Michael and Me

The American Leg

(a/n: the song above is just the one I was listening to while I was writing this chapter. Enjoy!!)

Michael and I shoot up towards the sky in our private jet, separate from the rest of the family. Michael requested we have our own space the entirety of our stay.

First stop is Kansas City:

July 16, 1984:

We sit on our hotel bed, while Michael's putting on his black sequin jacket and white glove. A waiter comes up with a glass of orange juice for me.

"Break a leg," I whisper to Michael, as he kisses me. I am bedridden today, because of a recent fainting spell. Doctor Shapiro says my body is very weak.

I watch Mike leave the room and I turn the TV on. It's set to the arena where fans are congregating by the second.

I cough, grabbing my glass of juice. The show will start in about 30 minutes. I don't intend to do nothing for that time.

I go over and open the window. The warm sun is waning behind rows and rows of huge buildings, trees, and suburban homes. 

I rub my belly, thinking of the life my child will have when he/she is born.

They'll have the best service, education, huge house, lots of attention, and perks. But they'll also have too much scrutiny and will have to keep their identities secret.

Michael's already started thinking about this, and the best idea is for our children to wear masks. I know, terrible idea, I said, but I was shot down by the pure logic of it: if no one knows who they are, our kids will have a normal life.

I snap out of my reverie as music starts on the television. I sit down to watch.

I smile as the boys leap on stage and start their crazy dancing and singing. Michael does his vocal hiccups, and I blush as he grabs his crotch.

I don't know why he does it, it's so inappropriate. I secretly like it, though.

5 hours later

I hug Michael really hard.

"You did so great, baby!" I gush.

"Thanks for disobeying doctor's orders to see me. How you feeling?" Michael presses his hand to my forehead.

"I'm fine," I brush off, grabbing his hand. We make our way back to our room from the lobby with the help of multiple security guards. Girls scream from the outside of the hotel's front doors, pressing their faces to the glass and waving posters of Michael.

We order room service and get caviar, water, salads, and breads.

"You and I eat so healthy," I remark, popping two grape tomatoes in my mouth.

"I know. But it's because of little one."

"No! Michael, you're a health nut!"

"How did you feel after the show?" I ask.

"Relieved. Now we've got, like, 3000 more to go."

"It must not be that bad. You're doing what you love, right?"

"Sure," Michael shrugs his shoulders. "Not with people I particularly feel comfortable with now."

"It'll get better, watch."

Well, I was wrong. The next show had the brothers bickering after, most locking themselves in their rooms. I felt awkward standing there, witnessing deep family secrets come to light in the form of tirades and banging doors.

I can say that I witnessed the end of the Jackson family as the world knew them. Yeah, they probably haven't liked each other for a while now, but you never saw it like this coming.

We all knew the Jackson brothers were very specially talented and we loved watching their music. There was a certain aura about them, one of unity and love. It was all over with the Victory Tour.

I had to leave in the middle of the tour to get back to my mom's and rest up. My bump was now visible, if still not big.

I blow a kiss to Michael from my seat in the airplane. He's standing on the runway, clad in a brown leather jacket amid all that rain. His face is set, knowing that leaving him is best for me to care for our baby.

I settle back, feeling the plane rise and wondering how to keep in touch often with Michael while my schedule gets hectic.