One Day In Your Life.

Not.A.Word. (Indie's POV)

4:13pm the clock reads, as I head out the front door dressed in brown sandals, white denim shorts and a pink tank top. As soon as I leave my house, I feel my body heat immediately as the hot air shrouds me unpleasantly. My skin glows a soft summery brown, and my sandy blonde hair is knotted and messy. I just plan on getting some more ice-cream and maybe some magazines to help relieve my home bound boredom. I walk down the street, overlooking the pinkish sunset melting into the calm, glassy ocean as my feet plonks against the sandy paving accompany the seagulls cawing in a naturally beautiful, summer harmony. Although the sun is setting, the air remains humid and grossly warm, stiller than ever. The streets are empty, quiet and lifeless, while all the front lawns are now yellow and dull, windows and blinds shut, and cars and trees motionless. I walk for a few blocks, until I reach the small General store, neon lights protruding through the evening air vibrantly. I push my way through the dangling plastic strips, and a friendly ding announces my presence as Corbin, the jolly owner, stands attentive at the cash register with a gappy, goofy smile plastered on his stubbly, chubby face. "G'day India, whatcha up to these days huh?". The cool air hits my heated skin and I exhale a breath of sweet relief, after walking through a fiery invisible blaze for 10 minutes. I've known Corbin since I was a little squirt, around 3, when I first moved here with my Mum after Dad passed in a car accident on his way to work. I don't remember much about my father, but I do remember how long it took Mum to get over his tragic death, and how much I remind her of him, with a short, carved face and soft, small greeny-blue eyes. Corbin sort of helped my Mum out with getting settled in and moving furniture, and since then he's become the only father figure I've known for all these years. He nicknamed me India as a toddler, and it stuck I guess. "Not much Corbz, just hanging at home bored and alone. Mum's working night shifts now also, ya see.". "Yeah mate, she's a busy woman that one, I tell ya!" his cheery, jaunty voice booms through the shop over the loud hum and rattle of air conditioning vents. I nod my head in agreement and head down the freezer aisle until I find the ice cream. I grab a large tub of mango sorbet, and hold it close to my arms as it cools my sweaty, warm body nicely. I walk across the grotty tiled floor covered in track marks from shopping carts and gum. I walk down another aisle filled with candy, chips and soft drinks until I reach the magazines. My eyes scan over the brightly coloured, gossipy text and images of celebrities and rumours until I find the latest rolling stone, with a large picture of Marvin Gaye smiling his charming grin in a beautiful black suit. A small tap on my shoulder behind me startles me and I jump suddenly. I turn around and a beautiful, small boyish giggle fills my ears. A tall, skinny black male with a massive, perfectly shaped Afro stands above me, with a thin white dress shirt, knee high khaki shorts and black thongs. His face is breathtakingly gorgeous, with high, wide cheekbones, a wide, square jaw, boyish, fleshy cheeks, and large, brown eyes, filled with so much innocence and purity I can't help but stare. A wide and masculine African American nose centres his charismatic expression. His teeth as he smiles are perfectly straight and sized, gleaming white against his chocolate complexion, with his plump bottom lip slightly down turned on one side, showing a slightly crooked, but lovely set of bottom teeth. His smile is enchantingly beautiful and charmingly disfigured in the slightest, only adding a perfect accentuation to his perfect face. He looks oddly familiar, somewhat causing me to stare for a split second in fascination until his words pierce my trance. A soft, gravelly and beautifully toned voice asks "Sorry miss, I was just wondering if you could tell me where the records may be...". The most pleasant noise fills my ears as his beautiful mouth smiles innocently with every word, his breathtaking eyes squinting as his subtle face muscles move with his lips. I shake my head quickly to regain attention to reality and smile giggling, as I avoid staring into his eyes while he stands a foot away from my body. I chuckle nervously and lead him a few metres down the aisle to the record display. He follows close behind me, until we are both standing before an array of shiny black vinyl and sleeves covered with the most popular artists of today. I turn to face him as he thanks me with that voice, the voice I would beg to hear over and over again. An oddly satisfying and pleasant accent trickles like sweet syrup across his sentences, a black-mid west American it almost seems. I respond with a sweet, crackled "you're welcome!". His face once again entrances me as it smiles tenderly. "I'm Michael" he suddenly announces as a polite hand reaches out for a hand shake. I graciously respond by returning the favour and giving my name name. "I-I'm Indie.". His hands are incredibly soft and large, with a smooth, chocolate colour and long, gorgeous fingers. My hand is enveloped by his warmth, and I smile brightly. "Indie...That's a beautiful name, girl..." He says with a smoother tone, almost flirtatious. I'm taken aback by this compliment and thank him with a giggle. He stares into my eyes with his glassy, almond shaped ones, a slight smirk creasing one side. We release our hands and both turn on our heels to face the records. My eyes widen suddenly and I quickly turn to him as I realise suddenly what just happened. A vinyl sleeve of 5 brothers with Afro's among the display tips off my memory, and I start backing away slowly, shocked and bewildered. He slowly turns to me, a look of confusion and suspicion in his face until he realises where I'm looking. His eyes widen in terror as he notices the vinyl sleeve I am wearily pointing at, and he runs towards me swiftly, planting a firm hand across my mouth, the other held in front of his own to signify me to remain silent. He shakes his head slowly and stares into my still wide, star-struck eyes. I shake and suppress a scream while he remains muffling my quivering mouth. "Not.a.word." he quietly whispers. I understand, and nod and swallow a large lump in my throat as he slowly releases his grip on my face. We just stare at each other, as the fact that I just shook the hands of one of the most famous musicians of today possesses my mind. Michael.Fucking.Jackson just shook my hand in a general store on the seafront of Cairns. Not everyday, does something like that happen...