A Dream of Snow - A Christmas Tale {Michael Jackson Story}

A Dream of Snow - Part 3 (Final)

Feeling a disproportional sting of loss, Michael went over and looked outside. There was no sign of a raven anywhere - nor a sign of snow. Before his window lay a cool Californian winter's day with a pale sun in a cloudless sky. He remembered closing the window. He remembered even bolting it shut. Now it was far open. Was it possible that the raven had unbolted and opened it, and let itself out? Michael tried both window and lock - it was hard to imagine. Had he maybe only dreamed it after all? But then why was he in his dressing gown? And why was he still having the faint taste of turkey in his mouth?

He couldn't bring himself to shut the window, so he left it open. Feeling lonely, he went to get dressed.

When he came downstairs, the house was in a bustle. Furniture was being moved, chairs and piles of plates were being carried in by men and women with long, white aprons. He maneuvered his way through to the kitchen.

His make-up artist was sitting at the breakfast table. "Merry Christmas! I'm glad you are here. I'm on my fourth cup of coffee. After a fifth my hands start shaking." Her voice was light and cheerful.

Michael let the teasing roll off him. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'll be right with you. Let me just eat something real quick."

The atmosphere in the room dropped immediately.

He sighed and turned to the woman at the table. She looked run over.

"I'm sorry, " he raised his hands in defeat. "I overslept. Let me have a cup of coffee myself, and I promise, I'll be a different person... Did you see the snow?"

"No. You saw a snowflake?" She turned to the window as if she was hoping to spot one herself.

"Not just one! Neverland was covered in snow earlier this morning!"

She turned back to him and then exchanged a look with the chef behind the kitchen counter, who was just placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

Michael looked from one to the other. "None of you saw snow?" They both shook their heads in silence.

Michael turned to the chef. "Ms. Cartwright, I left two saucers here on the counter. Did you clear them away?"

"No. There were no saucers here when I came. But I can give you two new ones, if you like..." And she was about to go to the cupboard.

"No, no. Used ones. I didn't clear them away. I left them here..."

She shook her head slowly, and they both looked around the counter. The only thing standing on it was Michael's steaming cup of coffee on its corresponding saucer.

"I cut a slice off the turkey..." he started, then followed her eyes as she looked behind herself. On a work area in the back of the kitchen stood the fried turkey in all it's glory, ready to be sliced - and perfectly complete.

"Do we have more than this one?" But his voice was rapidly losing its confidence.

"No, sir." The chef shook her head.

Michael's make-up artist had got up from the table and came over to where he stood looking at his coffee cup. She squeezed his arm friendly. "That was a dream, Michael." When he looked up, she gave him an encouraging smile. "Have your coffee, eat something and wake up completely. I'll go upstairs and set my things up, and you just follow whenever you're ready, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay!" She squeezed his arm one more time before she walked out.

Perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, Michael chewed absentmindedly on his sweet bread role, while Ms. Cartwright had started slicing the turkey in the far corner of the kitchen.