Detox

Chapter 10: Alison

Cover my eyes
Cover my ears
Tell me these words are a lie
It cant be true
That I'm losing you
The sun cannot fall from the sky

New York
Winter 1999

The funeral was a lovely affair. Somber but lovely.

There is a decidedly vast difference in attending the funeral service of a child/teen than that of say your grandparents, and memories I had once thought somewhat buried were dredged up with a vengeance as we stood in a circle around the black coffin laden with breathtaking bouquets of roses, chrysanthemums, daisies, and lilies in a kaleidoscope of colors.

There are so many people; so much black amongst us.

“…let us join hands and hearts together in this…”

Would she have liked this?

It was supposed to be a private affair, but as usual – hanging in the periphery are the vultures snapping away with no reverence for the solemn occasion. Word must have gotten out that Michael and I would be attending, though I’ve done my best to hide my face with an extra large hat and its sheer veil while he’s only protected by his fedora. We decided not to bring the boys with us for this. It would have made things a little more difficult. It’s embarrassing as well; knowing that the wrong kind of attention is lavished on you in such an atmosphere. I almost feel like apologizing to all the attendees for our presence.

Michael would later say I had looked increasingly pale as the service went on; that I had almost swayed towards the casket as if about to faint.

Really?

I couldn’t remember acting that way, but I do remember thinking of how picturesque the day was; blue skies with fluffy white clouds –

(she would have loved to film that)

…lawns so green amongst sinister stone or marble markers with names etched deep within. Names of those who were probably loved and never would be forgotten. I would remember the drone of the pastor…

“…to the family and serve as an inspiration…”

…and how it all seemed so out of place in such a beautiful setting.

I would like to think that David’s service had been this lovely, but whenever I try to recall the events, all I see (and feel) is cold; wet, dreary, empty…cold.

The week leading up to this funeral had been a quiet one, and I think the boys were more aware of ‘the change in the air’ because Alison had been their temporary big sister during her stay here. They took to her as easily as she fell in love with them, though she had siblings of her own. The thirteen-year-old had been the last child of Bill and Carly Kerr (both very lovely people and friends of Michael) hence David and Prince became her little baby brothers. Even though she was confined to her bed most of the time, she was still able to make our children smile; and for their part, the boys did their best to cheer her up whenever and however possible.

They knew she was sick and that she couldn’t run around as much as they did, so they adjusted accordingly. It was amazing to watch their interaction. It’s as if children have this unspoken understanding amongst them that adults are not privy to. It’s something Michael had shared with me during one of his many thoughtful monologues, and the more I watch our boys, the more I’m reminded of how wonderful and special the concept of childhood really is.

So how do you sit down to tell a seven and five-year-old that one of their best friends will no longer visit or see them for the rest of their lives?

What do you say when your child runs up to you with a picture specifically drawn for a girl who is no longer a part of the earthly world, asking innocently “When is Ali coming around again, Mommy? I wanna show her my picture.”

What could I say? How could I explain the concept of death to a pre-schooler? Did they truly understand? Mom had done her best to explain grandpa’s passing last year, and they seemed to understand that their great-grandpappy was in some other better place in the skies. Still…

“You tell them,” I had whispered to Michael later in bed that night, while clutching tightly to the lapel of his pajamas top in desperation. “I can’t…I can’t do it. I don’t know what to say.”

Gratefully, thankfully, he had not questioned my decision. He understood for his response of hugging me tightly and placing the tenderest of kisses on my forehead, nose, and finally lips, let me know that he would be glad to take the reins when it came to that particular topic.

It still didn’t stop me from peeking in and eavesdropping on the conversation. I’ll never forget how ‘solemn’ it all seemed that night. Michael had been sitting on his usual stool (just high enough not to tower over them) between the boys’ beds; both tucked in and ready for sleep. However, they both looked far from la-la-land; eyes widened and curious as they listened to their father’s softly spoken words.

“Alison has gone to heaven,” he had said. I couldn’t see his face, and I was glad for it, or goodness knows I might have broken down with the tears I’ve managed to hold in for so long.

The glow from the bedside lamps bathed over my men’s figures; creating dark shadows that made them look surreal…almost out of this world. I wanted to reach out to hug them, but I could only tighten the sash of my robe and fold my arms as if to protect myself, while continuing to hover at the doorway; straining to listen to every word and biting hard on my lower lip.

