Still A Stranger In Moscow

Still A Stranger In Moscow

Introduction

I wrote this fictional short story based on what I believe Michael experienced when he was treated as an outcast back in the early 90’s and later in 2005 after the trial. Even though he is gone, it still ties in to what is happening now. Put yourself in his place as you read it.

This was not written with the intention to make anyone feel worse than we already do. I’m hoping that it will change some folks thinking about him. It’s time for the world to stop beating up on Michael Jackson and let this dear soul rest in peace. CP ♥

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit in the dark, staring out the window. I see people passing by on the street below.  I stay carefully just out of view so no one can see me, but I can see everything.  Hoards of fans line the streets, shouting out my name.  The paparazzi hounds stand on the other side with their cameras ready. The police try to keep them all at bay. Not even the love of my sweet fans brings me comfort. I walk this battle alone. No one knows what it feels like to be me. I can’t even utter the words to adequately explain it, but I feel like the loneliest man on the planet: a prisoner of my vast success and human failures.

I’ve been sitting here for hours thinking. My thoughts have a mind of their own, going in aimless directions. My head feels like it’s about to bust. I see nothing but shadows and memories of times past. The outside daylight slowly turns to evening.  Another isolated and sleepless night stretches before me. The headlines keep whirling through my mind.  The mere thought of what they are saying about me makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t eat and I can barely drink anything.  People keep offering me food, but I refuse.  I want to be left alone. My team says that they “will handle it” and “don’t worry, this will all blow over.” Easy for them to say, it’s not their reputation. I see them huddle in the corner, whispering. I pretend not to notice.  They anxiously glance my way every now and then.   I want to believe them, but my resolve of hope has quickly turned into pools of tears and despair. 

My mind goes back to the time when I was a little boy, whose biggest dream was to be the world’s greatest entertainer.  I could see nothing else when I was young. I even dreamt about it.  I practiced and worked day and night to perfect my skills. I wrote notes everywhere to remind me. Many people say that I have achieved everything, but I say I’ve only scratched the surface.  If they could only see what I see in my mind, they would know that I haven’t.

For the first time, I’m really scared about what lies ahead of me in the future. I’ve asked myself many times, how did I get to this place?  I’ve only tried to help people and to show love.  In return I get mockery and even hate towards me. Tears flow down my cheeks again.  Anger flashes through me.

 “Why are they doing this to me?”  I ask the bright moonlit sky. “How can anyone ever think that I…..”

I choke, sobbing. My head throbs. I can’t even bare to think the thought, much less say the words.  Anguish and fear overcome me.

“Help me God, please help me!” I softly cry to the night sky. Like an answer to my prayer, my mind goes back to the words of a hymn we use to sing at Kingdom Hall:

Though ropes of death encircle me, I call to you,

“Jehovah, give me strength and give me courage too.”

From your own temple dwelling, you hear my plea, “Shelter me;

Rescue me, O my God.

I sniff and wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. I realize that God is listening and he hasn’t left me. That’s a start. As my crying ceases, my thoughts become clearer. I remember a line I read in the book “The Bridge of Beyond,” by  Simone Schwarz-Bart.

Every day you must arise and say to your heart, ‘I have suffered enough and now I must live because the light of the sun must not be wasted, it must not be lost without an eye to appreciate it’.”

I begin to feel a small glimmer of hope in my heart as I remember the tale of Telumee ‘s courageous story . Lord knows I have suffered enough.

The next morning:

Surprisingly, I slept last night.  I wake up to find myself splayed across the bed. I remember lying down to read to refocus my attention.  After many hours, close to daylight, I somehow drifted off to sleep.  Thankfully, nothing from the hours before plagued me during that brief siesta. I look out the window and I see the rain falling down.  The fans are still there, some getting soaked because they have no umbrellas.  I send my folks out to buy them umbrellas and food.  I still refuse to eat but I manage to drink some orange juice, which is a small victory to them. The rhythm of the rain lures me back to my hidden spot by the window, as if trying to wash away the former days of pain. I hear a melody in my head that keeps growing. I begin to hum it out. Music comes once again to heal my soul.  All have I left is the music. This is how I want to be remembered in the history of eternity. I must get my tape recorder to help me remember this.

Years later:

It’s been many years since those dark days.  I did survive, but the same issues came back later on with a vengeance. I’ve lost practically everything: my home, my peace of mind. Outside of my fans, my reputation is soiled and burnt.  What will I do? Who will ever want to listen to me sing again? I have children now that I have to provide for. I must protect them at all costs. I don’t want their lives to be ruined because of me.  So I hide my pain from them as best I can.  Thankfully, they are too young to know right now. They aren’t allowed to use the internet or watch TV except for their schooling. But someday I know they will find out. I pray that I will have to the right words to explain when they are old enough to understand. I can’t think about that now, I must find a way to a get a new place that we can call home. I don’t want to forever be in exile.