𝟐 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒. / mj

𝟐𝟎. 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥.

"You look out for each other, always."

"Yes, ma'am!"

COMPTON . LOS ANGELES
DECEMBER 19th . 1987

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 how briskly things could take a turn for the worse, and how fickle moments of happiness were, particularly if one lived in Compton, California, in nineteen eighty seven. In Imani's case, it only took less than three hours for the high she felt from witnessing her little brother be the MVP of his high school basketball game, to come crashing down after a sixty second phone call. A victorious night turned into a tragic loss.

All that Khalil did was celebrate his team's win with his best friend, what could possibly lead to the latter getting shot? Well, nothing. And that was the most infuriating part, you didn't have to do anything to be on the other side of the gun. You could be a kind, smart kid, beloved by his community and inspiring to his entourage, and still find yourself at the receiving hand of violence. The worst part—you'd be far from an isolated case, very far from it.

"Shit."

Imani muttered under her breath, lightly smacking her car wheel after swiftly getting her foot off the pedal the second she realized she was about to run a red light.

Resting her back against the leather sit, that abnormally did not feel as comfortable as it usually did, Imani closed her eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense to prevent herself from doing anything irresponsible on the road.

She had been moving on autopilot from the second Khalil hung up the phone, and all she could recollect was hastily grabbing her car keys and a pair of shoes before sliding on a big blazer jacket, and fleeing out of Michael's apartment, not giving him details on where she was heading to, despite him desperately trying to slow her down, visibly worried about the way she was going through the motions.

With a tight lump in her throat, Imani opened her eyes again when hearing cars honking behind her, only to see the light had turned green.

Get yourself together, she ordered herself, then began touching and patting random parts of her car to force her conscious back in the present, remember where she was, and how she got there. That's how the ride to her destination went; Imani losing her sense of self, before getting brought back to it by cars honking at her lack of awareness. She even turned the radio on, so she could find something to focus on instead of drifting away, both literally and figuratively.

Finally nearing the community hospital, Imani speedily parked her car, careless about the fact that it was crooked, and hopped out. She began jogging across the street, keys hanging and jingling at the tip of her fingers, then noticed Khalil sitting on a bench by the entrance, where nurses were walking in and out of the building.

He had his arms tensely wrapped around himself, the varsity jacket he had on seemingly not shielding his body from the December evening cold, but knowing her bother, Imani knew it was more than that. Khalil was hugging himself, for dear life. Body rocking back and forth, head hanging low, right leg anxiously bouncing up and down.

When hearing footsteps near him, Khalil raised his gaze from the ground to be met with the worried one of his sister. Immediately getting up from the bench, he watched Imani stop before him. Eyes bewildered, she asked the fully loaded question, breathless.

"How is he?"

Voice coming out as a mere whisper, Khalil managed to speak, with a subtle nod of the head. "He got hit in the legs, he—he'll survive."

Relief washed over Imani's body, as if God Himself had placed His hand on her shoulder, but the relief was only physical, and far from mental.

Before she could release a sigh of deliverance, Imani instantly enveloped her arms around her little brother, hand resting then holding the back of his head, as if he wasn't taller than her. As if he was still the infant she held for the first time the day he was born, after her father had handed him to her seven year old self, as she promised she'd forever look after him.

She hugged him as tight as a big sister could, and still it wasn't enough. She wished she could soak up all of the anguish he felt to herself. Her heart bled every time his cried.

They stood still for a long minute, the wind sending occasional shivers down Khalil's body, making Imani rub his back, until she realized he hadn't hugged her back this whole time.

Gently pulling back with a sniff, Imani took a glance at Khalil, before being hit by a pang in the heart. His eyes were bloodshot, though no mark of tears were noticeable, just a persistent, impassive scowl carved into his features.

Imani knew this face all too well, she'd seen it in others, and in herself. Everyone end up having that face at some point in their lives. Eyes full of void and enervation, unattached to life, the eyes of someone who had nothing to lose.

With everything that he had gone through during his sixteen years of life, Khalil had never looked this way. Imani even came to believe it'd skip him, that somehow, he'd be the exception. He was so good-natured, always maintained an optimistic frame of mind, even in the face of difficulty, but he was still a black teenage boy living in an inner city. Some things you simply cannot escape.

Feeling her heart fracture in her chest, Imani, still in refusal, took a hold of the boy's face with her two hands, studying it with a heavy frown. She tried to get him to look at her, waited to see if any tears would fall out. She even wished he'd resentfully push her away, just to know that he was feeling something. Say something, she nearly prayed.

"I'll make 'em pay...whoever they are." Khalil soberly spoke words, words she wasn't praying to hear. Clenching his fist along with his jaw, he gravely shook his head, avoiding his sister's eyes as he added. "They won't walk away from this."

"No." Imani asserted, rather to herself than to him. "No, no, no,no." She compelled him to focus on her by strengthening the hold she had on his face. "Khalil—hey." When he finally set his eyes on her and caught a sight of the fright in her appearance, he immediately glanced down.

"You're my baby brother. You can't say things like that, it scares me, you understand?" Letting go of his face, she nodded, making sure her tone remained soft as she didn't want him to feel attacked. "I know you think you're grown, and I know what this friendship means to you." Pointing her finger to the side of the street, she stressed her words more firmly. "But if you decide to go out there, and do anything reckless, know that this thing will come back at you, ten fold." Her arm dropped to her side.  "And I know what it feels like to lose a brother...I can't have it happen again."

Blinking, he mumbled. "It almost happened to me again tonight."

"Khalil I under—"

Then he broke down. Finally. "No, you don't!" He cried out, taking a step back. "He got shot in the legs, Drixie. The legs!" As his voice broke, realization hit Imani straight in the chest.

Khalil's dream was to make it to the NBA as a prolific player, but that wasn't where his dream began and ended. In his vision, Malcolm was always present, dribbling and shooting by his side—it was their dream, as a unit. How real could that dream become when one cannot use his legs like he used to anymore?

A dream snatched away, an aspiration buried to the ground, a passion put on hold—in the name of what?

It was Imani's turn to take a few steps back, crushed by the implications of what happened. All this time she managed to hold in the tears, but she no longer could, so she just looked down, as Khalil let his frustration out, a thing he, like most boys his age, were never taught to do.

"I—I had to hold him, I held him! Everybody just ran away, if I wasn't here—the loss of blood, it could've—" His voice cracked as he held his hands up, the blood that was covering it earlier reappearing like a recurring nightmare. Imani hadn't even thought about it, about how much his brother saw. Trauma had become inescapable, even for children.

Feeling the mass of it all weight down on her body, Imani let her body sink into the bench Khalil was sitting on, a tear running down her cheek. "He'll never be able to play like he used to, run like he used to or even walk like he used to! And that's all their fault!" He shouted the last part, causing Imani to close her eyes.

After a minute of utter silence, Khalil leisurely sat down next to his sister, hands running down his face before they covered his mouth. "I'm so angry." He weakly stated, and Imani knew that nothing needed to be added. There was nothing she could say that would help him feel any better, she's been a teenager, she knows how it is. So, she instead let him sit with his emotions.

"Where are his parents?" She asked, after a while.

"Second floor."

Standing up limply, Imani closed her blazer and looked down at him. "Are you comin' inside with me?" As he shook his head no, she nodded. "Okay. Well, I'll be in there."

Walking inside the hospital decorated with holiday ornaments, Imani made her way to the elevator after checking in at the reception, occasionally massaging her forehead tiredly. Once reaching the second level, she walked down the hall until noticing Mrs Morris and Mr Morris standing at the other end of the corridor. Mrs Morris was pacing back and forth, head hanging low while she rubbed her temples continuously, while her husband stared out the large window, right hand scratching his chin beard.

When the middle aged woman saw Imani approaching them, she nearly fell in tears at the sight of another familiar face after Khalil's.

After hugging both parents while muttering compassionate words, they all sat down near the room where Malcolm was being treated, and talked for a bit.

His mother told Imani about things that had nothing to do with what had happened to her son. Instead, she went on about how well things have been going at her salon, giving oddly specific details, often followed with abrupt outbursts of laughter. It was her way of dealing with the situation, by subconsciously avoiding it, though her body language remained taut and fidgety.

Imani then reassured the Morris' that she'd cover the entirety of the medical bills, which they objected at first, but ended up accepting after she insisted. Mr Morris reminded Imani that she was still always welcomed in their home, as he wrapped an arm around his wife. Imani could no longer give a number to the number of children that were in someway under her care anymore.

When Khalil finally joined everyone, Mrs Morris smiled appreciatively in his direction, as she quietly expressed to Imani how grateful she was for him, then praised how well their parents had raised the two of them.

Then they all fell into a cloudy silence, with Khalil not having spoken a word since he had walked in. The cold words he spoke earlier still replaying in her head, Imani looked around the place, the familiarity of the environment making her slightly uncomfortable.

She's been brought to hospitals on many occasions, and have stayed there for days at a time, in this particular one as well. Most times she was treated with care and warmth, others not so much. She prayed Malcolm was in good hands.

As if on cue, a doctor walked out of his room, making everyone's head jerk up in anticipation. He announced that they could finally give Malcolm a visit, and naturally his parents were the first to go. Then what felt like an eternity later for Khalil, Malcolm's parents stepped out, teary eyed, and silently gestured for the siblings to go in.

Straightening his jacket, Khalil cleared his throat and walked to the door, Imani following close behind with her left hand resting on his shoulder.

