Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Three - It Feels So Good

Chapter three – It Feels So Good

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"So, let's talk about something other than personal problems, to try and cheer you up a little," I suggest.

Michael walks with his hands tucked deep into his jeans pockets, his button-up shirt sleeves too baggy to fit inside the pocket, therefore hanging out slightly.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?" he asks, his voice still small from earlier.

"Well, I don't know. Do you have a job?"

"Nope. My father worked at the steel mills not far from here, so he provided for me. My father was very caring towards me and my family – always thinking of us before himself."

"My father's the same – or, at least, he was. Before mother and my brother Andre passed away, he used to take us all out every Saturday, and we'd take it in turns to pick where. He never chose though, because he wanted us to be happy," I laugh lightly at the memories. "I used to always pick the most crazy and fun things to do ... and although dad hated it, he still endured it ... for me."

"What kind of places did you used to go to, when you chose?"

"Oh, typical teenager places, you know, the roller-skating discos they used to hold at night. Dad would sit and watch me have the time of my life, and I'd always ask him to join in, but he always said no ... "

"You like roller-skating discos, huh? I used to go to those places with my brothers, you know, when we were in our late teens. We used to take a time out to get a drink, and we'd sit on the benches and look for pretty girls. Oh, the memories of that ... "He smiles faintly at the old times he had.

"Did you ever find any pretty girls?" I ask, trying to take his mind off everything negative.

"Oh, hell yes. One time I met this beautiful girl, when I was ... I don't know, I think nineteen; her name was Eleanor, and she was one of those blonde hair, blue eyes people. First time I saw her, I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven, I really did. I started talking to her, and we eventually became close. We started a small relationship, just with the basic kissing and cuddling, but any time I asked her to come to the roller-skating disco with me after we started dating, she refused. I didn't know why until ... "

"Until what?" I ask.

"Until we were twenty-one, and she wanted me to ... go further with her. She wanted to, you know, make love to me. I wasn't ready, and I told her that. We got into an argument, and she thought I didn't truly love her. Then one sentence changed everything ... "

"What? What was the sentence?"

"I'm sure my other boyfriend will give me what I want ... "

I widen my eyes involuntarily, and stop in my tracks. "She was cheating on you?"

"Yes," he sighs. "And she didn't want to go out in public with me in case her other boyfriend saw her with me."

"But she was your first kiss?"

"Yes ... and my first love, until that day."

"Were you her first kiss?"

"No ... the other boyfriend was," he says sadly.

I feel the need to change the subject, so I continue walking on the pavement, until we come across some bushes, which are covered from top to bottom with beautiful berries, in assorted colours and shapes.

"Oh, we could pick some berries to share later," I offer.

He nods, "Yeah, sure. I love these ones."