Saving Michael Jackson

Jumping in weird places

24th June 1988

"How was the concert yesterday?" I asked while lazily stealing another french fry from the plate in front of me, not even pretending to care that half of them were probably meant for somebody else.
James, who had somehow managed to make himself comfortable in Michael's hotel room for what felt like the millionth time, immediately perked up like someone had just asked him the meaning of life.

"Amazing!" he said excitedly, nearly bouncing in his seat. "I love it so much when the crowd goes bla bla bla!"

I blinked slowly.
"Sorry," I said, completely serious, "were you the performer?"

The room went quiet for exactly one second before Michael burst into soft giggles beside me, lowering his head slightly while shaking it.

"James had the spotlight backstage, didn't you?" he asked teasingly, his voice warm.

James grinned proudly.
"Yes! They all play with my hair all the time."
Of course they did.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair.
It was already evening, and somehow, this kid was still here. Honestly, did his mother ever wonder where her son disappeared to for ten hours a day? Did she just wake up and think, Ah yes, my child is probably upstairs living permanently in Michael Jackson's hotel room. Lovely.

"Can we play with the ball now, Michael?" James suddenly asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

Michael looked over at him while absentmindedly fixing the sleeve of his shirt.
"For sure," he said softly. "Just give me a second, I have to talk to Bill, alright?"

And just like that, Michael stepped out of the room.

The second the door closed, snake James somehow found even more energy than before, immediately jumping around, touching things he probably shouldn't be touching, pressing random buttons like a tiny menace disguised as a child.
Then suddenly—

"I don't speak french, TV!" he shouted dramatically before laughing at himself.

God.
Please.
Please bring me back to 2020.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly detached from my body, but the exact moment I turned around—
I froze.
Because from the television—
My voice.
My actual voice.

"Cause I'm lying to myself, and the reason why she left me did she find—"
My entire body went stiff.

"What the hell—"
I slowly walked closer to the TV, my stomach twisting itself into knots.

And there, on the scree... Was me. Literally me.
Laying on the damn hotel floor singing like I had lost custody of three imaginary children.
A blonde woman appeared on screen, speaking rapid French into a microphone while waving dramatically at the camera, and behind her—
Pictures.
Pictures of me.
With Michael.
At the concert.
Me sitting near the stage.
Another one of us walking.
Another of me near the hotel entrance.
Oh no... No. No no no no no.

"Motherfuc—"
I stopped myself, slapping my hand over my mouth while the woman kept speaking aggressively in French like she personally had life-changing information to share with the nation. I understood absolutely nothing. Not a single damn word. Damn it, i should've listened in French class.
Beat that, 2011 Allison.

Then suddenly—
"Lovely."
I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Oh no..." I whispered, clutching the back of my head. "Oh no, oh no! They spotted me with him!"

Michael had entered the room.
Of course he had entered the room.
Perfect timing. Absolutely fantastic.
Before he could even glance properly at the television, I lunged for the remote control, switched the TV off so quickly my soul nearly left my body, and threw the remote onto the bed like it had personally betrayed me.