“She’s never coming back?” Prince had asked in a wobbling voice; a sign he was close to crying or trying not to. Enough teasing from his older brother about being a big ‘cry baby’ had conditioned him to control himself as best he could.

“No…she’s not, honey,” Michael replied quietly. I could see a faint trace of a smile on his features as he turned a little to his youngest son.

“So…she’s gone to where great grandpappy is?” David asked; his voice steady though I could detect a slight hitch. He looked thoughtful as if trying to digest this new information, and I could feel my heart beat quicken at just how much he looked like his dead uncle in that moment. It was the same expression my brother used to have whenever he was concentrating on something; that furrow of his brows that would eventually even out whenever he relaxed.

“Yes,” Michael said with a soft nod. “She’s with great grandpappy now.”

“Will she be happy there?” Prince asked.

Oh baby…

“I’m sure she’ll be very happy there,” Michael replied, his voice getting thicker with the depths of his suffering. It was hard for him too. “She won’t be sick anymore,” he continued, and from the tensing of his shoulders; my urge to reach out to massage them overwhelmed me so much, my knees almost gave way.

“She won’t cry into her pillow at night anymore. Up there, she’ll be able to run around all day for as long as she likes, and you know what’s even better?”

“What?”

Michael reached out to run his fingers through his son’s hair gently. “She’ll be looking down at you and guiding you every day in whatever you do. She’ll always be here.” He poked at Prince’s chest gently. “In your heart, and if you close your eyes, I’m sure you can hear her speaking to you.”

The innocence of a child prompted Prince to do just that. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried his hardest to listen…to hear the familiar high-pitched voice of a girl who had meant so much to them. It only did more to break my heart all over again, and having seen enough I tiptoed back to our bedroom, barely moving until Michael shuffled in nearly two hours later.

He must have known or realized I had heard their conversation, but instead of confronting me about it, all he did was to wrap his arms around my waist and bury his face in my hair without saying a word.

And that was all right with me.

Alison was special. One of the kind; those rare breeds that come along once in a lifetime. Bill Kerr had become a good friend to us over the years, as he was assisting with the running of the Heal the World Foundation. It was this friendship that led us to meeting his entire family; his lovely wife Carly, and their four talented children. Two were already in college, one in high school and there was Alison, who had just turned thirteen but had been battling with a deadly disease for most of her life.

Cirrhosis is no joke, and having dealt with patients who have gone through such a debilitating disease, it was painful to watch this girl waste away before our eyes.

And yet…she lived.

Every moment and every second; she did her best to make it count.

She shared with me her private diaries; personal messages she filled in daily without fail, even if it was only a couple of lines:

June 15th, 1998
I am so tired, Dear Diary. I can barely lift my hand to write, but I just want to thank God for making me see another day. Goodnight.

Other entries could be lengthy; mostly focusing on things she had noticed with her family (how sad she felt sometimes because she realized they were suffering too, hearing her mother sobbing quietly into her handkerchief some nights or watching her father trying so hard to be strong and brave when he would whisper sweet things to her whenever he thought she was asleep), being at the hospital (sometimes feeling alone or ignored because the nurses or doctors were always so busy, the antiseptic stench that filled her nostrils and how she longed for fresh air and real sunshine instead of being cooped up in bed for long hours) or something so normal as having crushes on the boy bands like ‘NSync and Backstreet Boys (Justin Timberlake and Nick Carter are so cuuuuuute!!!! I would really like to meet them some day!).

In fact, Michael had actually gone out of his way to buy tickets to one of their shows (I think it was the Backstreet Boys), where she had sat in the special V.I.P section and the band had personally serenaded her with one of their ballads. To say the girl was in Cloud Nine would be an understatement and her teary gratitude to Michael was one he said he would never forget for as long as he lived. Her diary entry for that particular day had taken almost three pages, and between girlish gushing over her idols, there were moments of thoughtful insight on how lucky she was to have seen this before her dying day.

Her zest for life was transferred into her love for motion pictures, and her dream (if she had lived long enough) was to become the first female director to win an Oscar. She had received a hand held camera for her twelfth birthday, and her parents had shared just how much Alison enjoyed recording everything. They had about an entire shelf filled with video tapes ranging from ‘Kitty’s First Walk’ (the recording of a little kitten they had adopted trying to find its legs), to ‘Eric Washing the Car’ (her older brother simply…well… washing his car). Though some of the films were mundane, there was a joy in each frame that was infectious as you watched. Perhaps it was because of her lively commentary behind the lenses, where her jovial voice could be heard asking questions or narrating a scene.

