Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

10. Regret

[Imani]

•••

May 23rd, 1976

As I walked through the doors of Westpoint Market, I took another sigh of relief, as I was glad to know that Michael wasn't on the schedule for that day. Three days had passed since the blowout between him and I, and between allowing myself to be vulnerable with Tara the previous week and him being unreasonable with me, I'll admit: it was nice to catch a breather. Yet, it felt odd to not receive my nightly call from him or to be in the security of his presence, especially given my never-ending hell that continue to burn me time and time again. And I can't say that I didn't miss it.

I held the shopping list my mother had wrote for me securely in my grasp, starting towards the closest item on the list. Halting my actions, though, was a shiny, luscious Afro I saw in my peripheral vision. I knew that Afro from anywhere, but just to be sure, I had to double take just to be sure I wasn't crazy. Indeed, it was Michael, and I knew I wasn't ready to pick up where we'd left off on our argument, so my eyes were fixated on the words written on the piece of paper, hoping that'd somehow cause me to blend in with my surroundings.

1. MILK

2. EGGS

3. PAPER

My eyes continued reading those three words repeatedly, but I knew I couldn't keep this up for long, and once again my peripheral vision served me wrong, showing me what I didn't want to see, which was Michael's intense gaze staring right through me. My heart scolded at me to walk up to him and work everything out, but my mind was louder and persuaded me to continuing displaying acts of pettiness.

I knew I'd have to pass by the aisle he was working at to collect the items on my list, and so I began heading in that direction before hearing something that caused me to jerk my neck so quickly.

"You're incompetent!" I heard a teen with a screechy voice yell. Her voice sounded familiar, and I instantly recognized her as one of the stuck up bitches who went to school with us. "You people can't do anything right! You're nothing but a worthless nigger!"

There wasn't anyone else she could've said that word to, as Michael was the only Black person working in that entire store. My blood began sprinting throughout my body as a result of my heart pounding against my chest. I know the hurt that word carries—anyone who has ever had the unfortunate experience of being called that word knows.

I began seeing flashbacks of all of the times that my phone rang with a depressed Michael on the other end from another hurtful thing he'd been called at work. The fact that we hadn't been speaking was completely blown out of the water in that moment, and I walked angrily towards the bitch that had the audacity to even let that word slip out of her mouth—and this took all of five seconds.

"He's nothing but a what?" I wasted no time to set her in her place. It almost felt as if my feet weren't taking me there fast enough. I could feel the steam coming out of my ears as I imagined it spiraled together to write out a number of curse words and derogatory terms, one of them matching the middle finger I held up. "Say it again, bitch! I dare you." It didn't take long for all eyes to be on us, but I wasn't letting up. The built-up emotions I'd felt over the past few weeks all decided to come out at this moment—although this white wasted piece of space deserved all of what I was giving to her.

"Imani, please don't do this here—" Michael tried to intervene as he attempted to stand between the woman and I.

"No, Michael!" I didn't care anymore. Enough was enough. "It's because of racists like this—" I could see the girl take offense to the word, which caused me to laugh at myself. "—that are stuck twenty years in the past that cause you to come home feeling sorry for yourself," I vented continuously. "Now, I dare you to say it again." I saw her shake her head. "No, really, do it."