Saturday, June 16, 1979
Nicole Dillard was, among other things, a creature of habit. Every day was exactly the same, and that's just how she liked it. She would wake up at 6 AM to the sounds of her morning jazz mixtape, followed by a brisk shower, dressed, and watching the morning news with a bowl of cereal by 7. As the headlines played, she packed her lunch, did hair and makeup, then was out the door no later than 7:35. Of course, there were days that didn't go perfectly according to schedule and on those rare occasions, she would feel just a little "off" for reasons that couldn't be remedied. Like the feeling of wearing your shoes on the wrong feet, except she couldn't just change the shoes out, she would just have to wait patiently for the day to end, then try again the next morning.
The day after she met Michael Jackson, was an "off" day. Nicole slept straight through her alarm, somehow the volume lower than usual. It was 7:30 when she finally awoke and with no time for a shower or breakfast, she quickly dressed and ran out the door. Today was Saturday, and on weekends, Nicole volunteered at the public library, restocking shelves and helping plan community events. It had been her routine since sophomore year of high school when she was looking for extracurriculars to enhance her college application.
Now her high school days were over, but Nicole had fallen in love with this place, these people, and these books. No one would care that she was late, her coworkers were honestly amazed that she kept showing up at all. In February, when Nicole was accepted to California State, they thought for sure she was done, even offering her minimum wage to join the team officially, but Nicole didn't accept the money, vowing to keep coming until the day she moved. In her mind, it was the least Nicole could do in service to the city and words that raised her.
But nevertheless, her day was "off." When a group of young girls asked where to find the "Ramona" books, she heard "Romeo" and pointed them towards Shakespeare. She should've known three eight-year-olds were referring to Beverly Cleary! She was tired and growing agitated with herself, so she called her best friend.
Laura: Hello?
Nicole: Hey, you busy today?
Laura: No, I'm home. Just babysitting Roger. What's going on?
Nicole: I'm just... I'm feeling a little off today. Can you come by the library?
Laura: Sure, we'll be right over.
Nicole: — Oh, hey, can you bring me something to eat? I forgot my lunch...
Laura: ... You forgot?
Nicole: Well, I didn't have time. I overslept.
Laura: You what!?
The girls had been bestfriends since before either could remember. Laura knew Nicole's habits and ticks better than anybody, and oversleeping was a serious red flag.
Nicole: Please! Just come quick, okay?
Laura: Okay, okay! See you soon!
Nicole roamed the aisles patiently waiting for her friend as slowly, memories of her dinner with Michael came back. Then she remembered her dream. She was at a concert. One of his concerts, though she'd never seen him perform before, somehow she knew. The audience was singing and dancing together, and she sang and danced with them, though she'd never heard these songs before. It was beautiful, just as Michael said it would be.
Laura: Hey!
Her eyes snapped to focus as Laura approached carrying her three-year-old nephew and a fresh peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The girls held each other a little longer than usual.
Laura: Are you okay?
They sat on the floor in a far corner of the empty children's section, watching Roger flip aimlessly through the colorful hardback children's books. Careful to not miss a detail, Nicole recounted her dinner with Michael, Bill, and her father from the night before. Laura listened intently.
Laura: So... you met Michael Jackson?
Nicole: Yes.
Laura: That's insane! How do you know it was really him?
Nicole: ... Because he said his name? ... And there were security guards all over the restaurant and a huge group of girls outside screaming for him. It was nuts!
Laura: But YOU don't actually know who Michael Jackson is... This guy could've been anybody! You said he was wearing a disguise, maybe he was a fake.
Nicole: I don't think so... --
Laura: Stay right here!
Solemnly watching Roger roll around on the floor and taking hidden, sad bites of her cold sandwich, Nicole stayed put. She was feeling a way that was impossible to explain. Depressed? Confused? Infatuated? None seemed to fit. Soon Laura returned with a stack of 13 magazines ranging from "Ebony," "Right-On," "Teen Beat" and more, all featuring Michael's face on the cover.
