A Prince's Tale

Chapter Five

He gnaws the fountain pen in deep thought, trying his best to decipher the assignment given to him by the tutor. It’s another warm morning with still a hint of pre-dawn fog misting the trees in the backyard. He can already tell it’s going to be a hot afternoon, and he wishes more than ever that he could jump into a swimming pool to cool off when he’s finally done.

He lifts his gaze to watch his siblings; Blanket playing quietly by himself next to the T.V, and Paris curled up on a chair still pouring over the pages of ‘New Moon’. There is something oddly familiar about this scene; a sense of near claustrophobic déjà vu as SpongeBob Squarepants comes on screen and Blanket perks up with anticipation at his favorite show.

The dull hum of a lawn mower is suddenly heard outside, and as he glances at the clock, he sees that it’s 10.30 AM; almost time for Dr. Conrad to come downstairs to get breakfast for his father.

He won’t make it.

He shoves the chair back as his heartbeat quickens. He already knows what’s going to happen, and yet as he desperately tries to make his way to the kitchen, he is horrified to find the carpet now turning into a grotesque mixture of mud and quicksand. He is unable to move his feet; sinking faster and faster as he fruitlessly struggles to escape. He calls out to Paris and Blanket, but both of them are still lost in their world, and his voice seems to be coming from miles away. She simply turns the next page of the book, hardly caring that the once bright den is slowly losing its light as darkness seeps through the walls in smoky tendrils. SpongeBob Squarepants is replaced by a news anchor with a bushy white beard, who announces oh-so-sadly, that the ‘King of Pop’ has just passed away.

This time - when he opens his mouth - the scream is wretched from deep within; raw and primal, it rushes to the surface like molten lava; burning his throat and making him suffocate. He wants to protect Blanket from what he’s watching; wants to run up to his siblings to shield them away from that cruel reality. He wants to...needs to...he must...he must...he must...!

“Argh!”

He sits up with a loud gasp; clutching the blanket between trembling hands slick with sweat. His heart is still racing as he blinks away the perspiration which threatens to fall into his eyes. His breath is rough and uneven...soft hitches that tell of a young man desperate to control his emotions. For a moment the room looks unfamiliar to him. His eyes and mind cannot seem to reconcile the differences between their home at Holmby Hills and the smaller bedroom, albeit cozy, that he’s now sharing with his cousins at Hayvenhurst. The soft snore from Jermajesty (in the bunk bed across the room) only reminds him of just what his (their) life has become in the past few weeks.

It’s been six days now. Six days and some odd hours since he last saw his father walking into that van with the promise to take them to the Staples Center the next day. It’s been six days since he last shared lunch with him. it’s been six days since he last felt his strong, calloused hand on his head or caressing his cheek, or hugging him, or that smile reserved just for him...or that soft voice calling him ‘apple head’. It’s been six long days since everything turned upside down.

Daddy...

He draws up his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself not to do it. He can’t. He mustn’t...

...and yet they still come anyway. It’s been like this for a few nights now; the tears finally breaking free from their prison in the comfort of darkness or when in private. He’s done well to control himself in front of everyone else, but at night, it gets worse. Perhaps it’s the silence that gets to him...or of simply knowing that his dreams always take him back to that dreadful day. He has replayed the scene so many times, each time dissecting and wondering what he could have done differently to change the outcome.

“It was God’s Will,” his grandma had said during one of the many family gatherings. “I think the Lord realized his work was done on earth and finally called him home. He will suffer no more and we should be thankful for that.”

He really does not understand what he has to be thankful for. God has taken their father away from them, and he is supposed to be thankful? What kind of twisted logic is that?

“Prince?”

He stiffens at the sound of his name and looks up quickly. Jaafar is leaning over the side of his bed to peer at his cousin with concern on his features. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies with a hasty nod, burying his face against his night shirt to wipe his cheeks and eyes. “I just...need to get some water.” God. Why does his voice sound so horrible and hoarse? It’s bad enough that puberty hit pretty early and his voice has gone an octave deeper (a blessing and curse at the same time). The last thing he wants is for his cousin to know that he has been crying. He’d be considered a pansy.

“I’ll get it for you if you want.”

“No, it’s cool. I know the way to the kitchen.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He swings his legs off the bed to make his escape; knowing if he hesitates for just a second, Jaafar would be out that door getting the water for him. To be honest, all the pampering is beginning to agitate him. It’s been nothing short of a carnival love-fest atmosphere around here.

