All I Didn't Say ✧ Michael Jackson

Chapter 32 | Wild

"I don't like it," Michael confesses, seemingly disappointed. "I need more anger... rage... give me that, Moffett." He specifies through the microphone on the control room. "Like this, listen-" Michael presses the mic button again and starts beatboxing.

Michael never studied music in it's integrity so he doesn't know how to express himself in the "musical language" as the experts call it. He feels the sounds, the rhythms that boil inside him and starts making them - that's the way he communicates with other musicians. 

When other "musically educated" people come by the studio to work with Michael they actually feel intrigued and, somehow intimidated by him and they think "how can a man without the proper musical education be such a genius?" As Michael says, he's just an instrument of nature. God gave him that role, that gift. 

Moffett, the drummer, starts to tap his foot on the floor and moves his neck, following Michael's beatboxing. Now, after two hours straight of drum playing, the missing rage and groove are all there in front of him. 

"Yes!" Michael exclaims when Moffett, finally, plays the expected beat. "Perfect, perfect!" He asserts, snapping his fingers. Michael quickly stands up and opens the small fridge that is standing right next to recording area. "Let's take a break, sugarfoot." Michael hands Moffett a fresh beer and grabs one for himself too, even though it's not is thing, he could use a fresh drink right now.

"Sugarfoot?" Moffett asks, placing the drumsticks down on the floor. "Really?" 

"Yes," Michael takes a sip of the beer and tries not to pull out an ugly face while swallowing it. "Have you ever looked at your feet when you're playing?"

"No... I'm usually looking at your ass. I've been looking at yo ass for ten years now, so don't sugarfoot me, boy." Moffett laughs, running his hands through his short afro hair. He joined Michael's team back in 1979 when The Jacksons started the Destiny Tour, then the Triumph Tour and so on.

"HA!" Michael giggles. "I would say it's a nice view but that would be extremely egocentric... Now, in all seriousness," Michael sits down on the floor and takes his fedora off, letting his curls come out and fall gracefully in front of his face. "Your feet, when you play... they're so tenderly rhythmic, tapping all the time. They seem like falling grains of sugar."

"And by that you mean you'll call me sugarfoot from now on, am I right?" Moffett rolls his eyes when Michael smiles, confirming his question.

A soft knock on the door drags both of their heads in its direction. "Come in," Michael says and Aria becomes visible when the door opens wide.

"May I steal you for two minutes?" Aria stays at the door, waiting for him to get closer.

"You can steal him for more than two minutes." Moffett's comment makes Michael blush as he gets up and places his beer on the table.

Michael finally reaches her and he closes the door behind his back. "I haven't seen you in forever." He respectfully pecks her cheek. 

"You mean, since this morning?" Aria raises her chin to take a better look at his face and chuckles.

"It certainly feels like an eternity." He states and Aria gives him a quick smooch.

Today Aria is celebrating the end of her work in the college. It's done! Six months passed by like thunder. Gianni organized a small exhibition in the school cafeteria to show off the pieces Aria and the students made. Gianni wanted it to be big event, invite all these celebrities and the press. Michael immediately said no - "I love you and I'm happy it's a success, but I'm not placing a foot in that place if the press is there." He had said. Therefore Aria managed to get Gianni out of that idea so Michael would attend the event.