Saving Michael Jackson

25th June 2009

Wanda left without looking back. The front door clicked shut, and the sound seemed to echo through the entire house.

A few moments later, Michael stepped out of the office. His eyes were red, and he sniffed quietly as if trying to hide it. The moment he saw me standing there, his shoulders dropped. He lowered his gaze to the floor.

"She really left, didn't she?" he asked softly.

I couldn't bring myself to answer with words. I simply nodded. Pain flickered across his face. Michael loved Wanda. He always had. Just like he loved Janet. Wanda was his little sister—his Wendy, as he liked to call her.

"It's alright..." he murmured, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's alright. She's a grown woman. She can take care of herself, right?"

I nodded again. Neither of us truly believed it.

By the time midnight arrived, the house had fallen silent. Everyone had gone to bed. Everyone except Michael and me. The living room was dimly lit by the glow of the television. Some late-night show played quietly in the background, neither of us really paying attention to it. Michael sat beside me on the couch, one arm draped comfortably around my shoulders.

"I should sleep," he said, keeping his eyes on the television. "I've got rehearsals tomorrow."

"Michael?" I asked quietly, resting my head
against his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he replied. His attention remained fixed on the screen.

"I really care about you." My fingers traced small circles across his chest.

A laugh escaped him. "I care about you too, silly."

I swallowed. "No... I mean very much."

His smile faded. The television suddenly seemed unimportant.

"I have to tell you something," I continued. "And I don't know how because it's just so hard."

Immediately, he reached for the remote and lowered the volume. His eyes found mine.

"You're not leaving too, are you?"
The question came out so quickly it almost hurt. "Because I—I can't take it, Cindy. It would be too much." His voice cracked. He looked away. "I'm already..." He stopped.

"You're already what, Mike?" I asked gently.

Michael sighed. "The rehearsals are stressing me out." His fingers tightened around the remote. "But I don't want to stop. I have to keep going. For the fans. For my children." A small smile returned to his face. "But when all this is over..."
He looked at me. "I want you to come with us."

I blinked. "Come with you? Where?"

A grin spread across his face. "Away."

He giggled softly. "I want us to live happily together. You, me, Blanket, Paris, and Prince." The warmth in his voice nearly shattered me.
"You know they've never been on tour with me before," he continued. "I'm taking them to London. I want them to see me perform." His eyes sparkled. "And I want you there too."

I looked down at my hands.

"Yeah," I whispered.

Michael gently hooked a finger beneath my chin and lifted my face toward his.

"We were so silly when we fell in love," he said with a smile. "Do you remember?"

Immediately my eyes began to sting.
"Oh, come on," I laughed through the tears. "You know I'm sensitive. Don't start."

He chuckled. "When we broke into Jermaine's house like two criminals." He held up two fingers.
"Two James Bonds."

I laughed despite myself.