The sight of Malcolm was a painful one to see, for the both of them. The boy laid on the bed, where his two legs were wrapped with bandages and held up by tractions, hands resting over the blanket, eyes slowly blinking. But as soon as he saw them walk in, he still found the strength to smile, before cautiously raising his hand as Imani closed the door behind herself.

The two boys gave each other their unique handshake, grinning faintly, but it was obvious that Khalil felt disturbed by the physical state of his friend, though he tried to mask it, since he knew pitiful looks were never well received. As he sat down on one of the chairs set by the bed, Imani greeted Malcolm by lightly placing her hand on top of his head, then sat down by his side.

"How are you feelin'?" She asked, bringing one leg above the other.

"I'm alive." He breathed out what sounded like a chuckle. "That's all that matters, right?" A smile tugging at the corner of her lips, Imani nodded, finding it hard to speak. "By the way, thank you."

"What for, hun?"

"Ma told me about the hospital bill—" He began, but Imani quickly stopped him.

"Don't mention it." She signaled with her hands, making him nod appreciatively. "How are the doctors?"

"They're okay, the lady that took care of me's really nice. She has ginger hair, kinda like yours."

Smiling, Imani jokingly sat up straight. "I better come up with another color quick, then." The two shared a small laugh, and she was glad to hear it the sound of it, even for a few seconds.

They conversed for a little while, his tranquility and remaining sense of humor blowing her away, then she decided to leave, not wanting to take up too much of his time since he needed to rest. "Well, I'll leave you two alone." Placing her hand over his head like she did when first walking in, she smiled down at Malcolm. "Get the rest that you need, alright?"

He lightly waved at her, as the two boys watched her leave the room, closing the door behind.

The boys sat in complete stillness for a long minute. Khalil couldn't find the words to say to his best friend, so Malcolm was the first to speak, "Your sister's so nice, you're really lucky to have someone like her." Focusing on the ceiling fan, Malcolm let a tiny smile spread on his face, while Khalil looked up from his hands.

"Ever since I understood what a 'sibling' was, I always wanted to have one." He shrugged, "Older or younger, brother or sister, it didn't matter. Used to beg my parents to give me a sibling, I was so envious, I'd cry." Malcolm chuckled, while the corner of Khalil's lips almost curled up. "Then when I realized it'll most likely never happen, I gave up. Turns out, I do have a brother. And it wasn't by chance." Listening to every word intently, Khalil felt his shoulders relax.

"And I can't have my brother dead, or in jail." Tensing up again, a confused frown made its way onto Khalil's face. Finally Malcolm looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What? You think I can't tell what's on your mind? Bro, I clocked it the second you stepped in."

"The fuckers who did this stole our dream. You think imma let it slide?" Khalil asked out of spite, feeling agitated all over again.

"No. They stole my dream, yours is still intact." Malcom rectified, then pointed to himself. "I got shot, and yeah, I'll never get to the NBA, that's messed up. But shit could've been worst, and no I'm not talkin' about death." He sighed, seeing that Khalil still wasn't seeing his point.

He sighed, seeing that Khalil still wasn't seeing his point. "It could've been the both of us getting shot, we were standing right next to each other. But you saved my life."

If it hadn't been for Khalil ripping and wrapping his shirt around Malcolm's wounds, things would've taken a tragic turn. "And that brings me peace, the only thing that's stopping me from losing it, is the fact I'll be able to watch you achieve those things. But if you do what I know you'd not be capable of sleeping with at night, and get hurt in the process, I'd be pissed. Not at them, but at you."

Defenseless, Khalil rested his back against the chair. Staring up at the ceiling, he asked. "So what do you want me to do, man? Pretend this didn't happen?"

"No." Malcolm shook his head. "I want you to get the hell up outta here." Not wasting anytime, Khalil covered his face with his two hands. It was one thing to hear these words coming out of his sister's mouth, but he'd never expect his best friend to repeat them. "You got a ticket out. You've been having a ticket out for years." Seeing Khalil's exasperation, he wished he could snap some sense into his head. "Bro, I know it's hard to leave what you know, but it's only one year and half of school left until we get to college and trust, them rich folks will never take the Compton outta you, it's too late for that."

The two boys were the same age, sixteen, but Malcolm had always been the loudest voice of reason between the too, at times, he even acted as an older brother figure. Khalil almost felt like his actual late brother was the one speaking through Malcolm, as a guardian angel, who was set on keeping his little brother safe, by any means necessary.

That, or Malcolm knew exactly what his friend lacked, and tried to fill that void, consciously or not. Either way, Khalil was being looked after.

"How are you the one sitting on a hospital bed, and yet, the one thinking responsibly?"

"Man, what did Tiana say? Damn, Malcolm, you so different."

The two boys exploded into a fit of uncontrollable boyish laugher, because that's what they were, kids. That moment was therapeutic, as they both shared tears of laughter, grief and gratefulness.

"I never said it out loud but...I'm happy we're brothers." Khalil professed, he felt like if there was a time for him to say it, it was now.

Smiling, Malcolm raised his hand. "Likewise." And they dapped each other.

That night, Khalil and Malcolm saved each others lives, and on the same night, they became blood brothers.

Legs bouncing up and down, Imani opened her eyes when she heard Khalil sit by her side. She stared at him for a second, he looked—different. "Um...is it okay if I stay with you for some time? I guess being away from here will help keep me from...you know?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Of course, sure. Did you give Momma a call?"

"I told her I was spending the night at a friend's house, so she shouldn't be worried." He brushed it off, and Imani was the last person that would press him to do anything when it came to their mother.

"Alright, I'm gonna give Mike a call." She told him, realizing she hadn't called since she left.

Dialing the number to Michael's apartment on the wall phone, Imani bit her bottom lip apprehensively before placing the phone under her left ear. It took less than a full ring for him to pick up, as if he had been waiting by the phone this whole time. "Hello?"

"Hey, Michael." Tightly shutting her eyes close, she quietly apologized. "I'm so sorry I left the way I did..."

Knowing that the reason why she left so abruptly had to do with Khalil, he didn't have it in him to feel upset, he was just relieved to hear her voice, since he had been worried sick for them. "You're fine, baby, don't worry about it. What's goin' on?"

So, she told him everything that happened, and she could hear Michael's sighs and words of disapproval after each detail she gave him. When she was done, she heard him faintly kiss his teeth. "God...I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something to help." I know you do, she thought to herself, well aware that her lover's heart knew no bounds. "Tell his parents they won't have to worry about the money—"

"Already did."

"You're an angel. How about we have him transferred to another hospital? Like Saint-Johns."

Imani instantly nodded, "Good idea, I'll talk to his parents about it." Then she took a glance at her brother. "Also, I'm bringin' Khalil home for the night, I think it's better if he stays with me for some time. Thought I'd let you know."

"That's no problem, I'll set up the guest room for him before you arrive." He paused. "Matter of fact, I'll quickly put the sheets in the washing machine since it's been untouched for a minute now."

Touched by his willingness to help, she sighed, content. "Thank you, Michael." Lightly rocking her body side to side, she spoke softly. "I love you."

"I love you more, come back soon, okay? I'll be waiting for you two."

Blowing him a goodbye kiss through the phone, Imani hung up, and put the phone back on the wall.

She made her way back to Khalil, slightly more appeased, one of the many benefits of a simple phone call with Michael. She sat down beside him, "We can leave whenever you're ready."

Instead of saying anything, he leaned closer to her, then rested his head on top of her shoulder. After letting out a yawn, he repeated the same words Malcolm had said about her moments earlier.

"I'm real lucky to have you."

Taken aback by the words that just so naturally flowed out of his mouth, especially at a time like this, Imani's lips parted. With a tiny smile, she rested her head on top of his, then closed her eyes.

____________

MICHAEL'S APARTMENT.

"Damnit." A frustrated Michael hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't know if he hadn't set the washing machine correctly, but it seemed like the sheet had shrunk, which made it ridiculously tedious to set up the bed without it popping off of the mattress every two seconds.

It was past one in the morning and the Sade siblings would be arriving at any moment, and he was set on everything being perfect the second they got here. He tidied up the living room, swept imaginary dust off of the guest room floor and cleaned its bathroom mirrors right after. It was necessary to point out that Michael did not clean much, so the little he did had him ready to fall unto his bed and snore until sunrise.

As soon as he was finally done with everything, he heard the keyhole turn twice, so he hurried to the front door. Imani held the door open as Khalil walked in, and Michael quickly took in their appearance—they looked beyond worn out.

He greeted the teenager with a hug, and an apology, reminiscing on the day they met for the first time. A nervous kid who was unintentionally hilarious, it was unfortunate that their second time meeting had to be under these circumstances.

"Thank you for letting me stay here, Mike. It means a lot."

"Of course, we're family." He waved him off, going over to Imani to give her a kiss on the side of her head. "Make yourself at home while you're here, we got snacks and dvd's. And the fridge..." The man who never cooked scratched the back of his neck. "The fridge's empty. But we'll get groceries tomorrow."

Nodding, Khalil readjusted the backpack that hanged on his shoulder as he looked around, glued to his spot, still unsure about making himself at home. Quickly catching on to it, Imani gently grabbed his arm, "I'll show you around."

After giving him a tour of the large apartment, Khalil settled in his room, while Imani went to take a much needed shower. In the meantime, Michael was sitting on the living room floor, one of his favorite channels—the weather channel, playing on TV. He just enjoyed how soothing the music was, and it was perfect to fall asleep to.

And as he was about to drift off to a different place, Imani walked in, wearing her baby blue night gown, covering her mouth while yawning. He grabbed her hand when she got close, and had her sit down between his legs, wrapping his arms around her legs and burying his face in her neck, intoxicated by her fresh out of the shower scent. "He went to bed, I don't know if he'll be able to get much sleep though. I feel terrible."

