Have you ever wondered what would Michael Jackson's life look like if some events didn't happen to him? If he had someone he trusted by his side through everything? Someone that had the power to save him from his tormented life?
Hayley "Brit" Thame...
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We were all gathered in the living room, and you could feel the tension in there. My grandmother didn't speak another word after Michael gently asked her if she was feeling better after she broke her arm that was still in a cast. "It's fine" was all she answered before she became mute again. We were all pretty embarrassed because of this weird situation. I wished Grams would have said something nice when she saw the uneasiness in Michael's behavior. He was looking awkwardly around him with his hands crossed in front of him, while Bill was just standing there.
I cleared my throat and stepped in between Grams and Michael with an awkward chuckle.
"Um, Grams? Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked, and my grandmother averted her eyes when I tried to make eye contact with her.
"It was nice meeting you both," she said in a polite manner before she walked past me to the front door. I gave a look to Michael which translated how sorry I was for my grandmother's behavior, and he gave me a sweet smile in exchange.
This man was really too precious for this world. I knew that, at the minute I would try to apologize, he would tell me that it was okay, and blame himself for coming uninvited. But the problem here wasn't his presence at the loft, it was the fact that my grandmother wasn't able to put her feelings aside and be polite. It wasn't like her to act this way, and it was quite alarming me.
"Okay, I—I know I should have—"
"Don't," Grams cut me off, holding her hand up. "Don't apologize for doing whatever you please with you life. I shouldn't have told you what to do."
"But—"
"Hayley, it's fine. I heard you," she cut me off yet another time, and I frowned at her words. "Now if this man makes you feel some type of way, then so be it. You seem to be sure about yourself, so be with him," she said, but I could see that something was bothering her. She had this serious expression on, with her brows knitted together, and her mouth forming a stern line.
"Grams, what is it? You seem off since you saw that picture of Hayden," I frowned, as I looked her demeanor closely. "What's going on?"
"It's nothing. I should get going," she answered, as she took her coat from the hanger by the door.
"Grams, please," I begged, as I grabbed her forearm, preventing her from putting her coat on. "What is going on?" I reiterated once again.
She stayed silent for a couple of seconds, watching the floor. When she looked at me again, she had that same anguish in her eyes. "Some people are meant to stay in the past, and... Hayden is one of them. Please, please, forget that you saw this picture. It is for your own sake, and mine as well," she practically begged, looking right through my eyes, as she squeezed my hands with force. She visibly wanted me to hear every word she was saying. "You need to do this for me."
"I—I don't understand, Grams. Why? Who is he? Is he family? Why are you so scared of me knowing about him?" I asked, completely confused. I had so many questions, but my grandmother clearly wanted to avoid any type of conversation about him.