Faces. Voices. Faces. Voices. Ever since their arrival to Hayvenhurst, it’s been the same thing. Everyone wanting to do something for them; so many hugs and kisses he’s lost count, millions of ‘I’m so sorry’, gazillions of ‘how are you doing?’ whispered conversations, stopped conversations when they walk into a room, shifty glances; everyone curious and more curious to know how the ‘mysterious’ kids of Michael Jackson are doing. There are times he feels like simply running outside and screaming his lungs out, but he holds it all in; smiles in all the right places even though he is aware that there is now a numb distant sensation that’s overtaken him since that day.

As he makes his way downstairs, he passes by the rooms where Paris is spending the night with the females of the house; more cousins and their aunts Rebbie, LaToya and Janet. Blanket has chosen to sleep with Nana Grace; seeing as she’s just about the only thing close to a parent he can really trust. Paris hardly smiles, and when she’s not busy locked up in her room writing letters and poems to their father, she’s sobbing in his arms whenever they are finally left alone to breathe. Explaining to Blanket that Daddy is never coming back was easily the toughest thing to do; but Grandma Katherine had done her best to explain it to him in such a way that he could at least understand the concept of death without losing his mind with grief.

Your father is in a much better and happier place, and he’s watching over you everyday and always...never forget...he will always be in your heart.

As he gets to the top of the stairs, voices from below have him halting in mid-stride. He recognizes some of them, but decides to move a little closer to see who the others belong to. He stops halfway; not wanting to be noticed, and in the dining room, he can make out his uncles: Jackie, Jermaine, Tito, Marlon and Randy as well as his Grandpa Joseph, Siggy, Auggie, TJ and Tariano. For a moment, he contemplates joining the discussion; he is a member of the Jackson family after all (and oh, what a BIG family he has), but he stays back when the conversation picks up again.

Tito: “I still don’t know why you had to say that on T.V, Jermaine.”
Jermaine: “How long are you going to keep bringing that up, man? I told you, I had to speak my mind.”
Marlon: “No one is saying that you shouldn’t speak your mind, but all that talk about burying him at Neverland...”
Jermaine: “What’s wrong with burying him at Neverland? He loved that place. You all know that. He would have wanted to be there...”
Jackie: “After all the horrible things that happened there? You know that ain’t gonna happen, Jermaine. Michael...” His voice breaks and his father puts an arm around him gently. “Michael wanted nothing to do with that place anymore. Remember what he told us?”
Jermaine: “He might have said that, but you know deep down in his heart that he still loved that place. It was his sanctuary.”
Randy: “And they ruined it for him. I know what you’re trying to do. You want it to become like another Graceland, but I don’t think the folks up there want that kind of notoriety and publicity.”
Marlon: “Besides, access to that place is nearly impossible. You want a memorial that people can visit as often as possible with no hassle.”
Tito: “Yeah, I understand all that. So where are we gonna bury him then?”
Siggy: “Somewhere beautiful and quiet...where folks won’t be bugging him. You know he had the craziest fans.”
Jermaine: “What are you trying to say? They might want to dig up his body?”
Auggie: “It’s happened before...to some famous people. We just want to keep him in a safe place.”
Marlon: “Got any ideas, Joseph?”
Joseph: “Your ma thinks Forest Hills is a good place.”
A brief silence falls over the table.
Jackie: “I don’t think that’s too bad. It’s a beautiful place...”

A sudden thump is heard and, as if on cue, all the men look up at the same time to notice the blushing young man at the top of the stairs.

He kicks himself inwardly for giving himself away, but his elbows had fallen asleep from remaining in one position for so long, he accidently bumped it against the banister. He gives a wan smile and wonders if he can turn away, but Uncle Jackie is already rising to his feet with that familiar warm smile of concern on his features.

“You okay, Prince? Couldn’t sleep?”

“I just wanted a glass of water,” he stutters, becoming even more embarrassed at the intense scrutiny he’s receiving from them.

“Oh, you can go get it then...or do you want me to get it for you?”

“No, it’s cool. I’m not really that thirsty anymore. I should go to bed...good...goodnight.” He spins on his heels and all but dashes back into the bedroom, now knowing that he’s no doubt going to be the new topic of discussion. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why didn’t he just stay up here? Why did he have to be such a nosey little pain in the backside? Why does it bug him that they keep talking about his father like...like...

Like he’s dead.

Oh God...why? Why did it all come to this?

__


“I really don’t think this is something I want the children to hear right now. It’s too soon.”

“Have you seen the media circus out there? She’s already calling her lawyers for custody for crying out loud!”

“It’s all about the money, isn’t it? Michael left nothing for her in the will and now she wants to get more money anyway she can.”

