My head was spinning when I woke up the next day.
I almost flew out of my room because it was already nine and my duty at the restaurant starts at eight. I was rushing, scolding myself for not waking up at the sound of the alarm. When I got out of my room, my brows pulled together when I saw my brother chilling out in the living room and watching TV.
"John?!" I said, eyeing him. "Why aren't you prepared yet? It's already nine!"
I was shoving things inside my bag as I was going around the apartment looking for the other pair of my shoes. Where the hell is it?
"Prepare for what?" he simply asked.
"For school!" I said, looking under the table. "Turn off the damn TV and change your clothes, you're gonna be late!"
His forehead creased. "It's Saturday, Jane."
I stopped. I turned my head to him. "What?"
"It's Saturday."
I looked up at the calendar hanging on the wall near the door. 7th September. Saturday.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Saturday. It's my freaking day off, I couldn't believe I forgot. I stood up from squatting by the table and put my bag on the side, throwing myself to the couch. "Shit," I uttered, putting my palms on my face. What the hell's wrong with me?
"I can't believe you were just about to the rush to restaurant on your day off," my brother said.
"I forgot," I said. "I thought it was--" I stopped. No, it's not Friday. Friday was yesterday and it was when Michael Jackson decided to show up and stir the day. I closed my eyes again as I heave a deep sigh upon remembering everything that happened. I was so tired from yesterday that I overslept. I could still feel my whole body aching especially my legs.
"Hey look," John said, making me open my eyes. "Jane, the news!"
I leaned forward and stared at the TV. A brown-haired female reporter was speaking.
"Michael Jackson was spotted in a local fast food in Santa Maria yesterday. The King of Pop was said to be in a disguise, wearing a thick false beard and casually waited on the line to order at the counter."
Then they showed a video of the restaurant--the Shanelle's--from yesterday with hundreds of people crowding inside. The reporter even interviewed one of the fans.
"He was standing on the line, and I was behind him," a man said. "I didn't have any idea that he was Michael Jackson. He was talking with the woman in the counter, and then he suddenly took off his disguise and that's when we recognize him. I was so close to touching him but one of his bodyguards immediately pushed me."
John looked at me. "Isn't that the restaurant where you work?"
I didn't answer. My eyes were still on the TV.
"According to the people, the Billie Jean singer was accompanied by only two of his bodyguards. It is unclear why he decided to take off his disguise in the middle of the restaurant. The megastar then escaped the screaming fans through the kitchen, running away with one of the restaurant's workers."
For the second time, John looked at me. "Don't tell me you're that restaurant worker he ran away with?"
"It was me."
John immediately rose to his seat, his eyes wide after realizing something. "So that's why you ended up bringing him here last night?"
"Yeah," I simply said. I didn't even bother to explain and I just leaned back to the couch, closing my eyes. "Turn off the TV, it's making my head ache."
I knew that the incident in the restaurant would definitely hit the news, and I wasn't wrong. Everything about Michael Jackson hits the news.
John turned it off and sat back beside me on the couch. I was massaging my temple because my head was literally like being hit by a hammer. Good thing it's Saturday, I could just sleep this away.
"You told me he was your former boss," my brother said. "Did you resign or he fired you?"
I opened my eyes and looked at him. "The latter."
"Why?"
"Stop asking." I stood up and started walking back to my room. "If Mrs. Allen came, tell her we'll wash her car later. I'll just sleep for few more minutes."
"I overheard your conversation with Mr. Michael Jackson last night before he left. I heard he was convincing you to come back."
I stopped and turned to him. "Eeavesdropping is rude, John."
"But I think you should come back. Mr. Michael Jackson could pay you--"
"No."
"But I heard him mentioning about giving me a scholarship."
My brother looked at me, his face hoping. I stood by the door of my room and I looked back at him as my temples throb.
"I am not accepting anything from him," I said in a serious voice. "Stop talking about things you know nothing about."
I entered my room and closed the door, leaving my brother in the living room. I sighed and closed my eyes. One of the reasons why I wasn't able to sleep early last night was this. I spent the entire night staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking about Michael Jackson and his offer to me to go back to his ranch. I said no. I kept convincing myself the whole night that I made the right decision, but something seemed wrong. Something didn't feel right.
The voice at the back of my head kept saying that I should've said 'yes' but I'd shook my head to get rid of it. No. The ranch caused me pain. Michael Jackson caused me pain. I don't want to come back and this is the right thing to do.
Or is it?
