Short stories where Michael Jackson is the ideal, romantic, kind, caring and most handsome man that ever walked the earth (well he Was all that and much more so this book just takes him as he was and just places him in different imaginary contexts)...
Final year. I’ve always loved and dreaded it. After months of awkwardness, when you’re finally settled in and comfortable, it’s time to leave. While it brings you the comfort of familiarity, it also brings you closer to a new world that you will have to step into leaving behind old friends and known classrooms. Today was the first day of my final year and I was dreading it. As a post graduate student, I was required to do a master’s dissertation and while I looked forward to doing research and writing about things I loved, dissertation also meant that I had to have one on one sessions with my thesis guide at least 5 times a week. This was frightening because I would rather jump into a frozen lake than talk to new people.
Yes, I’m an introvert, though my best friend Rachel, my mum-dad and Peechu, my pug would testify against it because once I start talking, I don’t stop. You might have realized this by the long rant that I have written till now. But that is just the case with people that I’m close to. While talking to people I don’t know, I bring out my monosyllabic oxford dictionary. ‘Yes’, ‘No’, ‘Thanks’, ‘bye’ and I’m done with the conversation, no matter how long a speech the person I’m talking to is giving. I’ve often tried to psychoanalyze my ‘excellent’ conversational skills and reached the conclusion that it is some deep-rooted inferiority complex that is the cause of my broken jarred verbal skills.
To top it all off, my guide for this semester is Professor Jackson. Professor Jackson cannot be described by rational facts or labels. If I say he’s beautiful, it would be untrue because the word beautiful would be limiting. Prof. Jackson is beyond and above worldly descriptions. But what facts cannot say stories do and thus I’ve come up with a story of how I believe Prof. Jackson was created. It was the 7th day of creation and God was resting. He looked around and saw all the wonderful things he had created. He was happy but there was something missing. An all-encompassing element. The rose smelt sweet but tasted bland, the apples tasted sweet but smelt bland. Man had intellect but lacked compassion, animals had compassion but lacked intellect. So, on the day of his rest God decided to create Michael Joseph Jackson. While all other things were works of God, Michael Jackson was God’s Art. The art of the greatest artist.
You must have realized by now that I have a hopelessly big crush on Prof. Jackson. Talking to strangers is difficult, but talking to those chocolate brown eyes, those plump pink lips and that chiselled sharp jaw that is a bitter sweet Everest climb which I have to undertake for the next six months.
“Morning Viv, all set for last semester?” Rachel asked as I walked out of my room.
“Yes and No”
“Vivienne Michael, you don’t have to be so tensed. You have a wonderful dissertation topic to work on and one of the best professors as guides. Believe me these six months are going to be a blast”.
Yes, my full name indeed is Vivienne Michael. During the first semester when I was crushing on Prof. Michael, I used to think how convenient it would be to get married to him because I wouldn’t have to change my last name. But then I realized that Michael is his first name and that my fantasy didn’t make any sense. So I let go of it and built new fantasies. Dr. Michael, Michael the firefighter, Michael the king of pop ugh…. with all this nonsense in my head, how am I going to face Professor Jackson?
The bell rang and we rushed to class.
“Late on the very first day?” Professor Jackson asked turning his head towards me and Rachel standing by the door.
I stood with my mouth slightly open gaping at Professor Jackson. He had grown his jheri curls and his now shoulder length hair was pinned back loosely with strands of curls falling over his beautiful face (yes, I know the term is insufficient but I can think of no other word as of now when Prof. Jackson is standing before me with his breathtakingly beautiful smile. You of all people should understand the state of blankness one enters into on meeting Michael in person).
“It’s no problem really, come in and take a seat” he said flashing a smile. “This semester I will be teaching you African American women’s literature and Voices of resistance” he said turning around and writing something on the white board with a marker.
“Look at his ass, he got one hell of an ass” Rachel whispered leaning over.
“Shh. Rach you cannot talk like that, after all he’s a professor”
“Why? Is there a law against professors having fine asses? Most professors are fine asses, Jackson just has a fine one. Isn’t that way better?”
“you know sometimes you’re an ass” I giggle. I couldn’t help thinking about what Rachel had just said. Not to sound pervy but he does have a damn fine ass. Hey! Don’t judge me I know you agree too. Okay here’s something to make things easier.
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See what I mean
“Miss Michael, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking of is more interesting that the syllabus I’m giving out but please come back to class”
“Sorry professor” I blush, not looking up from my notebook.
“thinking about his ass?”
“Shut up Rach!” I whisper shout
“Me too” she replies and I blush again
Finally, the bell rings. I pack my bags hurriedly hoping to scoot away but Prof. Jackson stops me
“Miss Michael, you have a free hour I understand”
“Yes professor”
“good, come by my office then we can discuss your dissertation topic”