Sometimes she wrote scripts and had her friends act them out. These were just little skits that were purely for entertainment purposes, and during her final days, those were the movies she enjoyed watching the most. However, ever the critic, she would dissect just how much she had wanted something shot or why the light didn’t look so good.

Already a perfectionist. Sort of reminded me of someone I know (and love).

Alison’s video diary about her trip to Neverland was another gem, though by this time she was considerably weaker and confined to a wheelchair. Still didn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

It was during that time that she allowed Michael to begin filming her, and in a particular clip, one could see her wheeling herself around before coming to a stop before the clock tower.

“Zoom out, Michael!” she ordered. “Can you see the tower?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Are you sure? I want you to make sure you get it all in one shot.”

Michael’s chuckle could be heard and the camera moving up and down a little to show that he was nodding. “I’m all ready. In one…two…action!”

“Hello!” she waved; her smile as bright as her blue eyes. A large floppy hat protected her thinning flaxen locks from the sun, and her pretty yellow dress seemed almost too big for her frail body; a sign of how much weight she had lost so far.

“I’m at beautiful Neverland, and today, I’m going to stuff myself with candy and ride the train and do all sorts of fun stuff.”

“Oh really?” came Michael’s voice which was filled with amusement. “Is that all you’re gonna do? We’ve got the bumper cars and the Ferris Wheel.”

Alison clapped her hands in excitement. “Awesome! Can I really do all that?” She seemed to look over to some people not in view, a sign she was seeking approval from her parents, and perhaps getting their go-ahead, she turned back to the camera to give the thumbs up sign.

“Let’s gooooo!”

And go she did.

Though she tried to do everything on her own (including the maneuvering of her wheelchair) fatigue would set in quickly and someone else would have to take over. All the same, Michael was able to capture Alison’s unbridled joy and pleasure as she rode on the train, got to be on the Ferris Wheel (I actually filmed this part because Michael had to sit with her) and both nearly gave us all a heart attack because they went ‘no hands’ and screeched like kids in excitement.

During the Bumper Car rides, she was actually quite vicious; showing a competitive side of her that was rather impressive. Even Michael had to finally take off his hat, fall to his knees and bow in respect to the Queen. Finally! Someone who could kick his ass. I don’t know who was more thrilled; me or Alison.

“I wish I could live here forever,” she had said to me one night as I went into her bedroom to pay her a visit. She was in her wheelchair; already dressed in her nightgown though a blanket covered the lower portion of her body. She was staring out the window; where the soothing music Michael insisted be played throughout the grounds filtered in to warm our hearts.

“Or be buried here.”

“Alison…”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted with a smile as if hoping to appease my concern. “I know it already, so you don’t have to keep acting as if it’s not going to happen eventually.”

What could I say? Why did I suddenly feel like the child and she the more mature one? At her age, what was I doing? Busy feeling sorry for myself and delving into things that could have landed me in a morgue somewhere, yet…here was this girl – who might never get to see her fourteenth birthday – treating me as if I was the one who needed the comfort.

I was still speechless as she reached for my hand to grip it tightly; forcing me to sit beside her on the floor. Together we looked out to the peaks of the valleys in the distance; barely visible to be honest, but just knowing it was there gives us a strange kind of comfort.

“I’m not really afraid,” she said quietly. “It’s strange. There are some days I just feel like I’m ready to go, you know? And then there are other days when I just think…there is so much more I want to do.”

I nodded. Not trusting myself to speak.

“I hate taking all these injections and taking all those medicines. Sometimes it’s hard to taste things that are sweet because of all of them. My tongue feels yucky.”

She stuck out her tongue to emphasize that point; chuckling and forcing me to smile reluctantly. She was still a child after all.

Only a child.

“I…”

Why am I doing this?

“My brother…” I swallowed to get past the stubborn lump forming in my throat. “My brother passed away around your age.”

I could not look at her as I said this; could not bear the thought of her seeing whatever expression might be on my face at this very moment. Besides Michael, I had not felt the need to share that with anyone else. It had always been my burden to bear, perhaps lightened by his presence in my life.

All the same, I found myself spilling my guts to the young girl; letting her know of just how much David had meant to me and how much his death affected my life.

