We jammed through "Sign O' The Times" and "Play In The Sunshine" at the MTV Video Music Awards. A damn shame, but that stiff audience wearing suits hardly cheered out loud during both performances. I didn't even care, still proud of us regardless.
Ro didn't even visit us after the ceremony that night.
________
By the time I let myself in and returned to her empty Los Angeles apartment, I flipped through channels after playing that living room piano. She had moved that entire set of keys in here only for my use, not once scuffing the mahogany floors.
Once random gossip worked as background noise, I sat up in bed while hugging her pillow.
"Michael Jackson opened his very first solo tour in Tokyo, Japan this week and a familiar face dropped by to congratulate him!" One news anchor beamed, giving their voice over. New photos of Michael from that gig ran across the screen.
Not even seconds later, the new pictures cut away to show backstage footage.
"Are you kidding me?!" Onscreen, as an entry lanyard swung around her neck, Ro bounced her curls and shouted with happiness no long after walking closer towards Michael.
As for my own thoughts, jealousy reared its ugly head right away. Now, more footage showed Michael opening both arms and hugging my wife.
Jackson sported this leather jacket over one white shirt, wearing dark pants with classic penny loafers. He just closed that first night with "Bad" for the audience.
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"As a surprise, Michael has reunited with show business writer Rochelle Davis-Nelson!" The television anchor continued raving, but my own frustration simmered.
Despite the reality of her own career, my heart still shattered, now acknowledging guilt. Envy kept its nagging foolishness too.
On the other hand, Rochelle's smile left me lonely, somehow appearing so much more vibrant. In one picture, she stood next to me and glanced towards him while chuckling. Michael had looked down, also humored by everything unsaid.
By a miracle, I drifted near sleep in this bed alone, trying not to cry as the wedding band still ironically shined on my finger.
***
Playing this one-off show couldn't distract me long enough last night. I paced the floor, scribbling through my notebook, and going through our pictures, still sprung and heartbroken. I couldn't fight these emotions and now remembered so much.
Ro had looked like an angel during our wedding. Designer gown. Gentle ivory fabric stitched all the way up towards her neck. We held hands in photos while delicate lace crossed along her fingers. This large yet beautiful veil kept up with those curls.
After taking in moments of silence, I somehow looked even further towards the past. There was a time when we damn-near lived at First Avenue instead of flying everywhere. Back then, we were "kids", still figuring out fame and life together.
Where did you go, darling? I sadly thought to myself.
"Hello?" Her phone rang on the nightstand. I picked up that line from habit and cleared my throat, ready to deal with anyone.
"Hey, it's me." Ro answered, nearly whispering. "Sorry, but my flight just got delayed. I'll come back tomorrow."
My anger that brewed over the last few days slowly calmed down. She sounded so cute, even while apologizing to me for obvious reasons.
"Hi," I said, at peace. Rochelle called her own landline knowing that I would be around. Otherwise, she'd pointlessly chat with the answering machine. "Glad you're safe, but I miss you, Mama."
"I miss you, too." Ro promised, sounding genuine.
__________
When "Sign O' The Times" premiered as a film in Detroit, I offered the red carpet an illusion of showing up. Everyone from Cat to Sheila sent cameras into a tailspin. I'd always love this place, but sneaking into the American Theater felt much better.
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I held hands with Ro in the dark, but still watched for details. My thoughts nitpicked time and again. Some performances were decent enough. Transitions could've looked smoother. On and on. It all played out in different ways for the screen.
At times though, my wife still danced with Cat and Shelia and Bonnie, cheering between songs or encouraging me.
No distance. No heartbreak. Every time I glanced towards her, my heart eased once more. I could finally sleep without crying again.
***
"Now what?" Ro asked later that night.
"Unless you're leaving me again, nothin's going on." I shrugged, exhausted for once.
"No late-night field trips?" she joked around in return.
"Not this time, I just want to see you." Our weight settled on the covers and I moved back her curls, smiling.
"Okay," she kissed me right back, proving forgiveness.
_________
A few days later, Rochelle played my earlier music and truly started digging in the crates. Instead of jamming through anything from "Parade" or even listening to records on "Dirty Mind," she went for my self-titled album.
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Don't wanna pressure you, baby.
All I ever wanted to do!
I wanna be your lover....
She sang along to "I Wanna Be Your Lover" and danced in the mirror. No pictures. No footage. I could only absorb this beautiful sight as a memory.