"It's not your fault." He said, brushing his fingers against her hands. "Does your mother know he's here?"

She shook her head, intertwining her hand with his. "He didn't want to give a whole explanation at this time, he's exhausted, you know? But he'll call tomorrow, hopefully she won't make a fuss about it."

"I can't believe things got so bad. I mean, I recall the seventies being rough, but it wasn't...that."

"Thank you, Ronald Reagan." She bitterly intoned, hanging her head back so it could rest on Michael's shoulder. Closing her eyes, she sighed. "I just wish I could make all of it go away..." She snapped her fingers. "Just like this."

"Who you tellin'?"

Letting out a defeated groan, Imani brought her hands to her forehead. "And I got so many things to get done tomorrow, but my head's clearly not in it." She would begin moving all of her furniture to the new house, and it'll definitely take a few days for everything to be moved.

"I can help, with the packing and stuff." He offered, making her snort.

"Honey, don't you have a European tour to prepare?"

Michael slightly tilted his head to the side. "Mmh, let's see what's most important..." He pretended to to deeply reflect on it. "Working on a tour that will be witnessed by millions, or help out the love of my life pack all of her unnecessary stuff? I think the answer's pretty clear."

She faintly laughed, lightly hitting his chest. "I think you need to get your priorities in check, or it'll piss off the Big Angry Dileo."

"Ah, tell him to go to hell." He said, annoyed by the mere mention of his name. "My priorities are, in fact, exactly where they're s'pose to be." Holding her closer, he began leaving honeyed kisses around her neck. Unwinded in his embrace, it didn't take much time before Imani started dozing off. "Let's go to bed, alright?"

In the middle of the night, Michael got woken up by Imani rolling her entire body onto his—nothing out of the ordinary. After crawling out of bed to drag her back to her side of the mattress, he sleepily made his way down to the kitchen and fixed himself a glass of water. As he emptied his cup, Khalil sluggishly entered the room, dragging his feet while rubbing his eyes.

"Can't sleep?" Michael asked, already grabbing a glass for him. Khalil tiredly shook his head no, taking a seat on one of the barstools. His unrelenting thoughts and the voices he kept hearing forced him to stay up, no matter how comfortable the bed was.

With a hushed thank you, Khalil took the glass Michael slid to him and drank the water. Cracking his knuckles as he pondered, Michael came up with an idea—it wouldn't miraculously make Khalil feel better altogether, but maybe it could get his mind off it in the moment.

"Do you play Berzerk?"

Not expecting this question, Khalil took a second to respond, scratching the back of his neck. "Uh...yeah, yeah I do play it."

Michael crossed his arms, then started nodding. "Cool, then let's see if you can beat my record." He began walking out of the kitchen, giving him a head gesture so he would follow. Yes, Michael was tired, but it didn't matter in this case.

Still taken aback, Khalil jumped off the stool. "Okay." It didn't take much time for his competitive nature to creep up. "But I prolly will, I'm warnin' you."

Michael laughed at that. "We'll see about that."

Around six in the morning, Imani slowly woke up, expecting to see Michael lying beside her, only to see she was the only one there. She made her way downstairs, slightly confused, until she reached the living room and slowed down when seeing the sight before her. Michael was lied down on the loveseat, lightly snoring, with the wire of a video game controller hanging from his fingers, while Khalil was curled up in a ball on the sofa, the controller placed right by his face.

Imani chuckled in disbelief, stepping in front of the TV that had the game on pause, and turned it off. She then grabbed two throw blankets, and laid them on top of Khalil, then Michael.

She had no idea of when they began playing, and when they stopped, but knowing Michael, she was sure her bother must've had some fun. "My boys." She smiled to herself, walking away.

"Ma, please, let me—can you let me speak?" Khalil refrained himself from kissing his teeth, holding his backpack with one hand and the living room telephone with the other.

You wouldn't expect an apartment that housed two adults and one teenager to be particularly chaotic, but the state—or more so the noise around the place would say otherwise.

Between Imani running around, trying to get ready as fast as possible so she could get home before the movers she hired arrived there. Michael roaming around the hallways like a pilgrim, eyes barely opened due to a lack of proper sleep, when he should've been out the door by now to attend his press conference to address the second leg of his world tour. And finally, Khalil struggling to get himself out of his mother's interminable speech—it was hard to believe that any of them would tick off what they had planned for the day.

"Why are you so worried? I'm stayin' with Drixie, it's not like I've never spent days of school break with her." Brushing her hair back, Imani made her way to Khalil, watching him as he fought to get a word in. "Yes, ma. It is school break, I reminded you that yesterday, right after reminding you that I had a game that same evening."

Reaching for the phone, Imani tried to take matters into her own hands. "Lemme talk to her."

Absolutely not concurred with that idea, Khalil yanked the phone away from Imani before it even got in her hand. He was not about to hear them argue, especially this early in the morning.

He swung the phone back to his ear. "Listen, I'll stop by later today to grab some clothes and my school work. You'll be home? If not I'll just leave you a note." Nodding dramatically, he put an end to that conversation. "Aight, aight—Ma. Yes, I hear that, copy, well received. I'll see you later, bye."

"What is it, she don't want you to stay with me?" Imani asked, putting her brush away and stepping in front of the mirror that hanged on the wall.

"Oh, you know, mom and her yap sessions." He shrugged it off. "I think she still thinks you'll turn me against her if I'm around you for too long." He paused, repeating what he just said in his head. "Don't take it personal."

She almost laughed. "Sure, I won't." After securing her hair in a low ponytail, she made her way to the kitchen, where she saw Michael placing three bowls on top of the counter. Standing on the other side, she asked,  "What are you doin'?"

Holding up a box of cereals, he explained what he felt was obvious. "Getting breakfast." As he grabbed a glass of milk from the fridge, Imani stared at him as if three heads had grown out of his neck. "Want some?" He casually offered.

"Michael, it's past..." Pulling up the sleeve of the red sweater she wore, Imani took a peek at her watch then looked back at him. "You have a press conference in less than an hour and you're finding the time to eat...cereal? You didn't even shower yet!"

Pouring the cereal into a bowl, Michael grabbed a piece to throw in his mouth, and chewed it while talking. "Aren't you always on my back for not havin' breakfast?" Glancing at his girlfriend, he saw her blankly stare at him. "I guess you're not hungry. Khalil, want some cereal? These are the E.T ones." He specified with a chuckle, lightly waving the box which had a picture of the beloved extraterrestrial on it, and another photo of Michael and E.T that was taken a few years before right below.

"The E.T cereal? Yes, sir." Khalil said, walking behind the counter. "I thought these got pulled out of stores?"

"They did," Michael added a spoon to Khalil's bowl. "But they put 'em back in stores for Halloween, I just didn't get around to eating it since."

Imani, who was applying lipstick while looking at her reflection with her pocket mirror, wasn't done with Michael just yet. "I bet you that if I walked down this building, I'd see Bill and Wayan waiting for your slow behind."

Laughing, Michael munched on his cereals. "As she always been like this, so... governing?"

To Imani's surprise, Khalil nodded, the type of nod that should belong to someone who knew what they were talking about. "I guess it's a woman thing, and it only gets worse as they get older."

Mouth falling wide open, Imani blinked in shock, his words as traitorous as getting stabbed in the back. All Michael could do was hide his laugh by coughing. "You two bond over some stupid video games, and form some type of anti-women coalition!"

Seeing his sister smack her mirror close to shove it into her handbag, Khalil raised his hands innocently. before letting them fall down. "Oh, c'mon, don't be like that. We're not video game addicted machos!"

"No. You're a nerd." She spat the forbidden word of the decade, making Khalil nearly spit out his milk.

"You should be the last one callin' anybody a ner—"

He was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and when Imani noticed that Michael was about to make his way there, she quickly raised and snapped her finger, tutted him down. "No, you sit down here and eat your food, I'll get it."

As Imani walked away, mumbling to herself that she was no way near governing, nor was she getting older, the two boys slowly looked at each other and shrugged. "Women."

But the joking and fooling around came to an abrupt halt when Imani welcomed the person who had ringed the doorbell. "Hi, Bill!" She exclaimed, loudly and sarcastically enough for Michael to understand that the greeting was more so directed at him. "Come on in!"

"Oops, gotta go." He muttered, grabbing his bowl of cereal and quickly hurried up the stairs, to hide, most likely.

Seconds later, Imani came back with the older man by her side. "Bill, this is Khalil, my baby brother. Khalil this is Bill, Mike's caregiver." Laughing, Bill shook hands with her brother, and took a seat on loveseat set by the window.

"By the way, Imani. I think I saw your chauffeur down there." Bill informed, taking his gloves off.

"Thank you, Bill." Putting on her baseball cap, Imani gestured to Khalil. "Come on, gotta get going."

"You know, I don't need a chauffeur to drive me anywhere. I can drive myself." He proposed, before putting another spoon in his mouth. Since Imani would be busy for most of the day, she wouldn't be able to drive him back home and to the hospital, so she figured it'd be a smart idea to have him be driven there by her chauffeur instead.

"Hun, you don't have a car." She reminded him, grabbing a pink Post-it note from the counter and began scribbling words down.

"Christmas' coming up." Imani heard Michael whisper in her ear, eyebrows raised. She shushed him by putting a finger to his lips, before he acknowledged the man he was trying to run away from. "Hello, Bill."

"Hey, Joker. We really gotta get—" As soon as he heard his voice, Bill already began standing up, but when he took a look at Michael's appearance, he plopped himself back down on his seat with an I should've known better sigh. "And he's still in his pajamas..."

