Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

13. Wrecked

tw - descriptions of violence

[Michael]

•••

June 6th, 1976

I heard the sound of the jars of food rattling against the inside of the fridge door as I slammed it aggressively in my frustrated state. Holding the orange juice by its handle, I felt for the cabinet door to my right before grabbing a pint glass, pouring the juice halfway. I needed to step away from my current task; I could no longer look at black ink on gray paper, and this was just the pick-me-up I needed. Turning around, I walked back to the kitchen table and picked my newspaper up, flipping back to the section that showed job listings, knowing I had to get back to the monotonous chore eventually. With my bold red marker, I circled the jobs I thought were a good fit for me, ensuring that they were within walking distance from my house, since my parents usually needed the car.

It was hard to concentrate on what was in front of me, though, because of my occupied mind. Every photo in the newspaper morphed into Imani's face, the football game highlights photo being replaced with her doe eyes that never failed to be filled with the utmost warmth and tenderness, and her contagious smile that could instantly take me out of any bad mood. Regardless of the fact that I'd broken off our relationship, I still missed her terribly. I missed her morning calls that were sure to set the tone for the day. My soul longed for her gentle touch; I could still hear her soft-spoken voice lingering in my ears that acted as my conscience—my own moral compass. My heart had been hallowed out, and the pain of her absence made it hard to stomach food. Nevertheless, watching her suffer in pain while I stood by her like a helpless child was far too painful, and in recent days, she seemed like more of a ticking time bomb than a girlfriend.

The knocking at the front door pulled me out of my thoughts. My father was working from home today and my mother was enjoying her only day off, so if I couldn't get a job, I may as well make myself useful by getting the door. "I'll get it!" I announced as I stood up from the table, walking out of the kitchen doorway and heading straight for the entrance of the house. When I swung the door open, the familiar face greeted me, and I was thankful to have a distraction from my thoughts.

"Hey, Michael," the always-friendly Elijah greeted me as the corners of his lips pulled into a smile. "How are you doin', man?" he questioned. His tone, along with his gaze, dripped with pity.

In my usual nature, I concealed the way I truly felt. "I'm doing alright," I lied, feigning a half-smile. "Why?"

Elijah shrugged nervously, and I could tell that he didn't want to offend me. "I don't know, man, I've seen you around school, and you look..." he trailed off, running a hand through his curls.

I sighed heavily. "Lonely," I finished for him. "I know." I stepped outside of the house, not wishing to have my parents eavesdrop on our conversation.

Elijah's tan skin was now turning a dark shade of red, his tongue becoming tied as he fumbled over his words. "Well, I didn't want to say it, but every time I see you, you're alone," he explained. I could tell he was trying his best to be delicate with his language, and his kind nature definitely helped him to soften the blow. "And I haven't seen you and Imani together in awhile. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing."

Although Elijah and I had more of a mutual relationship than a true friendship, it meant a lot that he was concerned for my well-being. So, reluctantly, I confessed my feelings. "To tell you the truth, things haven't been great," I told him. "Imani and I broke things off." Immediately, his expression dropped, and he showed a great deal of sympathy for my situation.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry," Elijah apologized, his voice soften in his attempt to sympathize with me. "I know how much you loved her, just from the way you'd look at her."