“Unlike you,” I said quietly. “I had no time to prepare for his…departure. It was just so…sudden. So unexpected. I guess looking back now the warning signs were there, but I was just too young to understand them, you know?”

“Do you blame your parents?”

I blinked at the question, not expecting her to ask anything at all – or maybe it was because she’d been quiet for so long I completely forgot I was actually speaking to someone else all this time.

“At first,” I finally admitted with a heavy sigh. I shifted restlessly and decided to stretch out my legs to get the circulation back into them. “I blamed them for everything, but especially David. I never really forgave him when I went…you know-”

“To the dark side.”

I smiled softly at her playful expression. “Yes, to the dark side,” I agreed. “I guess I had some growing up to do. I just did it in the wrong way.”

I could feel her looking at me, and I felt embarrassed and ashamed. What had made me open my big fat mouth in the first place? What had I hoped to achieve by telling her about David? That it was okay she was ready and not doing something stupid like taking her own life?

“Sometimes…sometimes I want to do it too,” she stated so softly, I could barely make out the words. She released me and twiddled her thumbs on her lap gently before continuing. “Just end my life and make everyone stop suffering so much around me. Whenever I see my mom crying or my dad gritting his teeth, or my big brothers and sister trying their best to cheer me up when I know they’re all sad…it hurts me, you know?” She sighed and lifted her pale hands to stare at them. “I just wonder if it’s not the best to just swallow a whole bunch of medicine and make it all go away.”

“You can’t-”

“But then I look at you and Michael and David and Prince…and this place…” She waved her hands towards the expanse of land before her. “And I am reminded of why I want to keep living for as long as I can.” She gave a smile that made my eyes sting. “God wanted me to see all this. He wanted me to make each day count and that’s what I’m going to do for as long as He lets me. Don’t you think we should all do that? Make each day count?”

I nodded, rising to my knees to wrap my arms around her slender shoulders. I will never forget how small and helpless she had felt in that embrace, and how I had inadvertently cursed God for being so heartless as to give such a warm and loving heart so little time to fully develop.

The worst was watching her interactions with Michael. It was almost painful at times.

His ability to connect and understand her pain was uncanny, and for hours at a time, he’d push her wheelchair around the grounds of our New Haven home or her place in New York; both of them spending hours talking about goodness knows what. I never pressed him to share whatever he spoke about with me, knowing full well he would let me know when he was good and ready. Their bond was beautiful and unshakeable. That was all that mattered. He loved her as much as she adored him. Hence, receiving that tearful phone call in October turned out to be one of the more difficult moments in our lives.

We sort of knew at the very first ring. For starters, it was almost three in the morning. Secondly, we had been on a ‘death watch’ of sorts for the better part of the day as Bill had let us know that Alison had taken a turn for the worse and it was simply a waiting game now. I remembered Michael doing his best to act happy for the boys, but his mind was a million miles away, to be precise – in a small, cozy pink-laden room in New York (we were in Neverland at this time by the way).

He had gripped my hand as he picked up the phone; nearly breaking my fingers as he listened to Bill’s voice at the other end. Carly was too distraught to speak, which was perfectly understandable.

“She went peacefully,” Bill managed to get through. “With a…a…a…smi…smile on her fa…face.” He hitched his breath. “Never seen her look so…ha…ha…happy.”

I’ll be ready when the time comes. I just know it.

My man nodded and tried to get a word in. “We’ll be there first thing…”

Michael.

He sounded so strong and determined as he let them know of our plans to get down to New York to be with the family. He would not forsake them at this time no matter what.

Or so it seemed.

He might have sounded sure, but there was that thin sliver of sorrow in his voice; a slight tremble that managed to squeak through as he came to the end of the conversation. It wasn’t until he hung up the phone did the shakes finally come, and boy were they the worst I had seen in a while. I had to literally grip him tightly or he would have slid right off the bed.

“It’s okay, baby,” I remembered saying, while cradling him tightly to me like I would my children. “She’s in a better place now. No more pain…no more suffering…”

And say hello to my big brother when you see him. He’ll be the one playing basketball and trying to convince you that Shakespeare was a genius. He’ll take good care of you. I just know he will.

I don’t remember bursting into tears as well, but I guess I must have because we both woke up the next morning with the bitter taste of salt on our lips.

