One (A Michael Jackson Fan Fiction)

Chapter 26

We had three shows in Pennsylvania, and three more still in New Jersey before we reached a city by the name of Richfield in northern Ohio. The mid-October chill numbed my hands as I walked to the nearby diner to get food. Crowds had gathered by the hundreds in anticipation for the show. Ecstatic fans from all over, happy to have their king back on American soil after months of being overseas.

Out of the horde, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to look and my name found the lips of dozens more. Suddenly they were swarming, moving towards me like a giant herd of beasts, desperate to talk to someone associated with Michael. It was all in good heart, but terrifying all the same, so I bolted back into the safety of the hotel and weaved my way to Michael's room.

When he answered my insistent knocking, I stepped into his room. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can't leave." I grumbled, looking out at the crowd through his window. A soft chuckle sounded from his throat in response and I glared at him. "This isn't funny, Michael. I want food."

"We'll order food." he decided, closing the curtains with one last wave that sent the fans into an uproar.

"How on earth do you do it? I only get glimpses of it, but this... this is your everyday life. Hardly able to go anywhere and never alone when you do."

Michael shrugged it off. "It's all I've ever known."

I walked around the room, seeing it now as the cage it truly was. On a hook attached to the door hung the jacket for Smooth Criminal. "I wanted to practice with it before the show tomorrow." Michael explained, seeing the confusion on my face. Most of the wardrobe was typically kept with Bush.

Tracing my finger over the cuff on the sleeve, I turned to Michael. "How did the arm band come to be?" I asked, wondering why the thought had taken this long to cross my mind.

Michael chuckled, amused by the question. "For this exact reason." he replied. "When people see it they wonder why it's there; they wonder what it means. In all reality, it means absolutely nothing, but it makes people question. And when people question something, it means they noticed it... it means they're paying attention. It's not normal to wear something like that which is exactly why I do it. If the world tells you that you can't do something, you ask, 'Why not?' Bush and his co-op, Tompkins have been trained to fly so far out of the box that you'd need a plane ticket to get back in; and thus came the armband."

I smiled as he spoke of it. This small adornment to his clothing was a symbol of rebellion to society. It demanded attention and boldly stated, 'Look here, I'm different.'

Food arrived shortly after and we spent the night chatting about dreams and aspirations. One would think that at his degree of fame, he would have no further to go, but he was always striving to do even better. Nothing would ever satisfy as good enough. The night soon grew late and I retired back to my room, resting up for the shows to come.

When the morning sun stretched it's beams through my room, it was up and back to the arena for one last tech run before the show. Come nightfall, the arena flooded with the voices of thousands of fans. The energy roared down below, building as showtime grew nearer. Suddenly the music kicked in and I fell into motion. The chaos of a show and nerves of getting everything right was an adrenaline rush almost as powerful as performing. It kept you on edge and focused.

At the end of the show, I welcomed Michael at the base of my ladder, applauding him for a job well done. We were heading to his trailer when a security guard called his name. He turned to his pursuer and all at once it seemed as if his soul had left him. His face paled and his eyes went empty as he looked at the couple that stood with security. Putting two and two together, I realized this couple was missing something; A young child who had promised to be at the show, but lost his battle with cancer much too soon.

Michael approached them slowly, as if he hoped one of the steps would wake him from a nightmare, but to his despair, it was all real. "I'm so sorry." he whispered, wrapping his arms around the mother in consolidation. The pair of them wept together for a moment for the loss of the child and all I could do was look on and honor this child I had never known. When finally they pulled apart, Michael addressed them both. "At least when he died, he knew that he was loved... If you enter this world knowing you are loved and you leave this world knowing the same, then everything in between can be dealt with."

The couple nodded, taking in his words. "He was buried in the jacket and glove." said the father. "We thought you would want to know."

"Thank you." Michael replied and before long, the couple had gone. Their encounter had drained every last ounce of energy from him and he walked now with one goal in mind; escapism. I followed cautiously, not wanting to leave him alone, but also not wanting to intrude. We weaved through corridors and hidden pathways until finally he found somewhere secluded enough for his liking. With his back against the wall, he slid down to the ground, shattering before my eyes.