Purple Rain: 3:46

It was 1984. Mama and I were on our way to spend some quality time together at the movies. We had originally planned to see the movie “Bambi,” but I had a master plan. My 7 year old mind did not want to see an animation about a deer; I had already had my weekly cartoon fill on Transfomers, Smurfs, and He-Man. Samantha wanted to see a grown up movie, her first, about a man in purple. He wore ruffled shirts and had big, curly hair like the ladies at the beauty shop. As mama drove, I imagined our brown Firebird to be a “Little Red Corvette.” However, unlike in the song, my mom did not drive much too fast. Looking back, she was more like “The Slow and the Curious.” We cruised to the small AMC theater tucked in the back of our local Kmart and parked in front. I had rehearsed my devious, temper tantrum scheme in case mama said no to seeing the movie. As we approached the ticket booth and saw the showtimes, she began to request two tickets to Bambi when I nervously exclaimed, “Ma, I want to see THAT movie!” I pointed to the picture of the man with an intense stare on a motorcycle shrouded in semi-darkness.

Mama replied, “That movie is rated R. So no.”

Tantrum plan now activated. I was not sure if it would work: My mama is from the deep south.

I pleaded, “Ma, please. The movie has cool songs and it is supposed to be a musickal. ” (I wrote “musickal” by how I pronounced “musical” as a vocabulary limited 1st grader)

It was true. I listened to his music on the local FM stations on my pink, cassette radio player. The radio disc jockeys played his music often as I danced with my cabbage patch dolls.

“Please mama. I will never ask for anything else again.” Lies, children do tell.

“And...you can cover my eyes on the bad parts,” I reassured her.

After a couple of minutes and people gathering behind us to purchase tickets, she sighed and relented.

Turning to the ticket operator she said, “Two tickets for Purple Rain…”

Sitting there watching the now classic film with my feet barely touching the ground, I gaped in awe as Prince hypnotized me with his music, his style, and his mannerisms. By the way, mama did take me up on my offer to cover my eyes on the “bad” parts, but I still managed to elongate my face and widen my eyes. I peered curiously through the cracks between her fingers and under her palm. During some scenes, my 2,555 day old mind was blown, but what made me forever endeared to him was the song “Purple Rain.”

It put the sweetness in my candy necklace, the smart in my Nerds, the Whoa Baby in my Hubba Bubba gum, and the staccato to my Pop Rocks. To me, back then, the movie became not just about a man with big, curly hair, but a story of triumph and overcoming bullies. Prince’s on screen bullies were Morris Day and the Time who made him doubt his talent and lose faith in himself. Since I was also being bullied, I felt a sense of victory when he sang his heart on the stage for hundreds of people who were then rendered speechless. However, the exact moment for me when many little girls say at least once in their lifetimes about their crush, “I’m going to marry him,” started at minute 3 and 46 seconds of the song.

The instrumental serenade.

As a girl, I would dance in my room in an uncoordinated modern and ballet mix. Now as an adult, I sit by the flicker of a flame, sipping on a smooth beverage, legs crossed, eyes closed and mind still. The guitar pierces me and the repetitive violin flows through me like a mesh cloth. Emotion mounts on the ledge of my bottom lids and the waterfall is released at minute 4 and 41. It does this to me everytime.

From Prince, the name, to the symbol and back to Prince, I was loyal through the “Controversy.” His music evolved through the years, and even though genres of music changed, he stayed true to himself and his art…. just like in the movie. As a teenager, I longed to wear a “Raspberry Beret," adorn not trinkets but “Diamonds and Pearls (even though they were not real),” and vowed to never name my daughter Nikki even if she was darling. And yes, I graduated college in 1999 and that song played in the gymnasium as we all danced from books to bills. Prince helped usher in my transition into adulthood.

My love affair with Prince came full circle when my sister bought us tickets to see him live in concert. I was my 7 year old self again, but this time I was “Grown and Sexy” with no temper tantrums requires.

The year: 2016. The month: March.

It was just him, his piano and a capacity crowd. He did no splits or twisting movements, but allowed the piano keys to dance for him. After several disappearances to only reappear at the sheer delight of the crowd, he ended with his song, my song, “Purple Rain.” It was his last serenade for a month later, on April 21st, doves truly did cry when he passed away at 57 years of age.

If I could think of any song that truly memorializes Prince both as my crush and his impact on the world of music, it would be…

“Nothing Compares to U.”