I sighed again and put my palm on my forehead. "Stop thinking about it, Jane."
But I couldn't.
I slept the entire day. It was probably one of my best sleeps because my head was aching and it felt good to just sleep it away, but the moment I opened my eyes, my room was already dark. I immediately got up when I realized that it was already night time and the open window was showing me the big moon already lighting up the sky. I looked at the clock. 8:00 p.m.
"Shit," I mumbled, holding my forehead. I slept from 9:00 am to 8:00 pm? That's roughly eleven hours, oh god.
I stood up from bed and immediately turned on the lights. I closed my room's window, shivering because of the cold evening air from outside. I took a deep breath and started walking to the living room. "John?"
Thankfully, my head was fine now. I've been experiencing severe headaches these past few days and I didn't know why. My co-worker told me that it was probably because of lack of sleep and that was what I believed, too. Problem was, I was having trouble sleeping early as well.
When I got to the living room, I caught my brother talking with someone on the phone and he immediately dropped it down when he saw me approaching.
"John?" I called, my forehead creased. "Who's on the phone?"
"Uhm, my classmate," he answered. "Finally, Jane. You're awake."
I sat on the couch, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. The first thing that came into my mind was Mrs. Allen's car and the baby sitting job that I had for my neighbor. "Did Mrs. Allen come?"
"Yeah. Don't worry, I cleaned her car alone."
"How about Esther?"
"She came, too, but I told her you were sleeping so she left."
What? I was suppose to babysit her toddler! "You should've woken me up!"
"I tried but you wont wake up. I would've thought you're dead if you weren't snoring."
I sighed. Gosh, what's happening to me?
"Have you eaten?"
"Yeah," he answered. "I already cooked the food. You want me to prepare it for you?"
I shook my head and smiled. "No need. I'll do it myself later."
He walked and sat on the chair in front of me, his face worried. "Are you alright?"
I nodded. "I'm fine."
"I didn't know you could sleep that long," he added. "I was kinda worried about you, I thought you're sick but Mr. Michael Jackson said maybe you're just tired--"
"What did you say?"
My brows pulled together and I looked at him seriously. My brother's eyes widened. "What?"
"Did you just say Michael Jackson?"
He shrugged his shoulders and frowned innocently. "Did I?"
Oh, you lying piece of shit.
"Was it him you're talking to over the phone earlier?!"
"W-what? I told you it was my classmate--"
"Stop lying to me!"
"Why are you so angry at him? He's so nice!"
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I tried calming myself down and I didn't wanna raise my voice at him so I asked in a low, serious voice, "are you communicating with him?"
He looked down. "I.." He paused. "I called him earlier. He asked me about you, and I told him you've been sleeping all day. He thought you're just tired so he told me to not wake you up and just let you rest. That's why I didn't wake you up when Esther came."
So it turned out he actually didn't try waking me up when Esther came. He just let me sleep--and just let me miss my babysitting job--because Michael Jackson told him over the phone to not wake me up.
I shook my head in disappointment. "Where did you get his number?"
"He gave me his calling card last night when you were preparing the food in the kitchen."
I stretched my hand. "Give it to me."
His forehead creased. "W-why? What for?"
"I'll get rid of it."
His eyes widened, clutching the pocket of his pants where he probably put the calling card and immediately said, "no!"
"I said give it to me!"
He started running and I came after him, and we were now circling around the living room.
"No!" he shouted. "He told me to call him when I need help and--"
"You're not calling him again!"
And that was when he got the chance to enter his room. He immdiately shut the door right in my face before I could even touch him.
"John!" I shouted. "John, open it!"
I was knocking to his door but the damn kid wont open it, and I couldn't do anything but sigh in frustration. I swear I'm gonna kill this kid.
He didn't leave his room for the rest of the night.
I stayed in the living room, waiting for him to get out but he didn't. I tried knocking again but he didn't even answered me when I called him. I woke up the next morning with the door of his room still closed. I started preparing myself for work and when I was about to leave, that's when he opened his room's door.
"You're leaving?" he asked, his head poking out the door.
I grabbed my coat and turned to him. "I have a duty at the restaurant," I replied. "I am not yet done with you, John. Don't act like you didn't lock yourself inside your room when I tried talking to you and ignore me while I was knocking the entire night."
I wasn't even thirty yet but I felt like a single mother raising a hard-headed disobedient kid.
"You can take Mr. Michael Jackson's calling card now," he suddenly said. "I've already memorized his number last night, anyway."