"Here's the grocery list, give it to one of your assistants, thanks." Imani mindlessly handed Michael the note, quickly moving on to the next thing.

"Was the kiss necessary if it's for my assistants?" He questioned, looking down at the red lipstick stain that coated a large portion of the list.

Imani took a moment to frown, genuinely confused as to why she did what she did. She always made sure to leave a kiss stain on any notes she left him, even if it meant applying on lipstick just for that.

"Hm...didn't think of that. Habits, I guess." She shrugged, making him smile. Giving him a peck, she giggled at the mark it left on his right cheek, then cleared her throat, remembering they were not the only one there.

Sliding her handbag into the crook of her arm, she walked behind Khalil. "Gotta go, gotta go. Chop, chop!" Being grabbed by the shoulders, he got up from the barstool, nearly dropping the bowl into the sink. It was like getting rushed to school by his high schooler sister all over again.

"Goodbye, Michael! Goodbye, Bill!" He managed to let out, as Imani pushed him out the room.

Looking up at Michael, who was clearly not even trying to make it to that conference, Bill pointed to the siblings. "Do I need to drag yo ass to the shower as well?"

Chuckling, Michael coolly walked away. He knew no one would get at him for being late, so he was in no hurry.

_______________

LOS ANGELES . DECEMBER 22nd

Standing in the middle of her now empty house, Imani gently stroked Skipper's ears, holding him in her arms. This place meant a lot to her, it was her first symbol of emancipation, independence and true financial freedom, it felt like she had moved in yesterday. But now that she was about to enter a new chapter in her life, it felt gratifying to close this one. The house wasn't completely empty, but everything that made it hers was gone.

"It's your very first home too." She told Skipper, who started whimpering as if he understood her words. Kissing him, she cooed. "Aww, I know, I know. I'll miss it too."

"Drix', you ready to go?" Imani turned around to see her cousin, Bumper, standing by the doorway. "My bad, I think I ruined your TV show series finale moment."

Rolling her eyes, she laughed. "Yes, I'm ready to go." She followed Bumper out of the house, and locked it one last time before making her way to the front of the truck. Hopping in, she sat next to Khalil who took the middle seat, and Skipper immediately jumped onto his lap.

"Here, take this." Bumper extended a wrapped map to Imani, while she put her seatbelt on.

"We don't need a map,  just follow my directions."

"So we can get lost the same way we did yesterday?" He reminded smartly. "Take the damn map."

Grabbing the huge Los Angeles map with a pout, she unraveled it, and turned it around until she found the right angle—she hated being in charge of the map. "Bingo." She sang, putting a finger on their destination before reading it out loud in her valley girl accent.

"Sherman Oaks, San Fernando Valleyyy!"

When Khalil saw the outside of the house, he couldn't help but stare in astonishment. It was a fenced Mediterranean compound villa, a very popular architectural style in Los Angeles, securely hidden by large trees.

As the movers carried all of the furnitures inside the house, Imani decided to give him a tour, while Bumper made sure everything was being done the right way. She showed him the pool, tennis and basketball court, (which he seemed very excited about) the garden, the soon be home theater and game room. Then walked into the main house, trying to not trip over the boxes, which she did anyway, and led him to a room upstairs.

"And...this is your room." She announced, opening to door.

Slowly walking in, Khalil silently assessed the room, stunned at how much space there was. He could fit literally anything he wanted. "If you're not feeling this one, you got others to choose from."

"Stop it." He turned to her, "This is more than perfect, thank you, sis."

"Stop it."  She mimicked him, smiling a little. He came to sit beside her on the window nook, and leaned forward, intertwining his fingers while looking down. Because she knew he had something to get off his chest, Imani patiently waited for him to speak.

"I'm..." He began unsurely and closed his eyes tightly, as if it pained him to even get those words out. "I'm ready to leave Compton."

Unconvinced that her ears were working fine, Imani turned to him. "You want to live with me?" He nodded, and Imani leaned over, covering her face. Hesitant on if he was supposed to hug her, Khalil put his hands near her.

"Wow, are you okay?"

Imani nodded, sniffing. "Yes, I'm okay!" Dropping her palms on her thighs, she sighed. "I'm just so relieved, I thought it had something to do with me."

"Why would you think that?" He scrunched his face. "I like being around you, most of the time." They both chuckled at that last part. "But I'm only asking for one thing."

"What's that?"

"Mom has to come with me."

She looked to the right, then to the left. "Really?"

"Yes, really. We're not leaving mom out there by herself."

"No, of course not." Imani shook her head, trying to come up with an alternative. "But, I could just give her the keys to the old house."

Khalil turned his head to the other side, visibly discontent. Then Imani grasped the selfishness she was exhibiting, by allowing her own problems with her mother get in the way of her bother's peace of mind. He just wanted to live with his mother and sister, under one stable roof, a normality that was snatched away from him when he was still a vulnerable kid.

Sighing, Imani crossed her arms. "Okay." Khalil slowly looked back at her, "I'll talk to her."

"Really?" He asked skeptically as she hummed. "But you won't fight, right? You'll have an adult conversation."

Side eyeing him, Imani spoke defensively. "I know how to have an adult conversation?" Flashing her a be serious stare, Imani sighed, defeated. He was asking for a lot. "No fighting, I promise."

Khalil unexpectedly wrapped his arms around his sister, squeezing her tightly. "Thank you, so, so much." Imani smiled faintly, feeling a wound in her heart slowly heal itself.
Suddenly pulling back, he brought his hands to his head. "But what about school? I can't go back and forth."

"I got it, you worry about how you're gonna decorate this room." Imani asserted before he could lose his mind. Standing up, she heard him thank her as she made her way to the door. "And stop thanking me so much."

After nearly jogging to the phone, Imani dialed Michael's number and greeted him as soon as he picked up. "Hi!"

"Lucky me, I was right about to head out." He said, noticing her tone. "You sound excited, are you callin' from the new house?"

"Yup, and it's a mess." Imani pushed one of the many boxes to the side.

"Aww, did you cry?" When she told him no, Michael blurted out. "You didn't?!"

"Wait, why do you sound so shocked?" She knew she was notorious for easily getting emotional, but still.

"Cause you're ovulating. I pictured you sobbing on the pavement and everything."

She paused, tilting her head to the side. "How do you even know that?"

"You're my girl, I know these things."

Fighting and failing to hide her grin, Imani rested her shoulder against the wall. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Bring in on."

"Do you—by any chance, now someone, who knows someone, who could make it possible for Khalil to get into a new school in Sherman Oaks within the next two weeks?"

"Khalil? Is he moving in with you?" Michael asked, sounding candidly delighted. Now he understood the excitement in Imani's voice. "Imani that's great news!"

"I know! That's why I need to find him a school before the new year. And he's a top student, this is really important to him."

"I'll ask around, but I'm sure we'll find something before you know it. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Michael" Imani smiled, feeling lighter. The power of having the right connections. "Where are you heading to, anyway?"

"A meeting, and I don't wanna go."

"Poor baby. But you're seeing me tonight, that should cheer you up."

"The only thing getting me through the day." Imani laughed, and made the wise decision of quickly ending the call, almost sure that he was already running late to begin with.

________________

WESTLAKE . STUDIO D . LOS ANGELES

It was now past eleven o'clock, and Imani was in her second home—the studio. Putting down the cup of ramen noodles she was eating, she scooted closer to the mixing panel, in between Michael and Bruce, as the same drum pattern that had been playing for the past thirty minutes boomed through the speakers. If one wasn't used to spending hours in a recording studio, they'd probably have ripped their hair off their head by now.

"What are you planning for Christmas, Bruce?" She asked, lowering the volume.

Taking his glasses off to clean them up with the fabric of his shirt, Bruce smiled. "Gonna spend three days with my family in Minneapolis."

"I saw they've been breaking records of snow over there." Imani recalled the report she watched on the morning news.

He let out a chuckle. "Oh, believe me, winters get rough in the Midwest. Ain't that right, Mike?"

"If it's one thang I don't miss about Indiana, it's the cold." Michael stressed, shaking his head, as if he was reliving the trauma of that day he had to walk home during a blizzard. "My Lord."

Imani almost shivered just by listening to them speak. "I've never seen snow in real life." The two men blurted out an unbelieving What? and she nodded intensely, adding onto their shock. "No, it's true. I've been to both Minneapolis and New York a couple times, but it never snowed."

"So...no snowball fight, snowboarding or snowman building?" Michael listed, putting a finger up after each activity he named.

"Nope."

"That's nuts." Bruce commented, putting his glasses back on.

"What does it tastes like?" Imani wondered, question directed at Michael, who raised his eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that, I know you were the type of kid that stuck his tongue out when it snowed."

Michael playfully shoved her arm, not refuting her assumption either. After Bruce excused himself and left the couple by themselves, the conversation somehow shifted to Imani's mother.

"So, you'll speak to her tomorrow?" Michael asked, gently stroking Skipper, who slept on his lap.

Slowing down the tempo of the beat, Imani nodded, despite having zero motivation to do so. "Yeah, I'm dreading it, really. I swore we wouldn't get into a fight, but what if she instigates one?"

"You'll have to be the bigger person. Plus, if she considers everything that your brother has been dealing with these past few days, I'm sure she'll understand."

"Her son's best friend getting shot would be her wake up call, can you imagine that?" She laughed bitterly. Leaning back in his chair, Michael contemplated his next question.

"When am I going to meet her?"

Imani looked up from the board for a split second, then grabbed her notebook. "I don't understand why you've been so adamant on meeting that woman lately."

