Oblivion

Dream #2

{1969}

The little African-African boy sat alone in the backseat of the car as it zoomed on the streets quickly. He looked out the window and saw other children about the same age as him running around, probably playing tag. He smiled to himself.

"Driver, can we stop for awhile?" He asked naively.

"Why?"

"I want to play with them," he replied, pointing to the kids outside.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson, but we can't. We're due at the recording in five minutes. We can't afford to waste any more time," the driver said with no emotion. Not even a hint of pity for him.

"Oh," the boy replied, this time softer, as he sunk back to the chestnut-colored seats.

Soon, they arrived outside the building. His little legs got out of the car and went inside. He then saw his manager (other than his father, or Joseph, rather), Berry Gordy.

"Why did you call me, Mr. Gordy?" He asked. "How come you only called me? How about my brothers?"

"Because we need your vocals only this time. Just sing and we'll add it to the instrumental tracks."

"That's not how we used to do it at home," he protested. "We always do things together."

"Michael, Michael," Gordy started as he shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This isn't home anymore. You're growing big. This is how you do it in show business."

"That isn't right."

"Showbiz is never right. Come on, just get in the recording room and sing.

The boy nodded, deciding not to ask anymore questions, seeing it was usless to fight and debate with his new-found manager. He went in the recording, wore headphones, and stood on a small wooden box so his head could reach the microphone. He actually liked being in this booth- he could sing and experiment with his vocal range. Only those older people would not let him be, always telling him to just keep singing with his high voice. One day, when he grows up, he vows to to buy his own recording studio so he could do whatever he wants in it.

"Start with 'I Want You Back,'" said his manager from the other side, and the instrumental of the song soon followed. The boy's ears is engulfed with the sounds of bass guitar and piano playing together. He listened to the music carefully, his eyes closed.

"Ooh- Let me tell you now," he started. "When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around," he sang, his voice reverberating throughout the whole booth.

After a few more takes, he finally finished. His mouth was dry, and he felt like he just ran out of voice. He got out of the booth, gasping a little bit.

"Good job! Good job!" Gordy greeted him as he stepped out of the door. He handed the little boy a cold bottle of distilled water. The boy quickly twisted the cap, opening the bottle, and drank. He sighed in relief after.

"Thank you," he panted.

"Expect more songs to record. You might even go solo."

"No," the boy replied right away. "I'll never go solo. Me and my brothers will never separate."

{1973}

"You may now kiss the bride."