Laura: Is this the man you met last night?
Nicole shuffled through the pages. A boy was on the covers here, but the Michael Jackson she met was a man. His face was lean, his eyes were deep and his hands were strong. But one photo made her gasp aloud.
"Michael Jackson: A Young Bachelor Married to His Music"
Dated March 1977, the photo showed Michael's full upper body in a deep violet button-down, his chest peaking though just a little. He had a big afro, forced into submission by a pair of earphones. Nicole picked up the magazine and studied it closer. His smile was shy and a little younger, but his eyes were exactly the same. She smiled back.
Nicole: Yep, this is him.
Laura: Okay, So... you have a crush on Michael Jackson?
Nicole: I— I guess I do?
Laura: Great. So do 75% of brown girls in America! Welcome to being normal.
Flabbergasted by her response, Nicole elbowed her friend in the side. How cruel!
Laura: Look, you know I love you, and I know it's been an insanely long time since you've had even a crush on anyone at all, but the fact that you got swept up in the sweet voice and perfect smile of this beautiful Black man, is hardly newsworthy. It's perfectly normal! I'm very happy for you!
Nicole: Really? I don't feel normal. I can't concentrate on anything! I've never felt so scattered and distracted before.
Laura: I know. But it'll pass. Go to bed early tonight and you'll be fine in the morning. I promise.
~*~*~
Nicole's bedtime routine was pretty similar and equally necessary as her morning routine. By 9 PM she would retire to her room and change into her comfiest pajamas, first twisting her hair into a bun, saving the curls for another day. She brushed her teeth, then washed her face before tucking herself into bed. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim corner lamp, Nicole would read herself to sleep.
On particular nights like this, it was a struggle to quiet her thoughts. Recalling her conversation with Laura, Nicole couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. While she didn't know much about Michael Jackson, judging by the crowd outside the restaurant, it was clear he had the opportunity to be with his choice of women. It was silly for her to think that after a couple hours she would be someone worth his pursuit. Why did her first crush in years have to be on him? Why couldn't it be someone like Martin who worked at the pharmacy down the street? He'd asked her out on dates regularly for the past six months, handsome guy, but she had no interest. Though there was comfort in knowing her ability to find a man attractive wasn't completely broken... These endless thoughts continued as Nicole closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.
It was just after midnight when Nicole's phone rang. Downstairs her parents had their own line, usually for business, but the phone upstairs in her bedroom was only for her. Ignoring it, she thought for sure this ringing must be part of a dream. Then reality hit, fearful something bad happened to Laura, Nicole jumped up, answering in a panic.
Nicole: Hello!?
Michael: Oh good, you're awake!
Nicole: ... What?
Michael: This is Nicole, isn't it?
Nicole: Who is this?
Michael: This is Michael Jackson. We met at dinner last night, remember?
Nicole sat the receiver very carefully on the floor, then rubbed her eyes. Looking around the room, everything was in place as it should be. She looked at her hands, front and back then sat calmly on the floor next to the phone. This definitely didn't feel like a dream. She could hear a muffled voice echoing into the carpet, so she picked up the phone again.
Nicole: Michael?
Michael: Yes? Hi!
Nicole: Um, is everything alright?
Michael: Oh, yes! How are you?
Nicole: Um... fine? I think... How did you get my number?
Michael: Oh, I just had to ask around a bit. I've been dying to talk to you.
Nicole: Me!?
Michael: Yes! We never got a chance to finish our conversation...
Nicole hesitated to respond. She was overwhelmingly confused.
Michael: I'm sorry, you were clearly in the middle of something and I've interrupted. I'm so sorry. I could call back later—
Nicole: No--no, Michael, don't go... I, uh... I was hoping we'd have a chance to speak again too. I'm just surprised is all. But I'm glad you found me.
Michael: Really?
Nicole: Yes.
Michael: Well I had to find you. I've been thinking about you all day.
Nicole: Me!? But why?
