Dear Prince,

Thanks so much for last night. I’ve written before about you. I wrote about the time that we first were breathing the same air, when I was just sixteen, and you were twenty-six. You’re ten years older than me, and we almost have the same birthday, did you know that? (We’re also both short, and I know that doesn’t seem like much to base love on but think it over.) I wrote about what I learned after the second time I saw you. That was eleven years ago, and we were both older, and wiser, and I don’t know about you, but even if we had really discovered each other then, I know now it would have been my kids I stayed for. My husband isn’t really a barrier to us going to Bermuda or anything. We have a Prince/Parker Posey clause in our marriage. I won’t stand between him and Parker if she’s into it, and he understands that if you want to swing by to pick me up, I’ll be in the back of your limo faster than the amount of time it takes him to think of another reason why he hasn’t installed the soaker hoses in the backyard, and trust me, he’s really good at that. We’ve agreed that should this be what you and Parker want, we won’t stand in each others way, in fact last night as he dropped me off for your concert, he said “If you’re going to be gone longer than a week, let me know.” (For the record though, since we intend on returning to this marriage after Bermuda, if you would bring Parker with you when you come for me, I think that would be easier for him to take. Equity and all that. You get it.)  Anyway, it didn’t happen that night, and that was probably best. I had a ton of laundry to do anyway.

Five years ago we got another chance. I was in row 17 with my sister, and though that was the closest we’d ever been to each other, It wasn’t close enough for us to connect. It’s not your fault. There were 14 000 other people there. Those are crappy odds – I do appreciate the fact that you smiled right at me. Well, me and the several other hundred people standing near me. I know what it was about though. It was a “Hey, nice to see you again, it’s been awhile” kinda smile. I smiled back. I think you saw me.

Last night though, last night was something, and I think we both know it. Erin and I somehow managed to get tickets to see you, and let me tell you, i knew right away that it was going to be different. First of all the venue only held 3000 people, and I know that considering that you can fill a way bigger space, you chose that because you were looking to improve our odds. Erin and I showed up, clutching our tickets, and lined up with the rest of those people who came and honest to gosh, we didn’t realize we had front row tickets until we sat down. There was just those people in “The Pit” between us, and I think you’ll understand what I’m saying when I point out that there’s no point in a person who’s as short as we are standing in the pit. Am I right?

Then you came out on stage, and you were right there, and you did a great job. I mean that. You look great. I really liked that shirt you were wearing. (I was wearing this great shirt that I got at the Port Townsend Goodwill for $2.)  You sang and danced and Erin and I talked after about how amazing it is that your band is mostly women, because they’re so under-represented in the industry, but you’ve always been cool that way. Anyway, what I really want to talk about is that moment. There was a few times actually, where you looked right at me – Erin thinks maybe you looked at her, but I think it’s just that we were standing together, and we are sisters, and do look a little alike. It was right then, when you looked me in the eyes as you sang “I don’t care where we go, I don’t care what we do” that I knew.  We made eye contact, and you smiled, and I smiled, and then you looked at some other people so that they didn’t feel left out, which was so sensitive of you.  You looked right at me, and I knew everything.

I knew that I’m 46, and you’re 56, and that now that we’ve seen each other, and looked into each others souls, and then we went home separately, that it’s because that’s what we really want. We couldn’t live together. We both know it, now that we’re both old enough to look past all the glitter.  I couldn’t be in your band, and you don’t know how to knit, and even though it would be really neat to be with someone where I don’t have to stand on a chair to gaze into their eyes, I get the feeling you’re yarn ambivalent, and you can’t build a life like that, and we both know it.  It was a beautiful moment, knowing we’d finally found each other really, and that now we’re not together because in our maturity, we choose it.  Thanks man. Thanks for everything.

Stephanie

(PS. None of this rules out the part about Bahamas, if you ever want to go.)