Afternoon and evening passed slowly, and it seemed they passed even slower the more Marilyn waited. She waited for her parents to come home, she waited for dinner and for it to be time to go to bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and went to her room. But instead of putting on her nightgown, she re-did her makeup and laid down in bed in all her clothes - and waited some more. She listened to the sounds of the house, all the squeaking and creaking that was so familiar, and that now seemed to never die down. Finally, her parents went to bed, and the house became quiet. And then it was just her and the clock. Marilyn watched it tick, the hands glowing softly in the darkness of her room. She wondered, if her parents were asleep already, when she suddenly heard their bedroom door open and shut, and someone going to the bathroom. From the sound of the steps she knew it was her father. Then all became quiet once again.

Marilyn had been worried she might fall asleep waiting for time to pass, but she was so excited and nervous, that she couldn't have slept, even if she had tried. Finally, the appointed time came. As she got out of bed and peered out her bedroom door, she had the feeling her heart beat so loudly, her parents might hear it through the walls. She told herself that, even if her parents did hear her, they would think she was going to the bathroom, or to the kitchen for something to drink. But every floorboard that creaked underneath her feet seemed to scream in complaint of her betrayal. Cautiously, she unlocked the front door and paused for a moment in the dark hall, her hand on the doorknob, listening. All remained quiet. Then she opened the door and slipped outside.

Moonlight flooded the front yard. The grass was silvery in it, as she walked along the garden path. What if Michael didn't come? What if it had just been a joke he had made having nothing better to do with his free afternoon? But Marilyn didn't have time to get worked up about the idea. There was a fence, that separated her parents' land from their neighbors, and where the fence ended at the sidewalk, someone was leaning on the final stake, thumbs hooked into pockets, one foot leisurely against the fence post behind his back.

Suddenly Marilyn realized there was something different compared to the times she had seen him before. It was the first time he had solely come to see her. Well, he wanted company, and in the middle of the night his choices were certainly limited. But he was still here to see her. It wasn't that she was only allowed to be there, too; that she was just following some other girl like a chaperone, whom she hadn't been able to get rid of. Walking down the garden path to meet him was - hers. She was the main person. The thought created a funny feeling in her chest. Apart from being nervous, she felt special - and that was a feeling she hadn't had in a very long time.

When Marilyn came closer, he loosened himself from the fence and flashed a smile. "Hi," he said, "how ya doin'?"

How ya doin'? That was the same thing he had said on the phone. How ya doin'? Marilyn thought it sounded cute. She nodded. "I'm good."

"You're not tired?"

"No." She was much too excited to feel tired.

Marilyn looked down at his bandaged hands. His thumps were still hooked into his pockets, the long fingers lying leisurely on his thighs. She had only been avoiding his eyes, but he seemed to interpret it differently, pulled his thumps out and showed her his hands.

"My older sister did this today. Did she do it well?"

The question surprised Marilyn. But she still took his hands, turning them over and inspecting the bandages. Then she smiled and nodded. "Yes, she did it well."

"I'll tell her that. She'll be happy. She tried hard."

Marilyn let go of his hands. "Did the nurses at the hospital complain about what I did that night?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"Oh no," he shook his head, "not at all! - Shall we go?"

For a while they walked in silence. The air was warm as it wrapped itself around Marilyn, and the crickets had gone back to their evening concert like every night at this time of the year. The windows of most houses they passed were already dark, only in some could she see dim lights or the blueish flicker of a running TV. It felt like a world she didn't belong to - a world neither of them belonged to. In that, at least, they were equals.

"You said the day after the accident you were taken to hospital, that you couldn't go through your routine. Will you tell me what happened?" Marilyn asked as she watched an upcoming breeze ruffle a patch of long reed in a front yard they were passing. She heard his soft, pearling laughter behind her, but didn't take her eyes away from the moving plants. The rustling of the hard leaves, the crickets and his laughing all mixed into a soundscape that gave her a peaceful, dreamlike feeling.

"Well, I wasn't feeling all that well when I got up that day. There was a dull pain in my head, and I felt battered, as if I were coming down with something. I stayed in bed for as long as I possibly could, hoping it would go away or at least get better. Frankly, I would have liked not to get up at all..."

"You're still at breakfast?"

Michael looked up from the slice of dry toast he was nibbling on, trying to suppress the nausea that refused to go away. His youngest brother pulled out a chair and sat down one seat away from him, the 14-year-old face shining with the same excitement he had been displaying every day since...

"Did you warm up already?"

"No, not yet," Michael said and took to the toast with a little more effort. It tasted like cardboard.

"Tito isn't here, yet. You can warm up with him, when he gets here."