Nicole felt like an idiot as soon as the question hit the air, but it was all she could think to say. She'd spent all day trying to justify to herself that their interaction was insignificant but now Nicole couldn't help but wonder if Laura was wrong. Was there a chance... maybe... that Michael were equally charmed as she was?
Michael: Well, because you said maybe we could be friends? So I thought, you know, sometimes friends call each other, right?
Nicole: Oh... kay?
Michael: Alright!... So, how was your day?
Nicole: It was... odd.
Nicole recounted her day, making Michael giggle each time his name came up, which was embarrassingly often. It was refreshing to hear a man laugh easily with unfiltered joy. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or thought that she'd never see this man again, but she found it easy to be transparent and laugh with him.
Michael: I say this with no ego, but -- you really don't know who I am?
Nicole: I've heard of you! It's just been a long time. I guess I assumed you'd retired or something?
Michael laughed loudly again.
Michael: How old do you think I am!?
Nicole: Well I don't know! You didn't look very old. How old are you?
Michael: Almost 21. My birthday is August 29th. How old are you?
Nicole: 19. I won't be 20 until February. I guess I just thought you'd be older.
Michael: Yeah, people say that to me all the time. They called me '40-year-old midget' when I was little. I like old music and movies and would ask a lot of questions about business and things. I'm an 'old soul,' they say.
Nicole: Really? How old were you when you started singing?
Michael: Oh, before I can remember! Just making sounds and things, my whole life. But we started our group, The Jackson Five, when I was just 5 or 6 years old. We would practice in the living room everyday-- twice a day, and perform at the high school or malls or clubs around town every night.
Nicole: And 15 years later you still love it? -- Singing and everything, I mean.
Michael: Oh yes, I love it! I love making music and performing. I feel like I've barely begun! I was put on this Earth to entertain-- I really believe that.
Nicole: And how was your show tonight?
Michael: Oh boy, it was amazing, you should've come! The crowd gets so excited. There's so much love and all these strangers are singing and dancing together. It's the most wonderful thing. I get such a rush after every show. I never get tired of it. It's new every time.
It warmed her heart hearing this stranger gush. Michael was clearly very passionate about music, past the point of it being his career. He spoke like he was in love.
Nicole: So the others in your group are all your brothers, right?
Michael: That's right.
Nicole: Wow, five boys! I bet it was loud in your house all the time.
Michael laughed loudly again. She was right. You could never catch a moment of silence in their house, but he wouldn't have changed it for anything. Nicole was shocked to hear that Michael was actually one of nine children, six boys and three girls. As an only child it sounded like a nightmare. Yet Michael made it sound like a fairy tale.
Michael: We really didn't have much-- but we weren't poor either. My father was a steel mill worker in Gary, Indiana. All 11 of us were in two bedrooms. My mother and father in one room, us boys in the other room and Rebbie, Latoya, and Janet shared the pull out sofa. It was hard, especially for the girls, I think, because we would be so loud sometime! And for Mother, I don't know how she managed to keep food on the table. Then we'd be on the road so much, I think they liked it most when we were gone. But I always loved it. It's like having your best friends with you all the time. My brothers were my friends. It was great fun, really. A lot of work, but fun.
Nicole: Gosh, I just couldn't imagine. It's always been just me and my parents growing up. Didn't you ever want to be left alone?
Michael: Well, I guess... but I was so little then. We signed with Motown when I was 11, then we moved to California. I guess it would've been a lot different if we were all teenagers in that tiny house.
Nicole: That's incredible, you got signed so young. You must've been awfully talented. What got you into music?
Michael: Well, my father used to be in a group, The Falcons. He sang and played the guitar. He and Mother would always sing old country western songs around the house before we had a television or anything. I guess that's where we got it from. Then my older brother, Tito, would start playing the guitar and we'd all teach ourselves songs off the radio while my father was at work. And um, one day he came home and one of his guitar strings had popped. When he found out who it was, he whooped Tito real good, then woke the rest of us up so we could show him what we could do. And Joseph loved it!--
Nicole: -- Joseph?
