Michael Jackson Imagines and Short Stories

I Remember

I Remember: 2

As usual, I couldn't remember when I fell asleep, but I know that I was thinking about what he said to me. Ever since I had arrived, I had been a bit cool to everybody, making myself distant and detached. I didn't want to get too attached because I wanted to save myself from any pain. I felt like a visitor - welcomed, but not permanent. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Although I had started my career in Hollywood doing small parts on TV shows and experiencing more "high life," I felt like "new money," as if I was from west egg only visiting. I knew then how Gatsby felt.

When I headed downstairs for breakfast, no one was up. No one was ever up as early as I was, and that's how I was able to avoid them for most of my day. I would wake up, get food, and then retire back into my chambers until I was forced out on account of decorum by 1 P.M.

I got a bowl of cereal, but I decided to stay in the dining room and listen to the early morning sounds. Within a few minutes of sitting down, I heard footsteps creaking down the stairs. My body became tense and I felt the urge to get up and hide, but I forced myself to stay seated. Last night's conversation, or monologue rather, had instilled a new spirit in me, and I had to constantly remind myself,

"You deserve to be here." And in this moment, that is what I was telling myself. When the footsteps reached the kitchen, they halted briefly, and then I felt two warm hands on my shoulders. I turned around, and it was Michael. I still was not comfortable calling him daddy, but he insisted that I call him anything but Michael, so I never addressed him, I just spoke. Although he didn't like it, he found it much more acceptable than using his first name.

He smiled warmly at me, and then he bent down and kissed my forehead and said,

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"How did you sleep?"

"Well enough."

"I must say that I am quite surprised to see you up this early."

"Well, to let you in on a secret, I usually get up this early."

"But I never see you down here..."

"I..." I trailed off, not wanting to tell him my typical itinerary. I shook my head no in an attempt to dismiss the whole situation.

His face changed from intrigued to wan, and his eyes began to plead with me.

"Why?" He asked me, taking my hand. At that, I began to become cold again, and I turned away from him.

I dealt with these conflicting emotions daily. I wanted to love them, but I feared that I would not be loved back. So when I felt warm towards them, I shut them out.

He withdrew his hand and tried to maintain a happy face. He changed the subject,

"I want to take you somewhere today, just you and me."