Sally Huggins Toner

One thing is for sure. Ashburn ain’t Lake Minnetonka.

But this week, I managed to purify myself with a little joy.

There are a million odes written to Prince. I opened the latest poetry collection I bought just this morning and immediately turned to one. He will always be the most brilliant of musicians, the most amazing of performers, the most iconic of artists. That I never disputed. I’ve always said that there are two musicians who will make me move no matter where I am—Aretha Franklin and Prince. When he left us, I mourned the person, the talent lost, and I mourned the fact that I missed the chance to see him in concert. (Aretha I managed to see twice, both times with my daughters—something I will always treasure.)

But I never saw Tom Petty. And I never saw Prince. My friend Anu, though, had the chance to see him four times: New York, San Francisco (same tour), D.C., and Vegas. So when my other dear friend Marianne said there was a watch party of Purple Rain at the Alamo on Monday, I knew immediately who to text. I wanted to see Prince through Anu’s eyes.

I get it, being in the zone. There is this video of Prince that went viral shortly after his death. It’s footage of him after a sound check in Japan, and he’s sitting at the piano, taking a few minutes for himself at the instrument. Something like fifteen minutes of improvised jazz, quiet funk, reflection. Yes, he knew someone was recording him. Still, I’m convinced that at some point, he forgot and fell into the chords. I’m familiar with that look on his face. I’ve always said that some of my best playing is done when my Vose and Sons and I have alone time…just the two of us in the living room on Sunday just before lunch, working on a ballad or maybe just running through a progression of triads. That’s what Prince is doing (obviously at that sublime level only he could achieve). But those moments aren’t about skill. Those moments are about that smile, that calm—the, dare I say it, purity, of doing what you love.

Anu loves Prince.

The Alamo watch parties are super fun. There are props. This one had tambourines, glow sticks, blow up guitars. Anu was all about having the right glow stick for the right moment in the film. She inflated her guitar, and the lights went down. After a while, she was in the zone, mouthing the lyrics, pumping her arms, grinning wide, grinning that grin that spreads like a virus across the row.

Granted, the film feeds right into the zone. Apollonia, “The Kid’s” love interest in the film, spends a good deal of time staring, gobsmacked by his artistry and his passion, viscerally paralyzed by the performance, the “zone” he puts her in. I found myself in that same place, having forgotten what a guitarist he was—that charisma that leaves us all unaware of the popcorn and the glow sticks.

It was a party; we danced, we whooped, we yawped. What I enjoyed the most, though, was that smile on Anu’s face at points during the film. The same smile on Prince’s face in Japan. The same smile I feel on my own at the piano on a Sunday afternoon.

I may not move like Prince (or Jagger, or anyone with any physical coordination, for that matter). I may not play like him (definitely not), but I know that smile. I know that joy.

And it’s a blessing.