Michael had an odd feeling - as if time stretched and contracted. There was no continuity. He thought he had just taken a bite, but there was nothing in his mouth now. He breathed against the sickness in his stomach. The younger boy looked at him, as if he was waiting for something. Michael tried to remember what they had just been talking about, but it wouldn't come back.

"I'm sorry, Randy, what were you saying?"

"If... you wanted to warm up with Tito, when he gets here...?" the boy repeated slowly.

"Oh, yes, right... No. No, I'll warm up alone. I'll just go to the studio and use the piano there."

"I could come with you."

"No, that's okay."

The slice of toast didn't seem to get any smaller. Michael washed his mouth with tea.

"Mike, are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah..."

"What happened to your hands?"

Michael looked at the bandages. His right wrist was swollen and stiff and throbbed even when he rested it in his lap.

"I fell off my bike and scratched them. It's uncomfortable and annoys me, that's all." He gave his brother a smile and got up. "I'll go and warm up."

"Is that all you're eating?"

Michael looked at the half a slice of toast he had left. "You sound like mother, Randy. Every pound I weigh less, is a pound I don't have to move. Once you get used to this, you'll understand."

"Actually, I understand it already. I've been training and preparing for years. And I normally don't side with mother, but just one slice of dry toast? I agree with her that that's not enough. Where are you supposed to get the energy from?"

"Randy...!"

"Or is this about Jermaine?"

Michael closed his eyes. "No, this is not about Jermaine..."

"Because I'm ready for this. I'm ready! I've waited for so long to get my chance!"

"I know. I'm sure, you're ready. It's just... it's been that way ever since. Ever since I can remember." Michael felt something in his chest get heavy, and thought that he had no strength for any of this, now. "And I just didn't want things to change. It has nothing to do with you. I'm sure, you'll do great."

"Well, I'm not sorry," Randy stated, and Michael realized that he, in turn, was.

"And you shouldn't be! We are glad to have you! Now, get ready. I'll be back in 20 minutes... Or just come and get me, when everybody's here."

Michael brushed whatever it was off the piano bench, sat down and took a deep breath. He felt sick. This was going to be a very, very long rehearsal for him, that morning. But he couldn't afford to damage his voice or stain a muscle because he wasn't warmed up, and apart from that, some of the lines were too high. He couldn't get that high without being warmed up. With determination he started singing.

Nothing felt right. He didn't dare to disobey the order not to take aspirin, and so he clenched his teeth as he got up and started to loosen and warm his muscles while rolling the vocal exercises off his tongue. The headache made it hard to concentrate on what he was doing, and the resonation in his head made it worse, while the physical exercise made him dizzy...

"Under normal conditions we have a rehearsal every morning. Like, my brothers and me together. In the afternoon we practice separately. And some of us still have to study, too. Sometimes there's another rehearsal in the evening, but the morning rehearsal is our routine. There we put all the parts together and see what everybody still needs to work on.

But on that day I couldn't do my part. I kept being off beat in the dancing routine. I was so dizzy, I had a hard time keeping on my feet, and with every repetition it was getting worse. Normally, it's my brother Marlon, who has a hard time with the dancing. Our father always told him to do it like me, ever since we were little. Do it like Michael. Always, do it like Michael. But this time it was me who couldn't do it, and I think my brother Marlon, he liked to have the chance to scold me for once. So when I blew it for, like, the 10th time, he - he hit my head from behind. They are kinda rough, my brothers, you know, and so he hit me pretty hard." Absentmindedly, Michael rubbed the back of his head. "I don't really know what he said. Something like, pay attention, we've been doing this same part for an hour now. Something like that. But I went down like a boxer in round ten."

The room tipped over, and the floor came up and hit him, hard, knocking the microphone from his hand. He saw it hit the ground and slither across the polished wood. There was a crashing sound in the loudspeakers. The room danced around him, swaying, stretching and contorting. The sharp pain in his side made him groan and convulse. Within moments of each other the instruments stopped playing, and an eerie silence filled the room. But there was a loud booming in his inner ear.

"What are you doing?" said Jackie.

Michael knew it was Jackie. He could hear his voice clearly in the silent room despite the deafening noise in his head. His hearing was spilt in two. It made him sick. He wished either of the two would stop, even if that meant that the silence would disappear in favor of the noise. And he wondered whom Jackie was talking to, Marlon or him.

Hands touched Michael's shoulders. "Are you okay? Randy, go get a glass of water."

That was Tito. Randy hastened, almost ran past Michael and from the room, leaving the door open behind him. Michael looked after him and saw someone else: Outside in the hall stood his little sister, almost ten years old, her hair neatly braided, eyes and mouth opened wide in shock, the first tears rolling down her cheeks.