"That woman, she's your mother." He reminded her. No matter how complicated he knew their relationship was, he never liked hearing Imani speak down on her mother. "And that's exactly why I wanna meet her. You met my mother when we first got together, why can I not meet yours five months into the relationship?"

Reading some of the rhymes scribbled on the paper, she squinted her eyes. "It's...different."

"How different?"

"Because my mom is difficult...and unpredictable." She crossed out the entire page, unpleased.

"You're difficult and unpredictable."

Taking slight offense, she turned her head in his direction. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if I can deal with a difficult and unpredictable woman on a day to day basis, I can certainly deal with another over one dinner."

Glancing down, she looked away from him. He'll learn the hard way, she thought, "You'll meet her before you leave California."

"Before the end of the year." He corrected.

Ripping the piece of paper off the book, she faintly raised her voice, not in anger, but in genuine lack of understanding. "Why does it matter?"

"Bring it down, you don't wanna hurt that pretty voice." He reached to lightly tickle her throat, as she crumpled the pice of paper into a ball and swished it inside a nearby trash can. "And it matters, because it just...does."

Imani opened her mouth to say something, but Bruce walked back into the room, putting their conversation to rest—for the time being.

_______________

COMPTON . LOS ANGELES
DECEMBER 23rd

IMANI

Seriously, why is Michael so keen on undergoing the distress that naturally comes with dealing with that woman? I yet again asked myself, driving down my childhood neighborhood, feeling my stomach turn when I noticed my house in the distance.

Before I left, Michael guided me through a whole breathing exercise, and even helped me write down exactly what needed to be said so I wouldn't get off track during our conversation. But I was still on edge, on edge about seeing her, speaking with her, and being inside a house that would bring atrocious recollections back to the surface of my mind.

After parking my car on a empty lot, I turned the engine off and stepped out. Pulling up the collard of the white turtleneck I wore underneath my beloved Captain EO sweatshirt, I walked up to the front door, taking notice of how quiet the community was this morning, though I could distinctly hear the next door neighbors blasting Luther Vandross.

Shaking my nerves off by jiggling my hands and rotating my neck, I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It took a short while for the door to get unlocked and opened, well—halfway opened.

I could hardly see her, since she had her head picking through the door crack, but what I could clearly see was her staring me—vacantly. Maybe it was because she didn't recognize me right away. Could be the hair, or the sunglasses I forgot to remove—or it could just be that I looked different from the last time we saw each other, which was a very long time ago.

"What are you doing here?" She yanked me out of my thoughts, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

I locked my hands behind my back. "We need to have a talk."

Giving me an once over, she hesitantly opened the door further, and because I could finally see her entirely, I did the same thing.

Her huge hair was in the same blowout she's been wearing since the late seventies. She was dressed in a white button down shirt tucked into a pair of navy blue high waisted jeans. Her nails were painted dark red, the same color as the flats on her feet. Hanging from her ears were some chunky golden hoop earrings, and on her face was applied a minimal amount of makeup. It was no secret, my mother was a gorgeous woman.

"About what?" She asked, sounding like she was repeating herself.

I shifted the weight of my body from one foot to the other. "Your son."

She gave me the subtle look I'd give to an unwanted stranger. "You couldn't call to let me know you were going to show up at my door?"

If I called you ahead you would've told me to not bother coming here. Is what I would've said normally, but, let's not provoke. "Well, I'm here now. Are you gonna let me in?"

She looked away from me to gaze into space for a while. Clicking her tongue, she stepped away from the door, turning her back to me. "Remove your shoes."

And I quickly obliged, kicking the Converse Weapons off my feet and removing my glasses. If I'm already inside this house, I must be doing a outstanding job so far. Walking further inside, I forced myself to avoid taking a look at my surroundings. I didn't want to see any pictures, emotionally prized objects and things of that nature.

Albeit...I do reckon coming home from a random day of school with all of the framed pictures that had been hanging on the walls and plastered around the house for years, completely gone. She never explained what drove her to take them down, she just did it, so there was probably not much for me to see anyway.

Stepping into the living area, I took a glance at what seemed like an history documentary playing on TV. Not feeling comfortable enough to sit on the armchair, I just stood awkwardly in the middle. My mother rested her elbows on the small open kitchen counter, waiting for me to say something.

My intention wasn't to cut corners, so I went straight to the point. "Khalil is moving in with me. And he wants you to come with him...otherwise he won't."

Stillness lingered in the room for a minute, which I expected. Slowly removing her arms from the counter, she muttered to herself. "I knew it'd happen." Applauding me with her two hands, she chuckled, visibly not amused. "Congratulations, Imani. You finally got to his head."

"I didn't do anything."

"Of course, because all of a sudden, he wants to leave this place?" She directed her hand in my direction before resting it on her hip. "To live off with his completely stable, rich, older sister." Tilting her head to the side, she questioned. "Is that right?"

My breathing became shallow, and my voice didn't sound as loud and unshaken as I intended it to be. "The boy's sixteen, he has a mind of his own."

She looked at me as if I had no room to speak. "You had a mind of your own at sixteen and look at what it had you doing."

These words felt like a blow, they did anytime she weaponized my greatest faults just to prove a point. All I could do was blink repeatedly, trying to regain my senses. I almost thought about reaching for the notes I had written earlier. "It's—it's for his own good."

"How do you, out of all people, know what is good for him?" She put her finger against her chest, speaking with conviction. "I know what's good for my son."

"Do you really?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"This place is good, we don't need your help." She started moving closer to where I stood at a slow pace.

"His friend—Malcolm—got shot." I tried putting as much emphasis on my words as I could, praying they'd get through her thick skull. "You know him, you know his family." I reminded, feeling my eyes water in irritation. "And it could've been your son, and it wasn't. But he'll still have to live with that image, and the sound of those gunshots, for the rest of his life. This pains him so bad you wouldn't believe it, he can't even sleep at night." I sighed, then spoke louder. "What more signs do you need from God?"

A nerve was hit, and just like, that she stood inches away from my face, staring down at me with the tip of her finger piercing through my chest. "You don't tell me about God."

For lack of better terms, I wanted to bark. We all had our fighting instincts, and one of mine occurred anytime someone tried to shove me with their fingers. But I remembered the promise I made my brother, so despite my urge to do something, I closed my eyes, and spoke warily, voice trembling. "Take a step back, please."

It took her a few seconds, most likely because she wanted to make sure her authority over me was asserted, then walked away. "I don't need your help."  She stated once more, taking a seat on the sofa. But this time around she replaced the we with I, and I caught it right away.

"This is not about you!" I called out, moving my arms around. "This isn't about 'you', and 'me' and 'our' relationship or lack there of. Nor is it about 'me' giving 'you' an handout."

Which she, by the way, really shouldn't have any issues with, since I've been paying the bills and taking care of all the expenses from the day I got my first royalty check as a teenager.

"He could be living in a multimillion dollar home, attend some of the best schools in the area and not have to worry about catching a stray bullet anytime he steps out the house, but it doesn't it mean anything to him if he's mother isn't right by his side."

I watched her look up at me, and past her crystallized stare, I could almost see emotions creeping in and out of her doe eyes. Maybe I was finally getting through her.

"This is about my brother. This is about family sticking together. This is about us doing the best we can to raise this boy so he can become a decent man. And I know your biggest fear is him ending up like I did, and he won't because he's much wiser than I was, but if you don't want the things that got through my head to get through his..." I closed my eyes, sighing. "Get him the hell out of here."

I purposely refused to mention that he even contemplated killing someone not more than seventy two hours ago.

"When was the last time we lived under the same roof?" She asked, leaning forward. I knew what she was trying to do with that question. "Or more so, why did we stop?"

You kicked me out, I was sixteen. It was like she was still trying to test me, even though she knew deep down inside that I was right about everything.

"You won't even see me." I nodded so she could see that I was serious. "I'll be out early and home late. And it's a compound, so if you don't even want to run into me in the hallway or somethin', I can sleep in a house other than yours."

She glanced down, and I knew we were past thinking about, we were now considering it. So I continued.

"That kid desperately needs his mother." To these words she looked up at me, and I recognized the eyes of a woman who had emotionally clocked out of motherhood. I shook my head, "But it's not too late to make this work."

And by 'this', I meant family...our family. For the sake of our youngest. My mother closed her eyes, covering her face with her praying hands.

"I'm trying to do my part in not letting him down, now do yours." It was an order, and if I had to resort to guilt tripping to get it done, then so be it.

"You're gonna pack your bags, get everything you need for the next few days..." I broke it down calmly, not needing a nod of approval to continue. "And I'll have somebody come here, and pick you up in a few hours." And to make sure she heard me right, I concluded. "Khalil's waiting for you."

Turning on my heels, I began making my way out, utterly done with this 'conversation'—which was just me talking endlessly.

"Why..."

I stopped in my tracks, hearing her frail voice hardly reaching the door. I walked back into the living room, and saw her still holding her head down. "Why isn't he the one telling me all of this?"

Out of all of the things she said, this was only question I was thankful to hear. "He's your son." I answered simply. "Ask him."

________________

ENCINO . LOS ANGELES .
DECEMBER 23rd

Michael was first to know that as a global superstar, there wasn't much room for him to have his cake and eat it too, but he did occasionally manage to find loopholes here and there. During his Jackson 5 days, when he was still attending high school and rocking his afro, Michael had discovered this charmingly small and inviting library while taking a stroll around the city. It didn't take long for him to get a card—and since then, it had become his top secret safe haven.