“And all this talk about making sure Joseph does not come close to the children...who the hell does she think she is?”

“LaToya...calm down...”

“I will not be calm, Ma. They can’t do this to the children! Not now! It’s not right!”

“Let them have their say then. Go get the children...they have a right to hear this and make their voices heard.”

__


“So...she wants to file for custody for you two.”

Blanket slurps noisily from the straw, swinging his legs back and forth on the chair and not really paying attention to the conversation at hand. They’re at the kitchen table with Grandma Katherine, Aunt LaToya, Aunt Janet, and two men who are lawyers or something, while he and Paris remain frozen in their chairs, not quite sure of what they’re hearing.

Custody = her coming to take them away from...here.

Why? Why is she doing this now? His head begins to ache at the possibilities that await them if such a thing were to go through. He’s knows the dull flutter in his stomach is fear and growing anxiety, and goodness knows he’ll be powerless to stop the tears this time if nothing is done to stop this before it gets out of hand.

Suddenly-

“But why would she want to separate us? She’s not Blanket’s mom,” Paris blurts out in a trembling whisper. “Will she want to take care of Blanket too?”

The lawyers exchange a look between them. “Well that’s the thing, Paris. You and Prince are old enough to make your own decisions regarding your parents. Legally, Debbie Rowe is your mother...and biologically of course, so she does have the right to file for custody. However, you two can deny the request and choose to remain here with your grandmother if-”

“Where do we sign?” he cuts in quickly; his heart pounding so hard, he’s afraid the others in the room might hear it.

“But don’t you want to hear the rest of the-?”

He shakes his head, a frown of determination on his face, and for a brief moment, all the adults are taken aback at how grown-up he looks. The Jackson women more so, for within that frown they see a son and brother they lost all too soon. Too overcome, Janet gets up to leave the room. She simply cannot deal with it any longer.

“Prince...if you sign this, you’re basically saying you do not want anything to do with her – not now...not ever. Perhaps you want to think about the visitation rights at least. She comes in to see you when she can...maybe you can all establish some sort of relationship again.”

He purses his lips and resists the urge to sneer at them. What kind of a relationship would be fostered after being estranged for so long? He can already picture the awkwardness that would abound during their meetings, and the discomfort it would bring to their baby brother whose biological mother might never be known. He couldn’t do that to Blanket. It just wasn’t fair.

He looks at Paris for verification, and in her eyes, he can see the answer he’s looking for.

“Fine...we can do the visitation...if that’s what she wants, but she’s not separating us. No matter what.”

And as if to emphasize his point, he reaches out for Blanket’s hand to squeeze it gently; a gesture the younger boy does not understand fully, but still appreciates as he snuggles closer to big brother.

“That was a brave thing you did, Prince,” Aunt LaToya says much later as she hugs him to her. He likes the way she smells; cinnamon and warmth...just like Aunt Rebbie. Aunt Janet smells a little ‘softer’...more like sweet roses. She places a kiss on his head. “I’m sure your father will be so proud of you.”

Would he? He doesn’t know for sure, but he sincerely hopes that Dad does approve of what he’s doing. Goodness knows he’s trying so hard not to make any mistakes. It’s like walking on eggshells; never really knowing what is right or what is wrong at times.

“Come on, Prince!” Donte bellows from the living room, where the rest of his cousins sit playing a video game. “We’ve got a spot open for you, bro.”

He can’t help the small smile that comes to his face at the way he’s being treated; just like one of the guys. He knows they too are suffering the loss of an uncle, but in this house, they can at least draw strength from each other the best way they know how. Blanket and Jermajesty are already the best of friends as Blanket ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ over several Transformer pieces he’s created. Paris, although not smiling much, is attentive as Genevieve and Steveanna show her how to do her hair in twists, while yapping over how hot someone called Edward Cullen is. And as for him...

“OOOOOOOOOOOH!!!” comes the collective groan of ‘pwnage’ as Auggie effectively destroys all of Jourdynn’s soldiers in the combat war game.

He sits in their midst and joins in their good-natured ribbing; allowing himself – for at least a few hours – to forget that outside these walls are rabid, hungry media hounds digging into every dirty, low-down, grimy, disgusting, name-smearing gossip they can get their hands on; that outside these walls law enforcement go on a manhunt for a doctor they once thought they could trust; that outside these walls lies and rumors fester and grow until they take a life form of their own; and that outside these walls...all over the planet...millions of fans continue to sit or walk around in a daze still unable to believe they have lost someone so magnificent, brilliant...beautiful. Someone so talented, young and ready to take on the world again.

Someone who was simply...Daddy.