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Chapter 1

Song: {Speechless-Michael Jackson}

"Turn on the tv!" my mother yells from the kitchen. I flinch and drop the book I had been holding and watch it slam to the ground. "Now, hurry! Channel 6!" she yells again, distraught clear in her voice. I jump from the couch and press the power button on our main room plasma television. I flip to the correct channel as quickly as possible and stand in front of the TV with the remote still  in my hand.

"Breaking news now on Fox News Channel, the Los Angeles Times and the associated press are now reporting: Michael Jackson has died in Los Angeles this after-" the remote falls from my hand and hits the floor with a loud thud. I quickly shut the TV off before the reporter can finish. My jaw falls to the floor in complete and utter disbelief. This cannot be real. 

As I try to control my breathing, I still hear the newscast from the kitchen. "Turn it off!" I scream. My head fills with lyrics from the man whose music I grew up with.

The King.

My idol. 

I hear footsteps, then feel arms around me. "I know it hurts, baby. I'm so sorry." my mother whispers, crying herself. I shake my head and lower my hands, staring at the ground.

"It's not true, it's not true! It can't be!" I yell. I then run upstairs to my bedroom. I throw myself onto my bed and hug my MJ pillow as I stare at the posters on the wall. I have three of them. 

My eyes dry as I can no longer produce tears. I had never cried this hard in my life. My mother calls for me and when I finally open my eyes it is dark outside. I hadn't noticed that I fell asleep. Was it just a horrible dream I had? It couldn't have been real. I prayed it was a dream.

I sit up and look down at my arms, still clenching onto my pillow for life. My heart sinks. My radio softly sounds a playlist of my favorite Michael Jackson songs. I throw the pillow at the wall. Then my CD case at the radio. It shuts off and I bring my knees to my chest. 

What am I to do now that the man who has taught me so much, made me so happy, made a strong difference in the lives of those who knew and loved him- is gone? 

"Nat?" my mother taps on my door gently before opening it and stepping into my bedroom. She closes the door behind her and peers at me sympathetically. She looks down at the CD case I had just thrown, and I assume is now cracked by the look on her face. She slowly walks over and looks down at the empty space on my bed, then back at me. I nod in approval, and she sits. 

Silence falls between us for a few moments. I don't know what to say, or if I want to say anything at all. 

"Sweetheart, I know how much this hurts. I know how hard it must be to lose someone so special..." 

"No you don't!" I raise my voice a tad, and her eyes widen. "Yes, I do, Natalie Jo. Your father was very special to me." I sigh and look down as I nod. "It's not the same!" I argue. After seeing my mothers horrified expression, I begin to feel bad. "I'm sorry. I'm taking this way too far."

"No, you're not honey." she says softly.

"It's just. . .growing up without a brother or sister is hard... and a dad that was barely in your life; then he suddenly dies," I look up at her and shake my head. "I grew up with Michael. His music, his words. My childhood is gone. Down the drain. Just like that." I snap for emphasis. My mother hugs me and rests her cheek on the top of my head. She rubs my shoulder and giggles.

"You're 12 years old, Nat. Your childhood isn't over yet." she tries to lighten the mood but it doesn't work. "Sweetheart, I know how you feel, and you have every reason to act this way. Not necessarily throwing things at the wall and breaking your CD's, but. .. " I laugh and rub my eyes. "Everything will be okay." I nod and try to believe her. "I love you, mom." 

"I love you, too, baby."

"Late dinner is down stairs if you want it." my mother says before standing and walking to my door. I shake my head. "I'm not really hungry." I say softly and she nods. "Understandable." she says. She leans over to my radio and turns it on again. She presses the arrow button until she finds the track she was looking for.

"This has always been one of my favorite songs of his," she says, smiling down at the radio. She then looks over at me with a sympathetic smile. "It always helped me cope with things." she pauses, sighs, then finishes her sentence. "Like your fathers death." I stare down at the floor and listen. My face heats and fresh tears prick my eyes as soon as I recognize the tune.

You Are Not Alone.