?” Omer asks gently, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses as he gets up to hug him gently. He realizes – with smug satisfaction - that he’s now as tall as Omer...if not slightly taller. At least he can take comfort in the fact that he got that trait from his father if nothing else. However, he releases himself quickly to walk away from the crowded lobby, wondering if he can speak to any of his uncles. Hanging around the older kid – with his current train of thought – was not really such a good idea at this time.

As he hunts for the elusive group, he is more than aware that his Uncle Jermaine’s been busying practicing the song ‘Smile’- a favorite of his father’s – for the memorial service today. And even though he sings in his bedroom with the door closed, he’s overheard the soft sobs that accompany the song. If he can’t even finish the song during rehearsals...how is he expected to do a good job during the memorial? How he wishes he could give his uncle some good luck vibes...a hug or something, but his steps falter as he finally notices the brothers and his grandfather in the kitchen area, talking softly amongst themselves – something about the casket being brought to the Center.

No...please no, his mind screams; hands balling into tight fists as he bites his lower lip hard. Why would they do that? He wants to run into the room; to tell them to stop the idea, but as he watches them each slip on a single white sequined glove, in honor of their brother, he is surprised to hear his Uncle Tito choke out sadly;

“And I used to make fun of him about this...told him this thing wouldn’t work...that it was all one big joke...” His gruff voice quivers and he finally breaks down – an uncharacteristic sight as older brother Jackie engulfs him in a tight hug.

Having seen enough, he backs away slowly even though a memory comes flashing to mind; making his eyes sting with unshed tears. How old was he then? Five? Six?

“What’s this, Daddy?”
“It’s a glove, apple head.”
“It’s a funny looking glove. It’s all shiny...where’s the other one?”
Soft chuckle. “There is no other one. It’s just this one. I wear it to dance on stage.”
“Cooooool. Can I wear it?”
“Sure.”
“It’s too big, Daddy!”
“Yes, it is, honey, but you look pretty cool in it.”
“I do?”
“Yup!”
“Does this mean I can dance like you now, Daddy?”
“Hmm...well...maybe. I know it’s got magic powers.”
“It does?!”
“Yeah! It makes you wanna dance really well when the music starts playing.”
“No way! Put on the music then, Daddy.”
“Which one do you want to hear?”
“Hmm...Barney!”
“Barney? You want to dance to...Barney with that glove?”
“Yeah...”
Laughter. Such beautiful laughter. “All right, Prince. Barney it is...hold on...let me find the video...”

“Prince? Prince?!”

He starts at the sound of his name, blinking rapidly as Paris’s bemused features come into focus. She looks pretty in her dress and flats, but her eyes look too shiny...too wide...too frightened despite her attempts to be strong today.

“Are you okay?” she asks tenderly, clutching tightly on the purse even though he notices her hands are trembling a little. “They want us to start going outside...”

Before she can finish, he pulls her into a hug; a tight one that she reciprocates without saying a word. He squeezes his eyes shut to block out the flashback he just had, wanting to seep his warmth into his oh-so-cold sister as they both realize that the moment of truth has finally arrived.

“Hang in there, Princess,” he whispers into her ear – using his father’s term of endearment - before placing a hard kiss on her temple. “Hang in there.”

Everything is going to be just fine.

__


He now wishes he had given himself that pep-talk.

So far, the morning has been a blur for him. From the quick service, at Forest Lawn, to now sitting in the Staples Center - mere inches away from a casket containing the body of his father - it’s all he can do to keep his emotions in check. He knows the eyes of the world are watching, so at the suggestion of his grandfather, the gum in his mouth is a welcome distraction from the events surrounding him. The speeches are touching...the songs are inspiring...the pictures of his father on that massive screen...like a towering figure hovering over them...

Hang in there.

Everything was going well...at least it was...until his uncles had walked out with the casket. It was eerie...the sudden numbness – like a veil of ice – that fell upon him at that very moment. For some reason, his mind warped itself into believing that it was nothing more than a decoration; a lovely gold box with a beautiful bouquet of flowers on it. He refused...absolutely refused to believe that his father’s body was in there...that he just couldn’t walk up there, push the flowers aside, yank open the box and scream into his father’s face that the joke was over and he really did have to wake up and realize that people were making such a big deal over nothing.

Hang in there.

He chews harder on his gum and looks at the booklet and tries to read through all the farewells from family and friends. He enjoys the funny stories about his father’s love for KFC, about his relationship with Ms. Brooke (he thinks she’s quite pretty...and a little...just a little bit of him wishes that she and his father had maintained their so-called friendship over the years...but that’s a little too late to think about and he brushes it aside). Surprisingly, Uncle Jermaine does rather well when his turn comes up, and even though it’s an emotional performance, he feels nothing but pride that his uncle was finally able to get through the whole thing without becoming a blubbering mess. He smiles at Mr. Gordy’s stories about his father as a kid; basks in the glow of the montage showing just how popular his father was to the world, and relishes in the knowledge that he had left an indelible legacy behind.

