december 1978
Smooth melodies, yet they made me tiresome. Repetition was great, superb in certain aspects of life, but when it came to music, I couldn't stand to listen to the same song over, and over, and over, and over until I knew it's lyrics, time signature, and key by heart. It was terribly annoying, as Andy Williams' voice had become in recent weeks.
I loved Christmas music don't get me wrong, but as any retail worker would gladly tell you, music loses it's replay value over time. Forgettable music at least.
My lip went beneath my teeth as I rose to the tips of my toes, slapping a price sticker on a Fisher Price toy packed in a huge box. It appeared to be a Ferris Wheel - a very overpriced miniature Ferris Wheel in pretty packaging, sure to excite any child it was given to.
I ran my palms against my arms, hoping to ease the ache out of my forearms. That thing was as heavy as it was huge, and I let out a deep breath, wishing I could just sit on the floor and escape from the view of every customer that stepped foot in that aisle with a question I deemed stupid.
"Miss." I heard, and wished I could roll my eyes, but turned in the direction of the voice instead, "Yes?"
My jaw slackened a little at the sight of the man I had seen too many times in magazines. He was tall and not burly, but big enough in stature to make my knees weaken a little. He had smooth brown skin and ocean blue eyes that scarily contrasted perfectly with one another, and suddenly, I couldn't find the gall to speak to him.
"I'm looking for something for my sons to wear and I was looking for a little advice." He said, and I nodded, my lips pursed as he spoke,
"This way." I told him, beginning to head to the clothing section at the rear of the department store, "How big are your boys? 11, 12?"
"One is 7, and the other is 4, but they're big." He answered, and I stopped between two clothing racks, placing a single hand on each, "This is what we have. Your job is to look through for 5T, and 8 on the hangars."
"Thank you." He said as I took a step back to allow him to browse the small selection,
"It's no problem but- You're Clive Jones right?" I asked and he quirked an eyebrow as he began to sift through the clothes on the rack,
"I am.." He answered, and I could hear the skepticism in his tone,
"You're an executive at Columbia." I stated, more to myself than him, and he turned toward me, no longer focused on the children's clothing on the rack, "Yes.."
"Are you looking for songwriters at the label right now?"
He hesitated, but I watched him think for a moment, and maybe that moment was the moment my career truly began.
"Not per se, but I need a song right now."
"I have a song - I have lots of songs."
"I'll tell you what; I can't do this right here, or right now, but do you have any plans tomorrow?" He asked, and I shook my head sideways, "Not per se."
He cracked a half-smile, and I could feel my body heat up a little from the inside out, "Okay, well what's keepin' you busy?"
"I got 2 brothers and I have to watch th-"
"Just bring 'em on by. You know where Jameson Street is?"
I couldn't truly comprehend what was happening, but Clive Jones was standing in front of me telling me an address, so I nodded.
"Bring by some lyrics for a boogie. If they're good, I'll put them on an album."
My heart fell to my toes, and as quickly as it fell, it rose to it's place behind my ribs once again, "What's happening on Jameson Street?"
"A recording session."
"With who?" I asked, and he returned his attention to the clothing rack,
"Be there or don't. 10 sharp."
He flashed me a bright, big smile that reassured me, yet pushed me away from him, and into my head, where I'd begun writing a song. A song that I wrote throughout the entire working day, and amid my younger brothers' pleads to stay awake for another hour.
They were my world, and normally I would let them stay awake but I had work that needed to be done - For them. They may not have understood in those moments, but it was all for them. So we could get out of that one bedroom apartment and into something behind the gates somewhere.
We had lost my parents about a two years prior in a house fire, and it had been quite the loss for our family. I was in college, chasing my passion for pharmacy - my dreams; but after my parents died, I couldn't afford it. Of course I was on scholarship and everything, but without their support, it was useless, and besides, I still had my two younger brothers to look after.
I took a seat on the sofa, where I slept most nights, and opened my song book, watching the television idly. I wasn't really watching, but looking at it. At what was happening, my mind transcribing it before me into song lyrics. Verses.
Midnight creeps so slowly into hearts of men
Who need more than they get
Daylight deals a bad hand to a woman
Who has laid too many bets
The mirror stares you in the face and says
"Baby, uh, uh, it don't work"
You say your prayers though you don't care
You dance and shake the hat
I sifted through the useless napkins and papers on the table before finally finding a blank paper and a pen, and jotting the only lyrics I had truly comprised all day. I loved when sudden inspiration would strike, and besides, I had created a few verses I could use in other songs, so there was nothing to complain about. Tomorrow would be my day.
2002
"To, you nosey bitches."
"You can't put that as the dedication baby."
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the next chapters are gonna be longer,
i promise.
what do you think is gonna happen next?
YOU ARE READING
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗵 - michael jackson fanfiction
Fanfiction"Trust me. Trust is all I'm askin' you for!" 1978; the dawn of both opportunity and misfortune for young singer-songwriter Laura Martin. Orphaned at 15, and left to take care of her 2 younger brothers in the cold, unforgiving city of New York, Laura...
