You Give Me Fever || Michael Jackson

Chapter 76: Meanings And Memories

May 23, 1994

Becky's POV

It's been a few weeks since that perfect day I shared with all my family and friends, but now I'm having to face reality a little more. The Chemotherapy treatment is becoming vigorous, and honestly, it's killing me. It's becoming so tiring; attending these treatment sessions every other week. It doesn't help having to be cautious about my scar; it could open with any wrong movement.

The number of times I've had to go to the hospital lately has become ridiculous; it seems to be my second home, now. I've barely had any time with the kids, which I really want now, seeing as my time is more limited than we originally thought it would be. A year and a half isn't much, when you think about it.

At the moment, I'm in the house with Michael and the kids. It's been a while since we've had a normal day – just staying in – but really, I love it. It makes me feel like I don't have a terminal disease; I can just live normally.

I've also decided that I'll face the tough task of choosing the clothes I'll be buried in today, as well as the items that will be put in my coffin with me. Anything could happen now, so I'm taking no chances, and I'm thinking miles ahead. This is eighteen months we're talking about ... but anything could happen to make that change.

Michael's sitting behind me on the bed, watching my every move carefully. Part of me wants to turn around to look at him; to just kiss him like we used to when I was healthy and okay, but I'm afraid my future is kind of more important. He knows that, too, which is why he isn't saying a single word.

The bed is completely covered with clothing and accessories, as well as personal objects that I've collected over my years. It would be a lie to say that this is an easy task – in actual fact, it's one of the toughest things I've ever done, apart from aborting my baby and having to cope with the cancer.

My fingers brush over each garment, as my mind considers each one carefully. I'm asking myself the same question with everything in my sight: Would this be acceptable to wear to my own funeral? It's a terrible, horrible thought to have to hold within my mind, but I have to do it.

My eyes come into contact with a red dress – the one I wore for mine and Michael's first date at the lake not far from here. Gosh, this dress holds so many happy memories ... of times where the biggest worry was my mother being reluctant about our relationship – forcing us to have ten dates before we even started to consider being together. It seems so strange, but oh, how I miss those simpler times.

I also remember the kiss me and Michael shared in the water, after we had fallen in. The way his eyes met mine, before his hand reached up to slick my wet hair back. The way he gently leant his head against mine, before saying his signature line for the first ever time: "You give me such fever, girl ... ", before leaning in to kiss me. I remember stopping him, questioning his actions, and what my mother would say. It's also easy to remember his rebellious answer, "What your mother doesn't know, won't hurt her". But then, then, I remember the way he kissed my lips with such passion right after ... our silhouettes were easy to depict through the sunset's gorgeous rays.

Ah, memories.

"Sweetheart, what's up?" Michael suddenly asks, bringing me out of my trance. Was I really that deep in my own thoughts?

"Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing," I answer, "Just reminiscing ... do you remember this dress, Michael?" I lift it up to show him, causing his eyes to light up, as well as making him smile.

"Hell, I remember that dress. Our first date; the first time we made each other wet," he jokes. He then bursts out laughing, whereas I try my absolute hardest to appear serious, so he lets his laughter subside, "Sorry, I couldn't resist. We fell in the water, remember? I just—I—it was—yeah, okay." He finally gives in, biting his lip to reduce his large smile, and his visible amusement.