Book 6 - 1970 (Michael Jackson)

Chapter 9 - Growing Pains

Chapter 9 - Growing Pains

Date: March 1, 1970

MICHAEL'S POV

You could easily tell you were on the coast when you realize you spend all of January and February spending approximately four seconds in the closet, selecting a pair of pants regardless of length, and sporting a t-shirt. Indeed, March just recently began, though near the coast, months could pass you telling the difference between November and April was a job selectively for calendars and weather reporters. The weather was always mild and balmy, the sun nearly always shone, and it was commonplace for children to be playing basketball outside any day of the year. From the perspective of an observer, it seemed as though my life existed within a cereal commercial or something of the link.

Of course, on those same mornings, I was graced by the glorious groans and moans of my brothers, most notably Marlon's, "I remember a time when we slept in on weekends." Usually, his remark would be followed by Jermaine's, "You mean, seven years ago?" often accompanied by, "You remember that far?" The resolution of the conversation was typically a passive-aggressive laugh from the instigator himself, that Marlon.

Like most morning debuts, this one began with a complaint, though not from Marlon. A sharp slap on a flat surface echoed through the house, and, curious as I was, I rose to investigate. Outside my bedroom and in the living room laid Tito, half-naked and barely conscious, a magazine draped over half of his face, and two Jolly Ranchers on his chest. I concluded that he must have camped out on the couch last night and was recently awoken by Joseph or one of the girls. Wrinkling his nose and letting out a low groan, he turned to his side, thus shielding the light from his eyes and forever losing those two Jolly Ranchers to the clutches of the black hole within the sofa. 

From away in Randy's or Jermaine's or maybe one of the girls' rooms, I heard Joseph waking a sibling up. I scratched my head, feeling my small mound of unbrushed Afro. I discovered the bowl of candies on the nearby coffee table and sneakily snatched a blue raspberry Jolly Rancher. Breakfast, I called it. Tito stretched again and turned his head in my direction. His eyelids fluttered open, and with a few seconds' consideration, he said, "What in God's name do we have planned for today... On a beautiful Sunday like this," he paused, making low noises, "when we could be sleeping?"

I had to agree; sleep was a truly beautiful, magical thing, and we had a distinct lack of such in recent months. Of course, I could not quite say what I felt without it sounding bizarre, so when he presented the rhetorical question to me, I simply answered with, "I don'know." After a brief pause, I added, "Joseph's got something."

"'Course he does," he groaned once more, his hand traveling down one of his sides. "He's not going to be happy when he finds out I've got homework tonight. Whole loads of it. Ms. Fine's really hammering me with all this research. Y'know she wants me to write up a research paper on Cicero?" He took a few more thoughtful seconds, then added, "I don't live in ancient Rome, do I?"

"I don't think Joseph's gonna believe that lie," I said, slightly unimpressed by his early morning lack of speechcraft. "She barely gives you any homework, and we - none of us - have had to ever write anything real big like research for her."

"Yeah, in the whole six weeks she's been our tutor," he griped. Letting out a pathetic, nearly hysterical laugh, he added under his breath, "our tutor!"

On the table with the Jolly Ranchers laid a small envelope of paper quite obviously shred up by Tito. He motioned toward the paper and, opening his eyes at last, said, "It's another tentative television performance. Scheduled for May, it is. Another Ed Sullivan gig."

I furrowed my brows. "Did Joseph get hold of it?"

"It was originally his mail, Michael. I just happened to read it first."

"Yeah, I can see," I answered, running my fingers along the side in which he annihilated the packaging. "Are we doing it?"

"Well, Joseph saw it."

"So that's a yes." That was most likely the reason why he woke Tito up. Looking outside, I realized it couldn't have been too much later than perhaps seven in the morning. The sun had just begun to rise over what little horizon I could see through the window, over a fence, and through some trees. I blinked twice and formed a mental checklist of the day's likely events: Kayla over in a few minutes, long meeting with Joseph and company, phone calls, a mountain of fan mail, practice and more practice, and breakfast.

I chose to start my list of chores and finish the most enjoyable. The Jolly Rancher I had been holding until that point found its way into the embrace of my tongue and teeth, thus accomplishing the final chore on my list.

It was a rather enjoyable chore, I admitted.

Around that time, I heard the front door to the house swing open. A few steps in, I watched Kayla saunter inside the living room, her large and strangely bright eyes carrying dark, painful-looking, contrasting baggage underneath. She muttered a rather groggy "Good morning" to company before setting her things down.

"An oxymoron if I've ever heard one," grumbled my shirtless older brother.

"What are we doing?" Kayla mumbled. "We're kids. It's a Sunday and it's currently a few minutes before seven. How long do we plan on working today? I didn't think we had too much to work on right now. Are we headed to the studio today?"

"Maybe later in the afternoon."

She nodded, staring off into the carpet of the living room. "Sorry to ask for this, but by chance would you all be able to provide breakfast?"

For a brief moment, I was delighted to hear that she was probably genuinely experiencing hunger, for I barely hear those words from her mouth and it was quite lovely having reassurance that Kayla was indeed a human being. Of course, I quickly realized that breakfast was likely out of the question, and my face fell. Eyeing the next best option, I grabbed a whole handful of Jolly Ranchers and said, "Here's a nice wholesome breakfast for you. It'll probably have to do."

She half-grinned at me, perhaps appreciating what little early morning humor I could muster. Upon unwrapping a watermelon-flavored candy, she sighed and said, "To the pain of simulating adulthood at seven in the morning."

Fluttering his eyes, Tito said, "Bon appetit."