Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

16. Kindred

[Imani]

•••

June 13th, 1976

For as long as I could remember, I'd always been a school-oriented person. The world of academia came naturally to me, another wave of validation flooding over my being whenever I'd see bright green marker atop of a test that read A+. Even after my father's death, I threw myself head first into my studies, knowing that my grades weren't a reflection of my personal life, and that gave me some kind of self-worth to latch on to. It also made things easier to shield—until now.

Up until the Friday that'd just passed, I'd missed eight days of instruction, and I was up to my eyeballs in overdue assignments and projects. The desire to pull myself out of bed, to open the drapes and invite the sun to pour in, was nowhere to be found. The task of showering even posed a challenge. Those who had the will, the drive, to care for themselves could never imagine the crippling feeling of defeat that had been omnipresent in my system as of late. The thing that many had taken for granted, the basic necessity that was usually done on autopilot, had now become a daily burden that sucked me dry of any and all energy. It seemed as if the solution to all of my problems was to hide from them, to wither away in my bed, where the corners of the sheet dangled off the edge, complimenting the piles of dirty laundry that were scattered across the floor.

Throughout this past week, though, I've tried my damndest to lift myself up out of the horror show that's been my life recently. With college on the cusp, I desperately needed to pull my grades up and force myself out of this self-sabotaging pattern. I'd put too many sleepless nights into homework assignments during the last four years to let it all go to waste, especially when I had my guardian angel, peering through the clouds and looking down on me every day; my father. He was the one I wanted to make the most proud, and despite his physical departure on Earth, spiritually, he had never been more present in my life than right now.

Michael had missed quite a few days of school since the accident, and since I'd made my return there, I was sure to grab all of his missing assignments from his teachers. Looking in my vanity mirror, I took the claw clip that was sitting on my dresser before clasping my twists together in a simple hairstyle. Before walking out of my bedroom, I unhooked my backpack that was hanging on my coatrack as I swung it around my shoulder, slumping slightly at the extra weight I was carrying.

"Mom!" I called out as I made my departure from my bedroom to the living room.

When I didn't see her sitting on the couch, I heard a stressed-sounding "In the kitchen, baby!"

There, I laid eyes upon my mother, who had various yellow folders spread out across the kitchen table as she frantically scribbled down words on her paperwork. The bags that decorated her eyes were a clear indication that she hadn't slept all night. "Did you not go to sleep?" I asked, concern and disappointment fighting to be the dominating tone in my voice.