Soon enough it’s Jennifer Hudson’s turn to come onto the stage. Her performance? One of Paris’s favorite songs.

“Hold me...like a river of Jordan...and I will then say to thee...you are my friend...”

His grip on the booklet tightens as the lyrics seem to take on a whole new meaning. Mixed emotions of intense grief and anger fill his heart and he has to gnaw on his lips to control himself.

Where were you when he needed you? Where were you when he needed you? Where were all of you when he needed you? Why couldn’t any of you stop him before it was too late? Why did I have to be the one to do everything? Why couldn’t you save Daddy when he needed you the most?

“In my darkest hour...”

Daddy’s voice. Oh God...

“In my deepest despair...”

Hang in there.

“Will you still care? Will you be there?”

Hang in there.

“In my trials...and my tribulations...through our doubts...and our frustrations...”

Ha...hang...hang in there...

“In my violence...in my turbulence...through my fear...and my confessions...”

Please...don’t cry next to me, Blanket. Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit

“In my anguish...and my pain...through my joy and my sorrow...in the promise of another tomorrow...”

Oh God...Paris...grandma....grandpa....please don’t...don’t....

“I’ll never let you part...”

My dear sweet, apple head.

“For you’re always...in my heart.”

He grits his teeth so hard he can hear them grinding in protest, but it’s not enough. They come anyway – silent, hot and fast - and he sincerely hopes to God that the cameras are not watching him right now. He barely feels the gentle squeeze of his shoulder from Grandpa, or the fact that Blanket’s sniffles are buried against Grandma’s chest.

It’s not fair, his mind wails in anguish s as he lowers his head and struggles to control himself. It’s so, so, so not fair.

__


But it’s a damn good thing Rev. Al Sharpton’s speech made him feel a little better. After that rousing tribute to his father, he’s sure he clapped the hardest as they all rose to their feet. He would have loved to hug the man, but he remained in his seat, not sure if it was proper enough to do so.

“Why don’t you go up there and sing with them?” Grandma Katherine whispers as ‘Heal the World’ is being performed.

Really? Go up there and sing when he doesn’t really feel like it? However, before he can muster up a ‘no’ to deny the request, Paris is already marching up there, with determination on her face which prompts him to reluctantly follow suit with a bewildered Blanket in tow. He tries his best to sing along – squeezing himself between Judith and some of the other backup dancers and singers from a tour that was never meant to be. He has no clue who these kids are anyway, but he feels awkward and self-conscious suddenly being thrust in the spotlight.

It’s their unofficial ‘coming out’ party, and he can feel the, seemingly, millions of eyes all trained on him...them. Paris, bless her dear heart, is singing with her all – her beautiful voice blending in with the others as she holds on to Blanket and tries to get him to participate. The poor guy hardly knows the words to the song, but he is more than content to stick to his sister’s legs like glue, while clutching that doll and booklet like lifelines.

When the song finally comes to an end, he gives an inner sigh of relief, but his ordeal is far from over as his uncles and aunts come onto the stage and Paris - sometimes he has to wonder what possess her in moments like these - whispers to her aunt that she wants to say something once Uncle Marlon is done with his eulogy.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” she replies, her trembling returning with a vengeance even though, like the trooper she is, she refuses to give in. “I won’t take long...I just want to say something about Daddy.”

“All right, honey...I’ll let your uncle Marlon know.”

He watches – with mild envy and yet dull pride at his sister taking the microphone, and even though a part of him wishes he could be the one doing such a thing, he feels it’s her time to shine...her moment to say what the world needs to hear about the man they all knew and loved. He holds on to his Auntie Janet, holding his breath...perhaps wishing he could transfer some of his strength to his sister as her tremulous voice echoes around the large arena. The world seems to hold its pregnant breath as she begins to speak.

“I...I just wanted to say...ever since I was born...Daddy has been the best father you can ever imagine...and I just wanted to say I love him...so much...”

She cannot finish and simply crumples into her Aunt’s arms; her grief too much for her, or anyone else for that matter, to bear. Her tears wound him...stab him deep inside and before the tears can break free (to embarrass him before the whole world much to his horror), his Uncle Jackie’s strong embrace is just the thing he needs at this time.

As they finally make their way off the stage, he realizes it’s all over...at least the first half is. To tell the truth, he is already emotionally drained; not sure he has anymore to give at this point. He knows this is just a memorial service...celebration...whatever...but what’s worse is when the time comes to really say his final goodbyes.

The funeral.

He is not sure he’ll be ready. He doubts he’ll ever be ready, but until that day comes, he knows he’s just got to keep....

....hanging in there.