I was once told love doesn't ever just disappear. It fades. But did my love really just vanish from her heart? Did it all just wash away with a quick blow to the head? I know over the years, while I was gone, the love between us may have become a little worn, but when we reunited weeks ago in the hotel room, everything rushed back in a full circle. It was as if our hearts were alive again. At least, I know that's how I felt.
I needed more understanding from her. So I begged Shakira to come see me as soon as she could. She agreed but because she was still recovering, she asked that I visit her in her home. I was more than honored to be invited to her house in Los Angeles.
On this rainy April day, I simply wore blue jeans, a pair of sneakers and a black jacket over my t-shirt. I was greeted at the door by a small Hispanic woman.
"Hello, Mr. Jackson. It's nice to finally meet you," she said shaking my hand firmly.
"Thank you." I turned to wave to my driver before stepping inside the home. It was very bright and quite beautiful. Her taste in décor matched mine which I secretly took pride in. "Where is she?" I asked looking down to the small woman.
"She's in her bedroom resting. I was told to just take you up to her when you arrived."
"I hope I'm not a bother."
"Oh no," she said waving my worries away. "She seemed pretty excited about your visit today," she whispered matter-of-factly.
"Okay, great," I said matching her tone.
The unnamed woman began leading me up the stairs.
"What is your name again?"
"Oh." She stopped halfway up the staircase to turn and give me her hand again. "Marisol."
"Marisol? Nice to meet you too," I said with hand shake.
She turned back around to finish leading me to my destination. "Oh, Mr. Jackson, I'm such a big fan. I loved everything you've ever put out. Thriller was my favorite," she bragged as we began walking down a long corridor.
"Oh yeah? Thank you so much."
"I know the whole dance."
I giggled as images of Marisol dancing with me in a graveyard came to mind. She was small and built like my mother, like a Latina version of her.
We stopped in front a closed door. "Just let yourself in," she said as she patted my shoulder then made her way back down the stairs.
Slowly, I placed my hand on the wooden door painted white, resting my grip on the golden knob. I quickly questioned myself if I should've knocked first. But daringly, I decided to twist the knob and invite myself in.
With the door opened, I had to take three steps in to see her resting in her bed to the right of the door. She was on her side, facing me, and her eyes were shut. The most peaceful look illuminated her face as she rested halfway under her covers.
I glanced back and shut the door softly. "Shakira?" I called out in a whisper.
As the corners of her mouth slowly lifted, I began walking closer to her bed.
"Hi," she said, eyes still closed. Her hand slipped out from underneath her sheets and reached for me. "Come."
A warm smile grew upon my face as I stepped even closer to connect our hands. "Did I wake you?" My fingers intertwined with hers and an electrifying sensation jolted throughout my soul.
Finally, she opened her eyes and connected with mine. "I wanted to sleep until you came. I haven't been feeling the best lately. I'm sorry we have to meet this way."
"Oh, no. Don't apologize. I'm just very happy to finally see you again. I was terribly worried about you."
"Please?" Lifting up her upper body, she scooted over on the bed. "You can sit." She rested her head on the untouched pillow that rested by her previously occupied one. "You can lay if you want," she said snickering.
"I'll just..." I sat down on the bed and turned my body towards her, resting just my left knee on the bed. "This is fine." I grabbed onto her hand again. "How are you feeling right now?"
"Some days, my body just hurts. Maybe it's the weather," she said looking towards the window.
"Maybe," I said with a shrug following her direction. But my eyes quickly made their way back to her beauty.
We shared some small talk for a while, just about what we've been up to work wise. The album she currently had out was a full Spanish album and she was preparing to release the English one.
It was nice to talk to her like that again. I missed her so much.
But then we started talking about the documentary she participated in for José's family. The topic completely broke her down in tears.
"I'm sorry," she said to me as she sat up on the bed and wiped away her tears. "I just can't believe he's gone. And some days I feel it's my fault."
The palm of my hand sat up on her shoulder. "It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself." It took everything to keep me from crying with her. I hated to see her in such despair. But I had to be strong for her. "Talk to me. You can trust me."
My agenda went unfollowed as we ended up talking about José the whole time. She needed comfort so I gave it to her, no questions asked, no hesitation.
We talked for hours, nothing about us or the confession I wanted to get off of my chest. She must've completely forgotten I told her I needed to tell her something important. But I didn't care. I knew it could wait. I was just happy she was speaking with me.
And it didn't end there.
After seeing her at her home, she called me almost every day, seeking the same comfort. She was trying to wrap up her album but it was difficult for her because she couldn't stop thinking of José's death.
Our conversations kept getting deeper as time would go on. We stayed up for hours talking about politics, God, and love. She complained about how people worshiped me as if I was God.
I told her I didn't ask for that and I never have.
"I could never walk down a street with you if I wanted to."
"I never try to be God-"
"I know, Michael." She then began softly singing. "Para amarte necesito una razón, y es difícil creer, que no existe una más que este amor."
"I love that song," I mentioned to her.
"Oh yeah?"
Her first album was released in June of 1990 and it was a full English album. But in January of 1991, her second album was entirely in Spanish, so I didn't remember much of the songs. But Antología is the one song that I can never forget. Once Lissy translated it in writing for me, I was able to decode each line. And realizing it was all about me, it hurt me somewhat.
"There's so much symbolism in the song. But being that you've suppressed your emotions, it probably means nothing to you now."
Only a moan came through the phone.
"Do you remember writing it?"
"Yeah," she said with uncertainty.
As I was lying in my bed, I reached over to my night desk and pulled open the drawer. I remembered stuffing the paper in there with the translation on it. "Can you sing it for me?" I asked digging through all the papers with my one hand.
"Antología?"
"Yes." Finally finding the paper, I pushed the drawer shut and lied back on my bed. My heels slid back, prompting my knees in mid-air. I placed the paper on my lap and began reading over the words. I really wanted to hear her sing it though. "Please? I really want to hear you sing."
She cleared her throat. "'Kay... Para amarte necesito una razón, y es difícil creer, que no existe una más que este amor..."
As she sang, I read over the translation Lissy once personally made for me a long time ago.
To love you, I need a reason,
and it's difficult to believe
that nothing more than this love exists.
Above all, inside this heart,
despite that they say
the years are wise,
the pain is still felt.
Because all the time spent next to you,
left your thread woven deep within me.
And I learned to snatch the seconds from time...
you made me see heaven so profound.
Together with you I believe I gained three kilos
with all your sweet delivered kisses.
You heightened my sense of smell and
because of you I learned to like cats.
You removed the cement from my shoes
so the two of us could fly for awhile.
But you forgot one final instruction.
Because I have yet to know how it is to live without your love.
And I discovered the significance of a rose.
You taught me to tell white lies
so I would be able to see you at inappropriate hours,
and to replace words with gazes.
And it was because of you I wrote more than one hundred songs.
I even forgave your mistakes.
And I came to know more than a thousand ways to kiss.
And because of you, I discovered what love is...
what love is...