He continued returning to that library because it was one of the few instances where he felt like a regular person. Sure, he had access to, and the money to buy all of the hardcovers he wanted, but there was nothing quite like borrowing a book and later on returning it. And while it usually took him months to return the books, because of how busy and on the road he was, no one, needless to say, ever made a fuss over it.

Besides, libraries are synonymous with calm and peacefulness. It wasn't as crowded as a mall would be, and while he never got caught, he knew that if he did, it shouldn't cause too much of a ruckus.

Which was why Michael made sure to make a stop there before he left for Florida. He had to get himself books, a lot of books, to keep him entertained while he was away.

He eventually had to change his card and have it under Bill's name—just in case, and Imani wondered if that was legal.

Speaking of, Imani was standing beside him, holding some of the books Michael had to return, while he skimmed through the historical fiction section, an handful of books already under his arm. Even though the place was nearly vacant, Michael still made sure to wear one of his many disguises.

This time he went with a small fro, covered by a Yonkers hat. A pair of brown tinted sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and a fake mustache was glued above his mouth with sideburns on his cheekbones. And the ugly teeth—you can't forget the ugly teeth.

Imani wore a costume too, not because she needed one, but out of solidarity for her man. She somehow managed to secure onto her head this cheap purple bob wig with bangs she got from a random store on Hollywood Boulevard, and wore a massive pair of round, fake reading glasses that gave her this bug like appearance. But strangely, Michael thought she still looked too sexy, so he coerced her into sticking these horrible Bugs Bunny looking front teeth into her mouth.

It took them ages just to leave the bathroom because of how hard they were cackling while getting dressed. Imani still had a side stitch from laughing so hard. They looked stupid, but at least they looked stupid together.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be." Imani said with a strong lisp, courtesy of the fake teeth.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Michael asked, grabbing another book to analyze.

"It's suspicious."

"I think the word you're looking for is...pleasantly surprising."

She pushed her glasses back and raised a finger. "Um—actually, that's two words." Michael glanced up from the book to deadpan her, before shaking his head. As he began making his way to another section, she trailed behind. "C'mon, can't you see why I'm so worked up over this?"

"I do, actually, sometime Joseph acts unusual." He said, thinking of his own father's recent behavior. "I think as parents get older, they start seeing the wrong they've done and try to make up for it, without downright saying I'm sorry."

"Wow, woah there." She shook her head, making her bob move. "Nobody sayin' all that now, my mother hasn't shown a sign of remorse. Khalil might be her soft spot, so she could apologize to him. But me? Nuh uh."

"Don't be so pessimistic. She'll eventually get to it, baby steps." Michael attempted to bring some positivity into the mix, like he's been trying to since they were on their way to the library.

"She won't, and I don't care, I'm well over it." She shrugged impassively, but quickly frowned. Michael raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on. "It's just weird how she didn't come at me like I thought she would. I mean sure, she went low at some point, but because I didn't go lower..."

"There was no yelling at each other's faces?"

"Yeah!" She nodded, "I guess from now on, all I gotta do is practice inner peace."

"I got a book on that." He pointed out. "I really don't want this new house to catch on fire while I'm gone."

"Michael, this is not a joke."

Turning around to fully look at her, Michael watched her stare at him with furrowed eyebrows and a pout of the lips. He bit his tongue, fighting to hold his snicker, but ended up bursting into a quiet fit of laughter.

She tried to refrain a laugh but cracked up as well. The irony of her trying to have a serious dialogue while they both looked the way they did was impossible to ignore.

"I'm sorry baby, you know I'm not takin' any of this as a joke." And he was serious, he wouldn't put it past them to turn the house into flames. He wiped off a tear, "It's just...those teeth."

"Shut up." She hid her mouth with the books as she giggled. But when Michael asked, What's up doc?, perfectly imitating Bugs Bunny's cartoony voice, a thing he was abnormally great at, she ended up laughing even harder. He just knew how to get a laugh—or a cackle, out of her.

When they both regained their composure, Michael offered. "Would you like a few books, Nini?"

"Sure, if you're the one picking them." Imani didn't feel like hunting for books right now. "I already read all of the books you wrote on my reading list."

Michael had found her reading list by chance, and wrote series of books he thought she'd like. That was before they even began dating. "Have you?" He smiled. "Well, I got more for ya."

When Michael felt he had picked enough books for his girlfriend and himself, they made their way to the circulation desk. "I hope I didn't have you walking around for too long, librarian girl?"

Imani rolled her eyes at his corny joke, but ended up smiling. "I can't believe you made so many people discover my country with that song." 

"Oh, there's still folks who think I'm singin' about a big glasses wearing librarian." He looked down at her. "Turns out I was." As they both dropped the tower of books onto the desk, Michael greeted the owner of the shop, whom he knew quite well. "Hello, Carl."

Grinning knowingly, Carl took his glasses off.
"Hello...Bill." He looked at both of them, before setting his eyes on the woman standing next to Michael, raising an eyebrow. Imani flashed him a big smile, as if it'd make her appear more normal.

He shook his head, looking down at the books. "I see you've found a sidekick."

"That's real love, isn't it?" Michael nudged Imani's elbow.

When Carl finished writing everything off, he asked Michael. "Would you sign this, please?" He pulled out a Bad record from under the desk.  "I have my daughter for this Christmas and I kept it here, hoping you'd come around."

He was a lucky man, it was only three days before Christmas, what were the odds?
"Lucky girl." Imani commented with a smile, which Carl returned. After Michael gladly signed the vinyl, he gave him a few hundred dollars as a thank you gift for never charging him late fees, and they both left.

______________

SHERMAN OAKS

Tamira thought Imani didn't mean it literally when the latter quoted her house as a multimillion dollar home...but lo and behold.

They were so out of touch with it each other that she had no idea her daughter had moved to a whole villa —and that she was making that much money to be able to do so.

As Imani's bodyguard, that she now knew as William, carried her luggage, she followed him right into the palatial foyer. She thanked him, still dumbfounded about everything that as unraveled since Imani showed up in front of her door, even by the fact that her daughter needed a bodyguard, and watched him leave.

The house was silent, so silent that she could hear herself ponder as if she was thinking out loud. Her eyes traveled around, as she began exploring, trying to take everything in.

It was deserted for the most part, but a few plants were set here and there. Eventually she found herself in a room where RIAA certification plaques were placed against a wall. Imani had the forethought of it becoming her award room, because she knew they'd be coming.

Singers, song writers and producers didn't receive certification plaques unless they or their label paid for them, but over the years, a few artists Imani has worked with have paid and sent their plaques as a gift for her contribution to their achievement. Michael's Thriller, being one of them.

But Tamira wasn't there to experience any of that with her daughter, and while she knew that she had made a name of herself, seeing it in such palpable ways felt...different.

She then came into the large kitchen, where the counter was covered with letters, boxes and pictures. Her eyes scanned over everything, before a photo caught her attention. She reached for it, almost warily, and brought it closer.

It was a picture of her and her late husband, all up in each other's arms while she was six months pregnant with Imani—in nineteen sixty four. He had on one of these suits men used to wear at the time, and had his arm wrapped around her shoulders while he lovingly kissed the side of her forehead, as she bashfully smiled.

When Imani moved into her first home, she had come back into the house impromptu and 'stole' all of the family photos. It caused a huge uproar between those four walls, particularly when Imani claimed that if she didn't take the pictures, Tamira would end up burning them, or throwing them into the ocean. Because in Imani's eyes, her mother despised anything that had to do with the time preceding father and brother's passing.

"Ma?" She heard her son's voice, and instantly put the photo down. Khalil approached her, uncertain. "You're here." He stated, the shock noticeable on his face. Halting, he asked. "Are you mad at me?"

Tamira shook her head, looking away away, and Khalil could feel his body relaxing. "Where's your sister?"

"Oh, she's not here right now. She's with M—" He stopped himself, not sure if he could even mention his sister's boyfriend to his mother. "Mall."

"Mall? She's with mall?" Tamira asked, looking at him confused.

"She's at the mall." He obviously lied, because he didn't know how to. It was another thing about her daughter that Tamira had no insight on. Before she could ask any further questions, Khalil grabbed her arm and led her out of the kitchen. "Lemme show you around, there's a lot to see."

Khalil wasn't the best tour guide, since he got lost on multiple occasions, but he did show her everything there was to see. Tamira stayed quiet the entire time, hardly believing this was where she would reside from now on.

The last room he ended up showing her was her bedroom, and that's when he decided he'd leave her alone, but that wasn't before his mother asked him one last question.

"Khalil?" He turned around, right by the doorway. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Understanding what she implied, he shrugged. "Because you don't listen." Looking at her in the eyes, he added. "And since I don't have the courage to speak to you the way Drixie does—"

"You mean you don't have the disrespect, to speak to me the way your sister does."

Khalil looked down at the floor. "Yeah..." He nodded.  "And once again, you're not listening to me." Lightly tapping the door frame in a conclusive manner, he glanced up at her. "I'll be in my room."

As Tamira watched her soon leave her alone, all she could do was look down at her shoes, as she wrapped her arms around herself.

The next following days were busy, with Imani barely being seen inside the house. She was out by the time her mom left her bedroom, and back when everyone was already fast asleep.

Malcolm, who had been receiving daily visits from his best friend, ended up being transferred to St. John's hospital in Santa Monica. Michael came to surprise the boy in the morning of Christmas Eve, and he couldn't believe his eyes. They spoke for some time, while Mrs Morris excitedly snapped as many pictures as she could.

Imani did managed to get a minute to talk with Malcolm, while Michael was signing autographs for the nurses.