He stretched his hand out and put the small card on the small table nearby and went inside his room again and locked the door.
I sighed in frustration. Teenagers really are pain in the neck.
The restaurant was filled with people when I got there. I didn't know what was happening ang I walked inside with a confused face. When I noticed that almost all the people were wearing different Michael Jackson shirts, that's when I realized what the fuss was all about.
The fact that Michael Jackson showed up here yesterday made the restaurant a destination for his fans. People were taking pictures, standing on the exact same spot where their idol had stood in front of the counter, and hell, there were even reporters. The restaurant manager was being interviewed by one of the reporters and when she saw me walking around, she immediately pointed at me. "Oh, there she is! Jane, come here!"
My eyes widened as she pulled me and people started forming around us.
The manager was holding me by the shoulders as she smiled at the reporters. "This is our worker Jane Miller. She was the one whom Michael Jackson talked to in the counter, and she was the one who helped him escape."
I forced a smile as everyone looked at me. I stood there awkwardly, didn't know what to do as they started flooding me with questions.
"Where did you bring Michael Jackson?"
"Uhm, w-we just ran around and--"
"What was it like to be with him?"
"Was he kind?"
"What do you feel for having this once in a lifetime experience?"
"Did you have a conversation with him?"
And that was how that Sunday went on. It didn't feel good to have these people around me, and the feeling quite weirded me out. The fans were telling me that I was 'lucky' and even saying that it fascinated them to meet someone like me who already met 'their Michael'.The restaurant manager wanted me to answer all their questions about Michael Jackson and I couldn't believe how the ungrateful woman used me just to keep the people to come inside the restaurant for more customers. Everything was just new to me and I didn't know that answering questions could be this exhausting that I ended up staying in the locker room the whole afternoon.
The Michael-Jackson-in-Santa-Maria fever finally died down after about two weeks. That's when I finally experienced working peacefully again without being approached and asked by a Michael Jackson fan. Once again, I was simply just Jane Miller, though the regular customers would still refer to me as 'the restaurant worker who helped Michael Jackson' or something like that.
John was still communicating with my former boss, talking with him over the phone. I knew it because he would suddenly just say, "Mr. Michael Jackson wants to say hi to you" while we were eating, or while we were watching TV in the living room. Stuff still filled my head each night, though. I wasn't admitting it but deep inside I knew I wasn't truly happy with this and there was. . regret. I knew I wasted the chance for a high-paying job, a chance to meet my friends at the ranch, and a chance to work for him again and always see him around.
But nah, I already told him too many times to just leave me alone. Now, he's finally doing it. This was what I wanted, right? But why didn't I feel happy? He had finally cut himself from me and while I knew that he'd never come back to try to urge me again, a part of me was still hoping. It was stupid, I know, but it's really what I feel. Whenever a black car would park in front of the apartment building, I felt stupid for hoping that it was him, or Rick, or one of his other bodyguards trying to come for me. I tried living like this when I knew I couldn't, and I knew I was fooling no one, but myself.
The light of the hot daytime sun was beating down on me when I went out to buy groceries one Saturday morning. I usually do works for my neighbors during my day off but today, I decided to just take a break so I could have time to clean our own apartment, and so I could spend some free time with myself. I just got my salary from the restaurant yesterday and there was a special sale in the supermarket so I decided to buy my brother a new pair of shoes. I knew he would be happy for this.
I came home only to see him cleaning the whole house. He was sweeping the floor when I got there. I knew John hated cleaning and seeing him sweeping the floor without me commanding him was a rare sight, making my forehead crease.
"Oops--don't step on that part!" he suddenly shouted when I was about to take a step. "It's still wet, just go around the other way."
What's up with this kid?
I put the bags of groceries on the table and turned to him again. "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning."
I rolled my eyes. "Are you sick again or what?"
He chuckled. "I just feel like cleaning the house, that's it."
I wasn't fully convinced at what he said but I didn't ask him again. At least I didn't have to sweep the floor because he already did it.
"I got something for you," I said, rummaging through the bags that I brought home from the market.
"Yeah, later, I'll just finish this."
"Don't you want to see your new shoes?"
He stopped at looked at me, his eyes widened. He started grinning. "No way."
I chuckled.
He immediately put down the mop and came at me, his eyes searching as he excitedly said, "where is it?"
"Here." I gave him the bag. "Got that on sale."
He started screaming and jumping like a five-year-old and I just chuckled. My brother was really fond of shoes. We always struggle financially so he rarely gets a new one so this reaction that he was having was really priceless for me.
