Michael Jackson Imagines and Short Stories

I Remember

I Remember: 8

I remember the excitement that filled me when he said that. But then I thought,

How will we get in and out without being noticed?

We looked around to make sure the coast was clear and thankfully it looked fairly empty, and we bolted inside from the van. We left the place decked out in surprisingly human looking disguise as we walked back to the van to hit the road. At first we were riding in silence, engulfed in our own thoughts. I was wondering what it would be like at the Family Day coming up; meeting extended family, cousins, great aunts and uncles. I imagined that it would be okay just like it was after meeting my grandparents and my dad's siblings for the first time...

I was lead to a room where everyone was cramped together in a line. I felt like the Queen doing greetings, but I was so scared. Everyone introduced themselves,

"I'm Sigmund, but you can call me uncle Jackie." And I went to shake his hand, but he hugged me instead.

"I'm your aunt Rebbie." She pulled me into a hug.

"I'm uncle Marlon." This went on until I had met everyone except for my brothers and sister. They were sitting on the sofa looking uncomfortably dressed up. I was led to them, still trying to soak in all that was happening. Prince leaned forward and stuck out his hand saying,

"I'm Prince-"

"No, I'm Prince!" Blanket cut in.

"You're blanket, he's Prince." Paris chimed, restoring order. She then said,

"I'm Paris." And she shook my hand. I was told to sit down anywhere, but Blanket asked me to sit with him. I squeezed between him and Paris and the whole room was silent for a moment. I broke the silence saying,

"Just in case you didn't know, I knew all of your names already." The whole room erupted with laughter, and from that point on, I knew that it would be a good visit.

I smiled remembering that memory. My thoughts trailed off to what my dad might be thinking. I looked to him, and he seemed focused on something in his brain while keeping his eyes glued to the road. He had one hand on the wheel, and his chin resting on the other as he covered his mouth with his fingers. I thought to draw him (without the mask, of course) when I got home, but just as I was picturing the piece, he turned to me and asked,

"Do you want to listen to some music?" I chuckled to myself because he didn't catch me staring and then looked at him with the widest grin and asked,

"What ya got?" He smiled and said,

"A lot!" He pulled out so many CDs from the glove compartment and the sides of the doors that he could have started his own store! He told me,

"Pick your favorite."

I looked through the Temptations, Diana Ross, Shaggy, Destiny's Child, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Ritchie, Prince, but then I found something to top the rest... Michael Jackson. He had Off the Wall, One Day In Your Life, Bad, Thriller, and the Dangerous album in the pile that I could see. Without him looking, I popped in the first one I picked up. Moments later, the drum beat to Don't Stop Til You Get Enough started to blast. He looked at me with an open mouth, and then he closed it, but still looked surprised. I pointed to him and said,

"My favorite."

Sometimes I couldn't tell what he was thinking. The expression on his face would seem to be one thing, but turn out to be another. He might frown and then bust out laughing or smile and tell a sad story. As I got older, I learned to read him better but I was still wrong at times. But there, in that busted up white van, there was no denying he was just... happy.

Later on, I asked him to sing She's Out of My Life to me a cappella.

"Oh c'mon, why don't you sing it?" He said.

"Because I want you to! Now you c'mon."

"Alright." He said. He started out the song,

She's out of my life

She's out of my life

And I don't know whether

To laugh or cry

I don't know whether

To live or die

And it cuts like a knife

She's out of my life

...

I clapped. It was beautiful, and he smiled wide showing all of his teeth. He began to stare off into space for a second before saying,

"That song reminds me of your mother." He went on to tell me the short of what happened at the end of their relationship. It came down to the fact that my mother did not want my father's life. With it would come fame and relentless harassment by the press, and she said that it could simply not be her life. Besides, he never had time for her and never would. Their ending was bittersweet, but at least not vicious.

It haunted him though. I could tell. Even at that young age, I could tell. It was a subject that consumed him, confused him, and destroyed him all at once and all over again each time. That same gloom that over came him, showered on my mother as well. Her face would grow dark, but only momentarily. She would snap back easily.

We were home a few minutes after that. I got out of the car and walked inside where a wonderful surprise was waiting on the sofa.

"Mommy!"