"I really wanted to take a moment to thank you. Whatever you told Khalil that night, it left a mark on him—a positive one." Imani wasn't oblivious, she knew her brother's change of heart had a lot to do with Malcolm.

He smiled, holding Michael's signed fedora hat in his hands. "Anytime."

Later that day, the Sade siblings spent the rest of Christmas Eve at their mother's side of the family, the Robinson's. Bumper's parents house have been hosting family reunions for years now, so it was no question that they would be hosting this Christmas celebration.

Imani and Khalil got to reunite with their cousins, such as Kevin, Bumper and their sister as well as their uncles and aunties, while Tamira got to catch up with her older sister. Just like every family gathering, Imani and Tamira didn't acknowledge each other, and everyone just went along with it as they always did, for the sake of peace.

Then on Christmas Day, the three of them came back to the house, with Imani covering her brother's eyes with her hands, as their mother walked behind.

"How much longer?"

"Shush, we're almost there." Imani snickered as they approached the drive way, where two cars were covered by a black silky cloth. "Don't open 'em!" She let go of him and jogged next to one of them, grabbing the fabric. "Okay, you can open your eyes now!" As soon as Khalil opened his eyes, Imani snatched the fabric off, revealing a dark green 1987 Volkswagen Jetta. "Merry Christmas!"

Khalil brought his hands to his lips. "No...way." He started getting hype at the sight of his first ever car, still keeping his distance from it. "Yooo!"  Walking around it, he looked at Imani. "Can I touch it?"

"No, you can't." She rolled her eyes and pushed him.  "Duh, it's your car, silly."

As Khalil dragged his finger across the car, taking in each detail, Imani smiled proudly, putting her hands behind her back. "It's a gift from Michael and I. We figured a bike wouldn't cut it for your new school."

"Thank you sis, this is sick." He wanted to cuss, but remembered his mother was still there.

"You're welcome, you deserve it." Throwing the keys at him, she rested her hand on the roof. "And you gotta hear how loud the music can get in this thing, Mike was serious about picking the sound system."

"For real? Lemme grab my ICE-T tape!" Khalil exclaimed, before jogging inside the house.

Imani's eyes landed on her mother, who had been quietly standing there. She walked to the next car. "I got something for you too." With way less enthusiasm, she removed the cloth, unraveling a light brown Mercedes Benz. "For errands."

Tamira was shocked, not by the car itself, but because Imani actually bought her a Christmas present. Stepping closer, she played with the necklace her sister had gifted her. "Your brother's gonna have a heart attack." Imani softly giggled, imagining the look on her brother's face when he'll see the car. Turning to her daughter, Tamira spoke, the semblance of a smile hanging on the corner of her lips. "Thank you."

_____________

SHERMAN OAKS . LOS ANGELES .
DECEMBER 27th

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋

After relentless nagging, I finally secured a dinner with Imani's mother. The dinner's taking place this evening, December twenty seventh, at her house, and it would be my first time seeing it.

I wasn't very nervous about meeting Mrs Sade for the first time—well, maybe a tad bit, but that's to be expected. I just fail to see what could actually go wrong, and why she wouldn't approve of me. I'm a gentleman, after all.

Parking my car in the driveway, right next to Nini's, I grabbed the bouquet of flowers that I brought with me and stepped outside. I took a second to look at the side mirror of my car and gave myself a quick once over to make sure that my face was alright, and made my way to the front door.

Since I already had the keys, I quietly walked inside, and before I could even take a good look at the place, my ears were met with high pitched barks coming from upstairs.

"Skip! Since when do you munch on pillows? This isn't you!"

I chuckled, someone was hungry. Then Imani walked down the spiral staircase in a full red outfit, her kitten heels clicking on each step. She wore a tweed skirt and blazer jacket of the same fabric, and though she looked undeniably beautiful in it, I knew this wasn't her usual choice of style.

She only took notice of me once she reached the bottom of the stairs, Skipper proudly following behind, as she held a completely teared up throw pillow in her hand.

I could tell that she was trying to smile, but couldn't bring herself to. "Oh, hi baby. I didn't see you. How long you been standing here for?"

Wrapping my arm around her, I kissed her cheek twice. "Don't worry, I just got here." I smiled as we pulled back, spinning her around. "You look regal."

Imani laughed lightly, tugging at her jacket. "Thanks." She tilted her head with a taut grin. "She forced me out of my original outfit and had me wearing this instead. Coming straight out of mama's closet!"

Well, there you had it. "What was wrong with the first look?"

"It wasn't I'm introducing my boyfriend to my mother put together enough." She quoted with her fingers with an eye roll. "But I'm glad you like it, even though I feel like a news anchor."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Well, how do I look?" I raised my hands. "You ain't say nothing yet."

Clutching my blazer, she desperately looked up into my eyes and spoke theatrically. "You look so, so handsome, my love, I could die!"

I straight faced her. "Sarcasm?"

"Never." She shook her head then kissed me on the lips. "Even the flowers are matching your outfit." Taking my hand in hers, she began leading me to God knows where.

"She seems to be in a good mood, which gives us some time." Imani whispered, making me do the same.

"Time for what?"

She glanced at me like the answer was obvious. "For you to leave before it deteriorates."

"Why are y'all whispering?" Both of us turned around to see Khalil, floating inside a big white button shirt tucked into a pair of black pants and some loafers. I almost laughed, Mrs Sade got him too.

"Just giving him the rundown before he meets her."

"Oh!" He stepped next to me, muttering. "One thing you gotta know is that she's very honest, but don't take anything she might say personal."

"She also asks a lot of questions, so don't feel pressured to answer them all."

Khalil snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah! And if—"

"Alright, y'all. I get it." I snickered. I appreciated the fact that they were looking out for me, but I really didn't need it. They were more stressed about it than I was. "C'mon, it's not my first time meeting a girl's parents. I'll survive."

The two siblings gave each other a look, as if they spoke telepathically, then shrugged. Walking past the Christmas decorated living room, that I wanted to stare at a bit longer, we finally got to the dining room, where Mrs Sade stood, placing a large turkey on the table.

Letting go of my hand, Imani cleared her throat. "Ma?" Her mother turned around, eyes immediately setting onto me. "This is Michael. Michael, this my my mother."

I took it upon myself to make my way to her, extending my arm after removing my hat. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs Sade."

Shaking my hand, the woman gracefully smiled. "Likewise, Michael." She let go of it, untying her apron. "And please, call me Tamira."

I nodded, although I knew it'd slip out of my mind. "This is for you. Imani told me you loved roses."

Taking the large bouquet into her hands, her lips parted. "I do! Surprised you remembered that." She shot a look at Imani, who stood behind.

Glancing at her then back at Tamira, I chuckled faintly. "I'm seeing the resemblance."

"Do you? People always say that she favors her father much more." She grabbed her son by the shoulders, who attempted to take a biscuit from the table. "Khalil, however, is my twin, isn't he?" Putting her face to next to his, she grinned.

"Twinsiesss!" I heard Imani intone, before snickering to herself.

"Well, I'll put these gorgeous flowers in a vase. Go ahead and take a seat, everything's ready." She patted my shoulder then walked away.

After we sat around the table that Mrs Sade took time to embellish with candles, we listened to her say grace, and began eating.
"So!" She started, setting her attention on me. "Tell me, Michael, how'd you meet my daughter?"

Putting my fork and knife down, I smiled, thinking back to that day. "It might sound impossible, but we met at a Prince concert, around summer."

She gave me a dubious look while leaning back in her chair. "No way! How does that even happen?"

"She was performing with his band, right?" I nudged Imani's elbow as an attempt to include her in the conversation, but all she did was hum. "And I happened to be there. Few days later, she was signed."

"Just like that? How interesting..." Tamira nodded, her eyes traveling to her daughter. Imani looked up from her food simply by hearing the tone of her voice, and gave her a glare. Maybe my wording wasn't the best. "But Imani, didn't you two work together way before?"

"We did." She answered, looking down at her plate.

"On Thriller, yes."

Wiggling her finger between Imani and I, she frowned confusingly. "But you two didn't meet? How come?"

"Didn't know you just landed yourself a job for Rolling Stones magazine." Imani sarcastically said, earning a stare from her mother, even I gave her a look. Shifting in her sit, she mumbled. "Loosen up, geez."

Looking back at Tamira, because it was obvious that Imani wasn't planning on making any effort today, I answered. "Well, if I remember correctly she was still pretty busy with school, so she couldn't be in the studio with us." I explained, although I'd expect her to know that already...as her mother.

"Is that so?" She asked, but it sounded more like a statement directed at Imani, who didn't say anything.

As the conversation progressed, I somehow felt myself getting drained out of my energy. It was the endless heavy silences, the sound of Imani's fork scratching her plate, and looks the two women would send each other. I was under the impression that every question asked had some sort of ulterior motive. Before I knew it, the conversation maneuvered toward my family.

"I do wanna say, that your family has always been an inspiration in the way that I raised Imani. Your parents are incredible."

Clearing my throat, I forced a smile. "Thank you, ma'am. We're all very grateful for them."

"Of course." She grinned, pouring herself a glass of water. "I'm sure it could've worked with Imani, but that girl right there was a rebel." Laughing, she reminisced. "Always begging me to let her play the guitar, who was tryin' to hear a lil black girl sing Jimi Hendrix in the seventies?" I mechanically placed a hand on Imani's leg, because I knew they'd start shaking. "I'd tell her, you'll do whatever you want once we get you that Motown deal."

"Motown was soul." I blurted out, not wanted to come off as matter of factly as I did. Straightening myself up, I showed a slight smile. "They wouldn't have had her sing anything rock at the time, especially if she was supposed to be marketed to black children."

