Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

15. Blind

[Michael]

•••

June 11th, 1976

I hissed sharply at the pain from my injuries as my parents helped me out of the backseat of the rental car. They'd managed to scrape together enough money, along with the money I'd given them over the course of my job, to afford a rental car while ours was in the shop. With all of the bad luck I'd acquired recently, I was just glad that our car wasn't completely totaled. I'd just been discharged from the hospital, and quite frankly, I didn't know if I was ready to face the consequences of my actions. Now that we were no longer in an environment full of medical professionals, my parents were sure to sink their claws into me, especially my father.

Since doctors were no longer lurking around every corner and coming in every, what felt like, five minutes, my parents had uncensored their words without the fear of judgment. In spite of their lectures being reasonable and coming from a place of love, I wasn't in the mood to hear any of what they had to say, and so while I was quite drowsy from the morphine I'd been given to ease the discomfort, I was fake-sleeping for the entirety of the car ride to avoid the awkward conversation I could feel coming.

"Easy!" I winced at both of my parents as they attempted to complete this, seemingly, impossible task. Mother had taken ahold of my waist, trying to scoot me closer to the edge of the seat, and I squeezed my eyes tightly, the pressure from her grabbing at my waist irritating my fractured ribs. Joseph then swung both of my legs over, minding the one that had a cast on it.

Mother sucked her teeth, and I imagined that the sight of her child in pain broke her heart. I couldn't help but let guilt consume me when the thought entered my mind. "I know it hurts, baby, but we gotta get you inside." She cupped my face in her hand as she traced one of my fresh scars, her dark eyes showing her heart-wrenching sadness. "Joe, go on the other side and grab his crutch."

Doing as instructed, Joseph walked around to the other side of the vehicle to grab the crutch that rested beside me, coming back around with it. He leaned it against the car before gesturing for my mother to move aside, and much to my surprise, he used all of his strength to lift up my 120-pound body from the seat. He cradled me before placing me on the ground gently, where I hopped on one foot until given the crutch to lean on. That was a side of my father I'd never seen before; his sensitivity floored me, and though it was surely a sick thought to have, I almost wished I'd gotten hurt sooner—maybe our relationship wouldn't have been so skewed.

Standing right beside me to ensure I wouldn't fall, Joseph rested his hand on my lower back. His abundance of physical touch was strikingly shocking. "You got it, Mike?" he asked as reached in his pocket to grab the house keys.

"I think so," I stated weakly, recalling the lesson that the nurses had given me a few days prior about how to operate the foreign object. It was humiliating; I felt out of control, like a toddler learning how to walk again. I was relieved to see the front door get closer with every step I took. "It'd be easier if my arm wasn't also broken. I'd be able to use two."

My mother stayed at my pace as she raised a straw to my lips, insisting that I take a sip of the orange juice. I complied, aware that the doctors ordered for me to keep plenty of fluids in my system to help me regain my strength. "At least it wasn't your dominant arm," she tried cheering me up. I appreciated the effort, but now that I was back in my element, the reality of the situation dawned on me.

Sure, I would have the help of my parents and my siblings while I was healing, but I could no longer rely on the professionals. I had to relearn every aspect of my life in order to survive the next four to six weeks, and I had no one to blame but myself. Once we stepped up to the doormat, Joseph twisted the key in the lock and pushed through the door. Awaiting me was a giant banner that both of my siblings held on opposite sides. It was a beautifully homemade decoration that had splashes of bright colors and contained many swirls and hearts. The banner read, "Welcome Home, Mike!", and the sight of their thoughtful gesture nearly made my eyes well up with tears.