That was when Michael realized he was lying on the ground. He needed to get up, if only not to frighten her any further. He struggled to push himself into a sitting position. But he couldn't get up. He just couldn't. The room was spinning, and the ground felt like jelly. In an attempt to help, Tito tried to pull him to his feet. But just the thought of it made him feel sick. Michael's stomach lurched at the outside force applied to him. Nausea overwhelmed him. He heaved, bent forward with his body's desire to turn inside out.

He found himself on his hands and knees again. His brother was still holding him, slowly rubbing a hand up and down his back. Michael couldn't remember ever having been so sick before in his life. He felt shaky and still nauseous, although there was nothing left inside him. The bitter taste of bile was in his mouth.

"Okay. It's alright. Be calm," he heard Tito say, but only had eyes for the little girl out in the hall, who was crying bitterly.

"Jan..." he said in a weak tone, that was meant to be soothing, but most likely didn't reach the girl through the turmoil. Jackie was scolding Marlon, who seemed to be in shock. Randy had reappeared in the doorway, holding the glass of water he had been sent to get, and looked helplessly from one to the other. Impatiently, Tito waved him over, and Michael sipped carefully at the drink. The cold liquid made him feel a little better. At least it took the bitter taste away.

Randy was out in the hall now, trying to comfort little Janet. There was the discontinuity again. He couldn't remember Randy leaving the room again.

"Don't let Joe see this," said Michael. "Don't let him see this!"

"Never mind Joe! What's wrong with you?"

"I fell off my bike."

"I know. Randy said so."

"No, I really fell. I hit my head on the ground, and I was out for a moment. Tito, I hurt all over, and I'm so dizzy. - Tito?"

"Yes?"

"I think there's really something wrong with me. Please, can you take me to the hospital?"

"Yes, I think we should really do that, little brother."

And that was when their father, Joe, came in...

"Oh Gosh, how could your brother hit you, when you were feeling so sick already?" Marilyn couldn't help but interrupt him.

"Well, he didn't know! And he got the shock of his life, too. At first he thought he'd knocked me out."

"He should have seen you weren't feeling well! He really shouldn't have hit you," Marilyn said with a firm nod of the head, and thought to herself that she sounded much like her mother.

Michael looked at her with a bit of a smile, and she briefly saw his tongue as he wet his lips before he continued speaking.

"They put me on the back seat of a car. All the way to the hospital my father didn't say a single word. He was angry, and I think he was scared, too. You never know for sure. In hospital, I was immediately rushed for a head scan under the suspicion of cerebral hemorrhage, but in the end I was diagnosed with a concussion only. Plus two broken ribs and a sprained wrist." He raised his right hand in its firm bandage at Marilyn. "They would have liked to keep me in overnight, but let me go under the condition, that I wouldn't be left on my own, that I would rest and that my head wouldn't be subjected to any further shocks whatsoever. On the way back home, my father didn't say a single word, either. I think this time it was out of anger because of my reckless behaviour. But I didn't... I had been given something for the pain, and that pretty much knocked me out, so I don't remember much about the journey back home. I was sent to bed, and slept through the day, while my mother and my brothers in turn sat with me."

Marilyn found that it was easier for her to look at him when he was in thought, recalling something from the past. Maybe because at those moments he wasn't really there. She watched him as he walked next to her, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. She pictured him lying in bed, his head on the pillow, injured, sick and dazed with medication. Everything inside her bridled at the image. She didn't want that. She wanted him to be well. She wanted to protect him from harm. She would have liked to at least touch his arm in a gesture of comfort, but she didn't dare to.

Michael looked up from his feet and met her gaze. A shy laugh revealed his teeth. "What is it?"

Marilyn wasn't sure. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wish you didn't have had to go through that."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. I'll heal."

Marilyn wasn't convinced.

He looked at her a moment longer, then started to smile. "Ah, what a dreary topic!" he said, looking around himself.

Marilyn followed his example. There were a couple of things she would have liked to ask him about what he had just told her, but she hardly knew him, and the moment had passed. So instead she just made a mental note of Randy and Jermaine.

~~~~~

Hello, y'all! :D

First of all, thank you for being here and thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this little peek through the keyhole at the Jacksons. :")

There's the little conversation Michael has with Randy, and Randy asks, 'Is this about Jermaine?' Marilyn doesn't understand what that is all about. Do you? ;) Please leave me a comment!

As always, if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider to vote! :D That would be wonderful!

Have a nice day!

I love you, Birdie <33