"Thanks! You're the best, really." He was clutching it on his chest. "Oh, wait--what time is it?" He looked at the clock hanging on the wall and his eyes widened. "Twenty minutes, I need to finish everything!"
He put down the shoes and grabbed the mop, and immediately started cleaning again. I looked at him, confused. I knew it.
"Is someone coming?"
"H-huh? Uhm--" He looked around, trying to ignore my eyes and my question. "Did you buy some broccoli?"
I sighed and looked at him seriously. "John."
He took a deep breath and put down the mop. "Look, this is supposed to be a surprise but--"
"So someone is coming?"
"W-well, yeah, and--"
"Who?"
And the doorbell rang.
Both of us jerked our heads to the direction of the door. My brother mouthed, "shit" as he immediately put the mop away and fixed himself. I was about to walk to the door to open it but he stopped me.
"Let me do it," he said. I even heard him saying, "he's too early" as he walked and I just stood by the couch, looking at him.
My heart started pounding. If that person at the other side of the door turned out to be the same person I was expecting to see, I swear I'm gonna kill John for not telling me.
My brother was smiling as he opened the door, but it immediately faded when he saw who was outside. He obviously wasn't expecting to see the man outside and when I looked, I was as surprised as he was. I was petrified for a moment, my eyes widened.
The tall man outside was wearing tattered clothes with a bottle of beer in his hand. His familiar face sent shivers down my spine and his chapped lips formed into a smirk. "Can you give Daddy a hug?"
Shit.
That's when I ran to John, and I immediately grabbed my brother by the shoulders, pulling him away from the person. The man had already got inside, closing the door as he drank from his beer and he turned to us, giving me and John a grin showing his crooked teeth.
"W-what are you doing here?" My voice was shaking. I was gripping my scared brother by the shoulders, trying to hide him behind me.
"So you're here now? Last time I was here, you were away." He walked and sat in the couch, looking around. "Come on, give Daddy a hug, didn't you miss me?"
My father was grinning like a mad man as his smell--the smell of alcohol and cigarette--was filling the room, hitting my nose. He was sniffing repeatedly, and his eyes were red. I hated the man so much that seeing him makes my eye water because of anger.
"Get out of here or I'm calling the police."
He laughed like a maniac. "Why do you hate Daddy so much, Jane?"
"You're no longer our father!" I shouted, my lips trembling. "Get out of here and just leave us alone!"
The smile on his face vanished, and he looked at me with his red eyes serious. He was shaking his head. He stood up and John and I almost jumped when he threw the bottle of beer on the floor. It broke into tiny pieces, and he started walking towards us.
He grabbed me by the chin. "You're strong now, huh?" He gripped it harder, and I closed my eyes as I twitched in pain. "I don't have time for this bullshit, Mary Jane, give me money and I'll leave."
I was trying hard to push him but he wont budge so I looked at him with complete anger and disgust, and spat on his face. That angered him so much that he slapped me across the face, and grabbed my hair. I screamed in pain, and tears immediately came gushing down my cheeks.
"You ungrateful motherfucker, I raised you and this is how you pay me!"
My face went numb for another slap and I fell, hitting my forehead at the corner of the table. My vision started spinning and I heard my brother screamed as I felt warm fluid flow down my cheek.
"You're a horrible person!" John was crying. "You're a monster, I wish you die!"
"Useless shits," he said, spitting on the floor. He turned to John and grabbed him. My poor brother tried fighting him, but he was too strong. "Give me fucking money or I'll--"
And the door bell rang again.
The three of us stopped. Our heads turned to the direction of the door. John stood there, looking at me as our terrible father gripped him by the arm. When the door bell rang again, that's when my brother bit the man's hand and pushed him. John ran to the door and immediately opened it.
Three men were standing outside. The man in the middle wearing a red shirt and a mask immediately caught my eye. My vision was hazy and spinning, but I knew who he was. His posture. His familiar figure. When he removed his mask, my crying brother immediately hugged him.
"Mr. Michael Jackson!"
My heart stopped. What is he doing here?
I looked at my vile father, and back to the door as I sob. Michael's eyes met mine and his face displayed a confused expression when he saw my bleeding forehead. His eyes darted to my father, then back to me as John hugged him.
"What's going on?"
--
A/N: super late, i know, and i'm sorry (lol) anyway, thanks for 4.25K reads! y'all are amazing!
---Cin