Another Michael

Chapter 16

I went home and actually did nothing for a while. I just sat there in a chair, in one corner of my living room, trying to take in the last days. But I couldn't; it was too soon and everything that happened was so intense and different, that it was too much to comprehend in such short time. I didn't know what the future had in store and I was afraid to think about it. And I didn't even know what I wanted from the future. Also, I didn't know what Michael wanted either. One thing was clear: I didn't know anything about anything and that made me feel quite uncomfortable. The moments spent with him were bliss, but as my divorce had recently proven, you can't count on that. When it starts strong, it ends strong. And that scared the living hell out of me. There was so much I didn't know about him. Beyond the stories in the media, beyond his public persona, Michael was a very complex individual and I respected and loved that about him. But was I strong enough to have that in my life? I didn't know.

Two days went by and we didn't speak. I hadn't called and neither did he. On the third day I received a text message: 'I'll be out for a few weeks. Please don't forget me. I'm crazy about you. Michael.'

"Be out?" What does that mean? "A few weeks?" How many is a few? "...don't forget me", "...crazy about you..."? Huh? What? What is all this supposed to mean? I called him immediately after for more details, but the phone was dead. It was also dead the next day and then the next one. I was disappointed. And I was sad. And I considered I deserved more explanations than a minimal text message that actually said nothing. I was not a teenager, I was aware we weren't in a relationship, and this was not about those highly sexual days we spent at his place, but our deep friendship should have meant more to him.

However, for lack of anything more to do about it, I had to respect his decision and carry on with my life.

Six weeks went by. Six weeks made up of painful nights, but also homey days with Mrs. Stevens and Ava. They were oblivious to the whole situation and I didn't bring it up either. It would have been useless. After about a month I stopped thinking about him and hoping he would return. I even managed to put it behind me and have a sensible healthy view on it: I had shared a wonderful experience with Michael Jackson, my idol. He used to be my friend and for some unforgettable days he was also my lover. It was wonderful and although it pained me tremendously that those days were gone, I was grateful they happened. How many women can say the same? Well, I wasn't sure, but probably not as many as would have wanted to. I was lucky to be me.

But on the seventh week, however... he called. There was something very serious about his tone, even somber.

The phone rang and when I saw the number my knees buckled.

'Mona...'

'Yes.'

'This is Michael.'

'I know.' I replied blandly.

'I'm back. And I missed you. Missed you horribly.'

I said nothing. What could I have said? I missed him too, but then I got over him? Did I get over him? Whatever I felt, I wasn't ready for that conversation and certainly not over the phone. He probably guessed my thoughts and asked:

'Can we meet?'

And my answer came back without hesitation, as if in a trance:

'Yes.'

I didn't even try to scold myself over saying yes. I was tired of overanalyzing everything. Since that was my answer, it meant that's what I wanted to do, so why not do it? Suddenly life seemed too short for overthinking.

'I'll send the car. When will you be ready?'

'Now.'

I wasn't ready but I was probably never going to be ready, so why waste time?