Michael: Oh, um, my father. Joseph.
Nicole: Oh...
Michael: Joseph loved it and made us practice every night after that. We would watch James Brown or The Temptations or Sly and the Family Stone on television and memorize every step and every note until we were as good as them or better. We'd go to school. Rehearse one hundred times as soon as we got home, then pack up for a gig every night. We wouldn't come home til the middle of the night, sleep a few hours and do it all over again!
Nicole: Wow... I could never imagine! Your life sounds so interesting.
Michael: I guess, in a way... I couldn't imagine being an only child. I bet your parents really spoiled you, huh?
Nicole: Yeah, I guess they did! They were my best friends when I was little. Anything I wanted to do, anywhere I wanted to go, they'd always say 'yes'. We were like the Three Musketeers, we'd go everywhere together, movies, museums, bowling, just silly stuff! But when I was about 13 they started their business so they had to work a lot more and we sort of fell apart...
Michael: I bet that was tough?
Nicole: It was... but I kept busy with reading and writing short stories--
Michael: And that's when you decided to be a journalist?
Nicole: Yeah, that was a part of it. I love writing, but I also love asking questions. And figuring out the truth. A good journalist has to be a lot like a detective, you know. I like being aware of what's happening in the world and making others aware too. Really educating people on things like poverty and racism and corporate greed and global warming. I think if people knew more, they would want to do more to help!
Michael: Wow...
Nicole suddenly hushed, fearful that she had scared him away.
Michael: I feel exactly the same way!
Nicole: Really?
Michael: Yes, absolutely! I love entertainment and I feel that's my gift to the world but it's my responsibility to use my gift to make the world better, in that way. I try to use my music to inspire people and spread peace and joy and hope to people, you know? Music can really unite the world in ways that even politics and things can't. Like I think about songs like 'Imagine' or 'What a Wonderful World' or all the great show tunes like 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow."--
Michael suddenly cut himself off to sing the lyrics,
Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me. Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops-- That's where you'll find me.
His pitch was high, but soft and smooth like a bird. Each note sounded more pure than when the teenaged Judy Garland sang it in 'The Wizard of Oz.' Through closed eyes, Michael pictured himself sliding down a rainbow onto a bed of clouds as he sang. They were soft and bouncy, but slick with dew as he leaped through the sky, soon slipping and landing on his back. He chuckled and opened his eyes again.
Michael loved the darkness. His hotel room was pitch black, not even the moon was welcomed tonight. Curled up in the middle of the king bed, he'd found more warmth in Nicole's voice than anything he'd heard in a long time.
Nicole: I'm really glad you called, Michael.
Michael: Me too... And I'm sorry I woke you--
Nicole: No, I --
Michael: No, I could tell you were sleeping. I forget some people don't stay up all night like me. I should've let you go back to sleep... but your voice is just so lovely, I just couldn't hang up.
Each blushed for their own reasons. Michael unsure how or why he felt so comfortable with her. Nicole, unable to remember a time a man had ever paid her such a kind and sincere compliment. Much less, expressed admiration indifferent to her body type.
Nicole: ... I guess that's what friends are for, right?
Michael: Right-on!
They grew quiet again. It was late. Nicole tried hard to suppress her yawns, but neither wanted to hang up.
Nicole: So, tell me, Friend, what's your... favorite color?
Michael answered 'red' through a broad smile. Returning the question, he learned Nicole's favorite was blue. They continued quizzing each other on favorite films, animated characters, books and music, Michael, unable to choose just one for any topic. They talked about travel, Michael significantly more worldly than Nicole, but hearing him tell of his time all over America was better than any encyclopedia or documentary. Balancing the conversation, Michael asked more about her childhood and family. What was it like growing up in the same house, in the same town, surrounded by the same people her whole life? Their lives were undeniably different, but they found themselves in agreement more often than not.
The night ticked on. Michael's voice grew deeper and slower. Nicole lost the capacity to form full sentences and answered questions in soft sighs until soon they'd both fallen asleep.