__

Stop every clock
Stars are in shock
The river will run to the sea
I wont let you fly
I wont say goodbye
I wont let you slip away from me

New Haven
Winter 1999

Dreams of chasing a dark figure through a never-ending maze has me lifting my lashes some time in the middle of the night. I expel a soft ‘whoosh’ of breath and try to still my thudding heartbeat; trying to recall the last time I had a nightmare this vivid.

Instinctively I turn around to reach for Michael, but my hands pat empty space which forces me to wake up fully to realize I’m all alone in bed. I groan softly.

Not again.

It’s been almost a month since the funeral, yet Michael still can’t get his mind off Alison. His bouts of insomnia have gotten worse, and this is the fifth (or is it sixth?) time he’s done this. I slip out of bed and reach for the house robe; already having a good idea of exactly where he is.
I take a moment to peek into the boys’ room, glad to see they are both still fast asleep – though one has to wonder how David hasn’t broken his neck yet with the way he sleeps. I swear that boy is an acrobat in his dreams. I do my best to put him back in a normal position without waking him and manage to succeed. Though I have the feeling my efforts will go to waste because he will be upside down again come morning.

Sure enough, my elusive husband is in his studio/media room, located in the extra wing he had added to the main house. He’s actually in the media section of the wing where he seems to be watching a movie of sorts.

No…not just any movie, but home movies; the tapes of Alison during her visit to Neverland.

Not to confuse this with the mini-home theater we have in the main house or the massive one in Neverland, this room is more cozy with two large Victorian-inspired couches (in black velvet for some reason), impressive framed black and white images of the greats like Chaplin, Garland, Monroe, and Brando adorning the walls, a state-of-the-art entertainment center with over (I’m guessing) a thousand CDs, albums and even cassettes, and an ornate coffee table laden with reels, tapes, and DVDs of movies. There’s a crystal bowl of assorted candy next to a paperweight of Mickey Mouse and Papa Smurf placed above a sheaf of papers with Michael’s familiar scrawlish handwriting on it. There is no sign of any medication on the table (or on the floor), which is a good thing. For despite all the progress we’ve made, there are still moments when he ‘slips’ and we get into a big fight over it.

It’s a process; it’s all a trying, but learning process; and we can only grow stronger from it.

As for the man himself, he’s half-sprawled on one of the couches, remote control in hand attached to an arm that’s hanging over the arm rest with his head cradled on it. His lashes are lowered, giving the illusion that he must be asleep, but I can tell he isn’t because the hand lifts a little to press a button that controls the volume. The white sleep/tee shirt he’s wearing is bunched up a little to reveal his pale (with just a hint of color) torso. The black pajamas bottom is a little low on his hips, giving me a tantalizing view of what lies hidden beneath.

However, I doubt this is the time to be thinking of that. My man has clearly got a lot on his mind.

“Come ‘ere, babe,” he drawls thickly, not even looking in my direction as he says this.

Obediently, I close the door behind me, shielding us in the darkness again save for the light from the screen and Alison’s haunting laughter as David splashes some water on her from the swimming pool.

As I approach the couch, Michael moves a little to give me room, and though it’s a tight fit, I snuggle against his sinewy length (we have to spoon in this position), and sigh inwardly with content as his other arm encircles my waist to pull me closer still against him. He places a tender kiss on my head and down to my ear, which makes me shiver with reluctant delight.

“I’m sorry,” he finally apologizes softly.

“It’s okay,” I reply. “It will get better, babe.”

He sighs and says nothing; now resting his chin on top of my head gently. Together we watch the rest of the movie in silence; chuckling at some parts (the pie fight we got into), smiling at others, and somber in others as we remember that the vivacious blonde teenager is no longer with us.

“What should we do with them?” Michael finally asks as we watch Alison trying to teach Prince how to play the piano.

“Hmm?”

“The movies. What do you think I should do with them?”

“What do you want to do with them?”

Michael pauses for a long minute; his hand absently caressing my arm. “Do you think…do you think Bill and Carly would like it? If I edited it and made it look all nice. I could combine the Neverland footage with the ones we took here and send it to them. What do you think?”

I’m already nodding before he finishes. “I think it would be a great gift. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“You think so?” The small voice lets me know he’s doubtful, unsure – my dear worrywart.

“Yes, I think so.” I capture his wandering hand to raise it to my lips; placing reverent kisses on each finger before clasping it tightly against my chest. I know he can’t really see my face with our position, but I hope he can understand my support and encouragement all the same.