Seeing her grin again made me feel relieved. "Which is exactly my point! Nobody was trying to hear that."

"Daddy was."

Imani's faint voice managed to create a full minute of silence. She held her head down, which she rarely did, and played with the food she was no longer touching. I refrained myself from sighing, because I knew that if I gave up, the dinner would continue on wordlessly.

"Drixie, you believe in aliens?" For the first time, Khalil said something, his tone high spirited.

Something seemed to have clicked in Imani's brain, because she immediately sat up "Of course I do. Do you not?" She responded, her attitude matching his. The way she switched up so easily without questioning the new topic of conversation made my eyebrows furrow. It was as if they became characters, and Tamira and I just stopped existing.

He playfully put his hands up in surrender. "I rather not say, don't need to end up on the FBI list."

"Oh, baby, we already are." Tamira interfered with their back and forth, which seemed to deeply perturb the siblings, especially Imani. "What? Your father was a Panther, you think they don't keep track of anybody that had any kind of association with that organization?"

"Association?" Imani leaned forward, confrontationally. "You are a Panther."

"What about the Loch Ness Monster? You believe in that one?" Khalil tried again, smiling, but I could see him stress.

"Were, before it got buried to the ground." Tamira firmly corrected her, "And I'm not the one these white man in suits were looking for every time they came banging at our door."

"What men?" Khalil asked, genuinely concerned.

"Khalil I'm so sorry—but why do you always find way to say something negative? You don't have to talk!" Imani raised her voice in a way that I never heard before. She was triggered. "He asked a question and you managed to make it about us being on freaking watch list, in front of your guest! Are you okay?" I began rubbing her back, watching her hands shake. It was Tamira's turn to look down. "Now let's continue this dinner and talk about normal family stuff—Khalil, who the hell is the Loch Ness Monster?"

Wiping away a tear, Imani turned to her brother. She nodded for him to go on, obliging herself to smile—getting back in character.

Slowly returning the nod, Khalil sniffed, clearing his throat. "A Scottish folklore creature, I read something very interesting about it at the library."

Then I understood, they were coping. And by the looks of it, this was an old practice.

"Good! Tell us about it, tell us about anything you know."

We spent the rest of our meal listening to Khalil go on about different legends and urban myths, that the average person wouldn't know of. It was eerie at first, but eventually became interesting, though I couldn't shake off the feeling this family was holding onto a lot, a lot more than what I imagined.

When all of us finished eating, the siblings helped their mother with the dishes, then excused themselves. Imani said she had to change clothes because her suit was getting too itchy, and Khalil went to his room to show me the latest collectible he bought with his own money.

As I sat on the living room couch, I couldn't help but feel guilty for pushing Imani into doing this thing. I think I might have failed to grasp that she probably haven't been put in this kind of situation with her mother in a long time, since no matter when they were in close proximity, they ignored each other.

But I meant well, because I did have a reason to meet her.

Standing up, I walked into the kitchen, where Tamira was wiping the counter. "May I help?" I asked like I did earlier.

"Oh, no, darling. Everything's clean." Folding the towel, she sighed. "I'm sorry, surely you expected a normal dinner."

"No apologies needed, family is family." I said, remembering what Imani told me after I exposed Jermaine's skeletons during our family dinner. "Mine isn't perfect either, believe me."

"At least I have one thing in common with Michael Jackson." She joked, and I smiled. "Although, I don't think it's a family problem..." Pulling out a lighter, she lit the scented candles. "Did she tell you about our Christmas? Everything goes well when we don't talk." She turned around to put it away. "I'll tell you what—"

"I'm gonna marry your daughter."

There was no way for me to cut corners, and there was no way I'd let her tittle tattle about her own daughter to me. She slowly turned around to look at me, and while her face remained unmoved, I saw genuine distress veiling the look in her eyes. "I wanted you to know first, so I could receive your blessings."

She looked down at the floor for a second, then silently gestured for me to follow her to the living room. As she sat on an armchair, I sat on the edge of the sofa.

"How well do you know my daughter, Michael?" She asked, her tone calm, yet serious.

"I know her enough, Mrs Sade."

"So, you know about her..." she brought her finger near her head, and started wiggling it in circle.

It felt uncomfortable to even respond to that, Imani's not 'crazy'. "I do know about her mental issues, yes." I nodded assuredly. "She told me everything."

"Mmh." Tamira glanced away, crossing her legs. "So, you're aware of what it takes to marry a recovering addict?"

...A what?

I blinked, not sure that I heard her precisely. "Recovering..."

"Or recovered." She waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever the difference is these days..." I heard her chuckle, and it made me look at her in a different light. If this was true, which I wouldn't know because I'm assuming that I should take her words with a grain of salt, how is she finding humor in it?

"I'm guessing you didn't know." I looked down at my hands, asking myself a thousand questions at a time, and she leaned closer to me. "Look, Michael, you seem like a very wise young man, and if you're willing to marry someone like my daughter, I'm sure the love has to be real." I glanced up at her eyes, stared into the mirror of her soul, and realized that I frankly could not trust her. This did not sound like it was coming from a place of unconditional love.
"But you have to be entirely sure that the worst of her is worth the best. You want to be her husband, not her psychiatrist. Don't put a vow to God to waste."

Leaning back, Tamira waited for me to say something, but I had nothing to say, I just wanted to sink into the sofa until I disappeared. An humble smile spreading on her face, she gave me a nod. "You have all of my blessings, Michael."

She got up from her seat, as Imani entered the room in her pajamas, completely unsuspecting, which made me stand up as well. "I'm gonna go." I announced, trying to sound as normal as possible, patting the pockets of my jacket until I felt my car keys.

"Oh, alright." I felt her hand on my arm, and tried to avoid eye contact. "You okay?"

"Of course, why would I not be?" She gave me a strange look, so I did what I could to reassure her. "I just have a really long day tomorrow."

She nodded understandingly, "Well, I'll walk you out then." I quickly went back into the kitchen to say goodbye to Mrs Sade and thanked her for the dinner. She acted like nothing happened at all.

"So...did it go better than you expected, or worst?" Imani asked, holding my hand as we leisurely walked toward the driveway.

"I wasn't expecting anything." I shrugged my shoulders, looking down at my loafers. "I met your mother, and she met me. Everything else, it doesn't matter."

"I guess you're right." Getting in front of my car, I pulled out my key, "I'll see you on the thirty first?"

I unlocked the door. "Yeah."

"Drive safe, call me when you're home." As I opened the door, I heard her ask. "Are you not gonna kiss me?"

I turned to look at Imani, and saw her stare at me with her hands locked in front of her. She seemed fatigued, and hurt. Dropping my arms to the side, I stepped in front of her, cupping her cheeks with my hands. I kissed her delicately, as she was the most precious person to me, then pulled her in an embrace.

"I love you, you hear me?" I assured, because I felt that she needed to hear it.

Clinging onto me, she nodded her head. "I do, and I love you." When we pulled apart, I kissed her hand, and reassured that I'll call when I'm home, before getting into my car.

Unlike the day that I found out about Imani's use of prescription pills—I wasn't upset at her. I couldn't quite put my finger on who or what I was upset about, because that piece of information was still so fresh and hard to believe, but I knew that it wasn't directed at Imani.

Parking and the turning off the engine of my car, I searched through my cluttered glove compartment and pulled out my wallet. When taking the small piece of paper where Imani noted down the new house's phone number, another thing slipped out in between my fingers.

It was a collage of two photos of us as children, around the same age, snapped while in the middle of entertaining our families. The funny thing about it was that we were hitting the same exact dance move, with a similar a grimace plastered on our face.

We mirrored each other a lot, in more intricate ways than a simple picture, and that was why, as well as my love for her, that he couldn't bring myself to brutally judge her.

I grew up in the showbiz, and witnessed grown adults become addicts and never manage to overcome their dependency. It was in no way something foreign to me. I didn't know when her addiction began, and when it ended, but what I do know is that she is young. A young woman who has been through enough, and who also entered the game prematurely.

When I speak to Imani, I'm also speaking to that little girl, and she's speaking to this little boy that was me. And if anyone was to look down at her for past mistakes, I vow to never be part of that group.

Because despite everything, Imani and I made a promise to one another, that we wouldn't keep anymore secrets from each other, so I know for sure that when she'll be ready, she'll tell me.

None of it changed anything, I loved her the same, if not more, and I wanted her in my life—forever.

Looking at the picture one last time before sliding it back into my wallet, I sighed. "You are one, resilient girl."

___________

Sometime in the 90's

"Nineteen. eighty. eight." Oprah put dramatic emphasis on each word, pinching her fingers. "That was the year, wasn't it?"

"Yep." Michael nodded, a smile spreading on his lips. "A crazy year."

Oprah imitated the sound of a bomb explosion, earning a laugh from Michael. "The meteor. That's what they used to call her, right?"

"They still do." He smiled, proudly. "Just, disturbing the peace, in the best way possible."

"What was the very first thing that happened that year, that you can still remember vividly, Michael?"

Putting one leg over the other, he tilted his head up to the side pretending to think, when he knew exactly what the answer was. "Uhh..." his smile grew exponentially, as a few chuckles escaped from his lips. He looked back at Oprah, who was foaming at the mouth.

"I think the ladies are gonna like this one..."

NANA'S NOTE

I'm back! (allegedly) thanks to the MJ musical. The next chapter should be out by Valentine's Day, but don't count me on that.

Stay safe, blessed and informed.

Happy Black History Month!

#FREECONGO
#FREEWESTPAPUA
#CEASEFIRENOW