A single tear slipped out of the corner of his eye. "Michael?" I said, softly. He jerked his head toward me, as if I'd just awoken him from a deep sleep. "You alright?" He noticed the tear streaming down his cheek and wiped it away, quickly. "I'm fine..." He said... He sat silent, staring at the fire. "Why don't I go make up you're bed in the guest room?" I said, trying to change the subject. In truth, I was tired and I could tell that Michael was tired too. His eyes were bloodshot. I went down the hall to the hall closet , got him some fresh sheets and blankets, and walked into the guest bedroom. I began making the bed, when Michael walked in. He looked around the room. "Wow...." He said, under his breath. By the tone of his voice, I guessed that he had never seen a room this nice before. He walked over to a painting on the wall in front of the bed. His eyes were glued to it. It was a painting of a little boy and his mother, playing in the sand on the beach with the sun setting behind them. Michael placed his hand on the painting and ran his fingers over the boy's mother. He was still looking at the painting when I'd finished making the bed. "My dad got that for me." I said. He glanced at me, then focused his attention back to the painting. His mind went off again, disappearing into a deep state of concentration. His eyes didn't dart back & forth, he didn't cry. He just smiled. "You're bed is ready." I said. He broke away from his concentration, turned and walked slowly to the bed. He placed his right hand on the sheet and let the tips of his fingers glide over the smooth fabric. "I've never had one before." He said, smiling warmly. I began putting his pillows inside pillow cases. "A room to yourself?" I asked. "A bed..." He said.
"I have to get him inside..." I thought to myself. "He'll die in this cold..." I crossed the street without looking both ways, instinctively knowing that people had enough money to pay for the parking grudge and walked to where they needed to go. The man who I now know is Michael, trembled uncontrollably as he laid on the park bench. It was after midnight and he still had to get up for work at six in the morning. He took short, agonizing breathes as he pulled the thin, torn blanket up to his head. Though his eyes were shut tight, I knew he was still awake. He slowly opened his eyes. He must have heard my feet crunching in the snow as I walked in front of the bench. I slipped my hands into my coat pockets. "Its a little cold tonight," I said. "Do you want to come inside?" He looked at me in amazement and shock, as if he'd never been asked that question before. A gust of wind came out of no where, sending painful shivers up my spine. Michael shivered hard, his teeth chattering. "Do you want to come inside?" I asked again, hoping for an answer. His teeth chattered as he spoke. "N- no it's f- fine, I- I'm ok." I reached out and touched his hand. He was freezing and his skin was bone dry from the cold. I couldn't let him die out here just because his manager didn't want to pay for a warm room for him. "Are you hungry? " I asked him "I just got a tray of fresh roles from room service." I prayed that he would be hungry enough to except my offer. He looked at me without moving his head. His dark eyes seemed to catch light easily and shined brightly in the moonlight. He inhaled a shuttering breath and said, "Ok..." I wrapped my arms around him, trying to keep him as warm as possible as I ran him inside. The cold was becoming too much for him to handle. The blanket was left on the bench. What he didn't leave was an old suitcase that sat under the bench. I unlocked the door to the room, hurried him inside, & helped him remove his jacket & shirt, but not without feeling my
Silence devoured the entire courthouse as we all stood in emotional agony... I could hear nothing but the gasps of the fans who were gathered outside... I could feel nothing but my heart thumping hard and quick in my chest and the nausea in my stomach that followed. I snapped out of my state of shock when I saw two policemen walk up to Michael with handcuffs. I ran to Michael and grabbed his arm. "YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM!" Michael turned his head to look at me. He placed his free hand on my cheek ever so slowly and gently as if to say, “I'll be OK.” The police looked at each other and within a few seconds, they let out a burst of laughter. I watched in complete shock as Michael willingly gave his wrist to the police. Images of him being beaten to death by his follow inmates flashed through my mind, but it was when I heard the “Clicking” of the cuff, that I snapped completely. I lunged at the officers, but, was stopped by Michael. I struggled against him, only to hear the “Clanking” of the one handcuff around his wrist. It was the sound of the cuff that made me want to get at the officers even more. “HE'S INNOCENT!” I screamed. I tried to fight my way out Micheal's arms, but his hold was far too strong break from. I gave up and fell to my knees, breaking down into deep sobs. Michael fell with me and relaxed his arms. He placed his handcuffed hand to the back of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. "It's OK,” He choked, struggling to contain his own sobs that I knew were coming. "It's OK." It seemed as though the harder I sobbed, the tighter Michael held me. It wasn't long before he broke free from our embrace, cradled my face in his hands and pulled me in for a kiss. I took his face in my hands as he pulled away slowly. I kissed him repeatedly until both of us were breathless. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you more,” Michael replied. The police grabbed Michael by the arm and pulled him away from me before he could reply. He winced
(September 7th, 2001) • Michael and Elizabeth Taylor at the MJ 30th Anniversary Celebration. ✨ • "One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood.." ♥️ • #michaeljackson 🤴🏾