“As long as it doesn’t upset them…”

I squeeze his hand tightly, earning a whine of protest from him. “Baybeee…”

“Stop being so pessimistic. How can they hate it? You’re giving them wonderful memories of their daughter, what more could they ask for?”

His barely audible ‘I guess’ is hidden within my hair as he buries his lips within them again. On the screen, the movie finally comes to an end, but the low whirring sound of the DVD starting all over again has me closing my eyes and trying to get some much-needed sleep. David has got a project he has to work on tomorrow and that would require me having to go to the store to get his supplies –

“Stephanie?”

“Hmm?”

A tightening of his arm around me, and I get the feeling he’s about to say something I won’t like…much.

“We have to get as many memories of us…as a family-”

“Gosh, babe. You’ve been taping every single thing we do. You must have an entire section of your library devoted to us. What are you talking about?”

“I’m serious.”

I lift my lashes to stare at the screen – which is now pitch black – and though my back is to him, the sound and thud of his heartbeat seems to echo like a drum reaching its crescendo.

“Why are we having this conversation, Michael?” I ask carefully.

He says nothing for a while, and just when I assume I’m going to be ignored, he finally replies in a whisper. “One day-”

“One day what?” I hate myself for sounding this snappish, but I know where he’s going with this and I cannot…I REFUSE to deal with this right now.

“Stephanie…baby-”

“One day you’re going to die too? And then I’m going to have to be the one sitting in a dark room watching our home movies and trying to remember all the good times we had?!”

“Stephanie, I’m not-!”

But I’m too hurt and angry to think right now. How dare he even suggest-!

“Let me go!” I try to pull away from him, to turn around so I can slap him as hard as I can. “You bastard! You selfish, selfish, selfish-!”

Whatever else I would have said is muffled against his chest as he does manage to spin me around, but only to trap me tightly against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters between kisses like a mantra, but my tears (when the hell did those start?) won’t stop. Does he think I haven’t thought about it? Does he not realize that even since the early days of us being together, that the very idea of him ending up like David has haunted me? That one day I’d wake up and he’d no longer be at my side? How can he even think of bringing up that topic now? Was it all because of Alison that these morbid thoughts were coming to light? Why is he doing this to me? Why?!

“We…we…will grow old together,” I sob harshly, pounding his chest with a fist that he makes no attempt to stop. He only bears the pain with a light grunt. “We WILL grow old together. We will have gray hair and live in the Biltmore and watch our children and grand children and great grand children together, do you hear me?!”

“Yes,” comes the hoarse whisper filled with unshed tears. “Yes, Stephanie. We will grow old together. I promise.”

“We will see our boys graduate and go to the best colleges and…and…and do whatever the fuck they want when they grow up…and then they bring their girlfriends home and we…we get to see their future wives and…and…and go to their weddings and-”

“What about our future daughter?”

I stop my rambling long enough to lift my tear-streaked face to his. Even in the darkness, I can see all of him – and that despite his sadness; he can still manage to say something to throw me off kilter. His lips are quirked into a smile/smirk, and I can feel my cheeks burning at what he is trying to imply. To be honest, I haven’t really given the thought of having another child for a while. Dealing with two boys and our crazy schedule is hard enough as it is.

“Don’t…don’t change the subject,” I sniffle and punch him again.

“I’m not changing the subject, babe,” he protests tenderly. He rests his forehead against mine forcing our gazes to be trained on each other. “I would like to interrogate a few boyfriends she decides to bring home-”

“…what if one of our boys comes home with a boy?”

Michael stiffens a little, and I can literally see the wheels spinning in his head at the possibility of either of his sons being…well…gay. Odd that the thought would come to me now, but it is a reality we can’t pretend isn’t out there.

“Uum…”

I chuckle weakly and bury my heated face against his neck. “We’ll still love him, won’t we? We won’t disown him, will we?” Might take some getting used to in all honesty, but here I am getting too ahead of myself. Jesus, they are barely out of their diapers, and I’m already pairing up with women…or men!

“Never,” Michael finally replies with a firm nod. “I could never disown them. I will still love them no matter what.”

“And you won’t leave me anytime soon…will you, Michael?”

His embrace – with those slender yet strong arms - tells me everything. “Never, baby,” he promises with a low moan as if in pain. “We still have so much to do together, and besides…”

“What?”

