Red & Black || Michael Jackson

eight - new

"You can do this. Really, you can."

Whitened knuckles, balled up into a perspiring fist, knock rhythmically against the side of Michael's leg as he takes large paces up and down the quaint street he's on. His other hand runs frantically through his ebony curls, a telltale sign that his nerves are getting the better of him. He glances over briefly in the direction of the cafe, knowing he must enter the premises within the next few minutes, but not quite having the courage to do so. The awkward period of time between being hired and starting his new role has gone by far too quickly for his liking; now, he finds himself only fifteen minutes away from the beginning of his first shift.

"You're doin' this for Case. For the life you both deserve."

His continuous motivational monologues prove ineffective in pushing him to go inside, but he halts his repetitive walking in favour of focusing on his breathing. Palpitations shock his chest, causing his heartbeat to thump in his ears. He isn't sure why he is so anxious — perhaps it's the fact that this is his first job since he left The States; or perhaps it's the knowledge he must meet new people and learn new habits.

Or perhaps it's because it's real now. He has to do this all on his own, this time. Back home, he at least had his family and a handful of friends to fall back on in times of hardship. This time, he must rely on his own resilience and willpower, not just for himself — but for his son.

"Come on, MJ. You got this."

"Of course you've got this." The Midland twang of such a familiar accent pierces through the deep thudding of Michael's ribcage, grounding him for long enough to respond.

"Oh, Laurie. Hi." He musters a smile, keen to distract from his own mind with idle small talk. "How are you doin' this morning?"

"Clearly better than you," she answers, scoffing in light amusement. "Are you nervous for this, Michael?"

"Well ... maybe a little," he admits, unexpected even from himself. As of late, he has observed that there is something warm about Laurie which unlocks a comfortability within him, in spite of his apprehension towards life as a whole. Never before has he experienced the phenomena of being able to express his innermost thoughts to someone so early into knowing them, but it feels refreshing to him. "I think it's just hittin' me a little. Y'know — all this stuff is goin' on, and yet most of the people I care for are thousands of miles away."

"Yeah, I get that." She nods to him, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder — a subtle sign of moral support. "But you've got me right by your side for your first shift. I made sure I was on the rota for today so I could be here for you. So, to thank me, you can buy me a hot chocolate on break."

"I always appreciate you helpin' me out," Michael responds, giving a chuckle. "But I'll have to think about the hot chocolate. Is that drinking chocolate?"

Laurie tuts, rolling her eyes upwards in playful annoyance. "You Americans, honestly. Yes, hot chocolate is drinking chocolate. At least you know that for in case anybody orders it."

"Is there anything else I need to remember?" The fidgeting fingers from both of Michael's hands toy lightly with each other as a means of self-regulation. "Anything at all, like, about any of the folk that work here, or customers?"

"We have regulars who come in every day, but that's just standard." She shrugs. "And the staff are nice for the most part. You'll bicker with some of them, because that's just how girls in their twenty-somethings can be. To be fair, that's how people in general can be. But be kind to our colleague called Avery. Everyone has a name tag, so you'll be able to figure out which one they are."

"Why do I have to be kind to Avery in particular?" Michael asks. "Is she shy, or something?"

"It's 'they', not 'she'."