30
In the car ride home the next day Prince asks about my evening, but I tell him only the essentials.
“Are you going to be part of the family or what?”
“Ah, I don’t know man, we’ll see.”
Of course, the chances are slim. Kassy was on her way back to Kansas and I’m back to Johnson. We were comets just passing in the sky.
Hungover as hell with sunglasses on watching the same never ending Iowa terrain fly by, I can manage no inspiring language. It’s cloudy and I left my romantic reverie in the attic. My stomach is in terrible uneasiness and pain, and I’m overthinking everything. What a real out of body experience. Only hours ago I had been praying that the night would last forever, but now, through a thick hazy cloud of afterglow, I am forced forward and onward.
What had happened up there?
I’ve never felt like crying after sex in my life. What the hell was going on with me? Also, why do I feel so confused about everything? What kind of hungover, depressing torture have I stumbled into? There was nothing but freedom last night but today, I feel shackled. I close my eyes. This too shall pass. Goodness will return, I believe that, but for now, I am exposed. And even for this, I can’t help but judge myself harshly. God. What a fight. What is alright is not right. Phenomenal highs and the lowest of lows. On it goes.
And yet, there’s simply no denying it. As we drive home through the gloom of the now aching countryside, how I feel doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact that I had one of the most spiritual nights of my life. Heart on fire, I’m certain I had seen the face of God in that attic, all soaring and plastered and making love to a woman I probably wouldn’t hold again for years, if ever. It was beautiful, it was. Everything’s okay. I say this to myself over and over and only once does my mind drift to Rose. I have one single thought about Rose and let it go. Fuck it. My headache pounds and I take out a cigarette. Prince drives us home in agreed upon silence.