“We still have to work on that girl, don’t we?”

I blush darkly and hit his arm. “Shut up, you insatiable bastard.”

“She’s going to have your eyes…your lips…your smile…” he murmurs against my forehead; his lips trailing down to my closed lashes…my nose. He tips my chin with a finger, forcing me to lift my lashes to look at him again, and what I see…

Oh God, how I love you. You frustrate me so much sometimes, and yet you make me fall in love every single day.

“What?” he asks when he notices me staring.

“I’m just trying to imagine what you’d look like with gray hair.”

Self-consciously, he reaches out to run his fingers through the still dark locks of hair; though most is now taken up by the wig. The realization that he’s losing a little more of his real locks, as he gets older, is something he is still struggling with, but he takes it all in stride…as best he can.

“How would I look?” he asks shyly. “I’ll bet I’ll be damn ug-”

He stops when he notices my expression; a dark blush filling his features at the no-no word he had almost used. He settles for wiping away the tears from my cheeks with his fingertips, looking sorry for causing me this much grief in one night.

“Do you want to hear it?” he asks in that same shy voice as if afraid I’ll get upset with him again.

“Hear what?”

“The new song I wrote for Alison.” He smiles as he must have noticed my excitement. “I’ve already done a few scratches in the studio. Maybe I’ll add it to the album as an extra track.”

“That sounds wonderful, babe. Let’s hear it.”

“Uum…it’s still in the rough stages…” he begins with the excuses I’m now so used to. You do not want to know the number of times he tells me this.

“Sure, sure,” I interrupt while placing a finger against his lips. “Your rough songs are ten million times better than some of the drivel out there. Now shut up and sing.”

He laughs a little. “Do you want me to shut up or sing, babe?”

“Sing it, mister.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He clears his throat and with my eyes closed as I rest against his chest, it’s almost fitting that the video begins to play again as Alison’s cheerful introduction forms the perfect duet with Michael’s harmony in his final and most wonderful tribute to a girl who inspired us in more ways than one.

Alison, sweet Alison
Smile so precious, so magical, so you
You light up like the sun in the sky
So blinding your brilliance
A marvel from the heavens above

The angels call you home
Though we’ll miss you here on earth
We will always love you
As much as you loved us

Alison, precious Alison
No more pain, no more suffering
Only happiness and joy in the heavens above
So beautiful was your heart
So strong was your spirit

The angels call you home
Though we’ll miss you here on earth
We will always love you
As much as you loved us

Alison, sweet Alison
True strength you showed us every day
We were blessed to have known you
To grace us with your magic
Find your happiness, God’s special angel

The angels call you home
Though we’ll miss you here on earth
We will always love you
As much as you loved us

_____________________

New Haven, Connecticut
Fall 2000
Addendum:

Turns out Michael needn’t have worried after all. Though his video had only been intended for Bill and Carly’s eyes, they apparently loved it so much they gave it to a Hollywood producer friend of theirs who ‘prettied’ it up and presented it as an entry to the Sundance Film Festival.

The motherfucking Sundance Film Festival! Do you have any idea how huge that is?!

Michael’s reaction when the news was broken to him…

“HUH?!”

Yes. Huh?! Complete with his sunglasses nearly falling off his face and fedora askew as I had ambushed him in the studio to let him know.

Naturally, he tried to protest the public recognition, but Bill and Carly managed to convince him to let it ‘go’ so to speak. Hence, after many negotiations and contracts and all what not, the documentary simply titled Alison Kerr – Life to the Fullest was a hit with many of the film critics. It didn’t win any major awards (which Michael wouldn’t admit was disappointing…a little), but it was good enough to get tongues wagging.

“Such moving, touching, poignant storytelling through the lenses of the greatest entertainer of the world.”
“Five out of five stars for Mr. Jackson’s directorial debut.”
“Alison Kerr is a microcosm of the many young children who are suffering in the world today, and Jackson manages to bring that story to life in –

“Stop reading all that babe,” he whines in embarrassment as I read through all the accolades while dancing out of reach as he chases after me. He finally manages to tackle me at the door, but I continue to read (while holding the paper over his head) and trying not to laugh as we fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

“…Mr. Jackson has the ability to bring this young lady to mmmmpffffh….mmmmm…”

Well…shutting me up with a kiss almost always does work, and I have no plans to stop him from assaulting me in this manner as I wrap my arms and legs around him to deepen our communion.

Wait a minute! He’s trying to distract me! The sneaky…!

“Wa…wait,” I pant; forcing us to break apart, in the hopes that I can get my point across. He tries to move in for another kiss, but I slap the newspaper against his face to stop him.

“Can we be serious and less horny for one minute, babe?”

“Do I have to?” comes the muffled reply.

“Yes.”

He groans/whines/mumbles something about me denying him the pleasure of ravishing me completely, but manages to extricate himself away, but only to sit back against the door and pat the spot beside him on the floor.

“All right,” I begin, waving the newspaper at him. “Do you know what this means, babe?”

“What? That the folks at Sundance liked the documenta-”

“No, no, no.” I shake my head feverishly. “Remember how you used to talk so much about wanting to direct your own movies? This is it, babe. This is the opportunity.” I grin and reach for his hands to grasp them tightly. “Think about it. People are beginning to take you a little more seriously now. So there’s nothing stopping you from doing whatever you want if you set your mind to it.”

His already flushed features seemed to become ruddy with embarrassment as what I’m saying slowly sinks in. He’s been in talks with directors before, many of whom always give him the run around when he comes up with ideas of his own regarding movies or short films (at least outside the realm of his music). But now…now with the world realizing he could do something as simple yet amazing as a documentary, this was Michael’s chance to stretch out his wings into another arena in filmmaking. Capturing reality and bringing awareness to the masses.

“Just think about it,” I continue in excitement. “We could travel to all those orphanages in Prague or…or…”

“Africa…” he mutters in thought.

“Exactly! You are a natural storyteller, Michael – not just with your music, but with your writing and your art and now…”

I suddenly feel like bursting into tears, and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because this man sitting across me; looking for all the world like a bum (I thought I had ironed that shirt goddamnit) was the most talented human being on the planet, and I had him all to myself…at least for now.

“Well?”

He stops rubbing his chin long enough to look at me. There’s that familiar glint in his eyes; an expression that comes with knowing that those wheels (that never stop spinning) are rotating at an alarming rate. The ideas are literally filling his eyes, and it’s contagious. This feeling…this…aura. I want to be with him through it all. I want to share it with him. I want to be there with him when he creates this magic…

“After the album is completed…and the tour,” he says as if reading my thoughts. He raises a brow at my pout and chuckles. “Babe-”

“I know, I know. You have so much to do-”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t start filming during the tour,” he cajoles as he traces the outline of my lips with a finger, which I try to bite.

“I’m going to be stuck here trying to finish my damn residency half of the time-”

“And the other half…”

I blush at the darkening look in his eyes; not bothering to stop him as he moves closer still until nothing but a whisper of a breath separates our lips.

“We’ll be together,” I finish weakly; my stomach fluttering as he grins and finally seals the distance between us.

God, he tastes so good…especially after sucking on that lollipop for the better part of the afternoon. I sink my fingers into his hair and try to get every single drop of the saccharine goodness. I simply can’t get enough.

When he finally releases me for air, it’s with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he admires his handiwork; tousled hair (check), swollen lips (check), flushed countenance (check), now horny as hell (triple check).

“So, Mr. Director,” I croon against his lips. “What’s your next directorial effort going to be?”

He smirks and eyes the clock. “Hmm…well, our young wards won’t be returning home for another two hours, so I think it’s plenty of time to direct a particular masterpiece starring…you.”

I yelp as he smacks my ass gently, when I rise to my feet, while grinning at the blush of embarrassment it induces.

“And what’s it going to be called?” I ask trying not to stumble over my own feet.

He whispers a particularly naughty porno-like title in my ear that has me turning several shades of red. “I can’t…I don’t…you are terrible, Michael!”

“As terrible as you want me to be, babe,” he agrees as he kicks open the door to the media room, leans against the doorway with arms folded across his chest and a playful wink. “Now get in there, strip, and wait for me to -”

“Don’t say rock my world -”

“Rock your world.”

“Michael!”

“What?”

“That’s so…1982.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Well guess what, my darling.”

“What’s that?”

“I.just.don’t.give.a.fuck.”

And with that (and an added growl to emphasize his seriousness), my dear friends, it is safe to say that this particular line of conversation is officially over. And does yours truly mind being distracted in such a toe-curling, spine-tingling way?

Get back to me in about two hours, and I’ll be sure to let you know.