Chapter Text
For as long as he could remember, you’d been there. He couldn’t picture a time you weren’t within arm’s reach, could hardly remember the day you walked into his life. But you could.
It was 1971, early in May. You remembered because school was starting to wind down as the first signs of summer heat began to creep into those sunny California afternoons. You were eagerly counting down the days until vacation started. You were never a fan of school. Any subject taught at school held no interest for you. You didn’t care about math or learning to write in cursive or any other topic taught in school that you deemed useless and dull. The one thing you did like about school was reading. It was all you went to school for, really. Diving into different worlds helped you escape from the reality you tried so hard to ignore.
The other kids in school were never appealing to you either. None of them liked you anyway. Your mother was a maid, struggling to make ends meet, while your father was a raging alcoholic who occasionally also dabbled in coke. He was no stranger to physical abuse either. That is, when he actually managed to stumble his way home. You were made fun of for your shoddy clothes and the family dynamic that your peers deemed odd. Kids could be cruel; you’d always heard that phrase when trying to talk to your mother about it. It was especially true, as you’d just turned 13, a phase in life where most prepubescents’ main goal seemed to be to make your life a living hell.
As you were preparing for the end of school, your mother was preparing for a new job. A family had just moved into the large house you’d always seen when taking the long way home from school. You never imagined anyone would be able to afford that house, looking like a Tudor-style cottage mixed with a castle. Though you could hardly imagine any house besides your own. You’d never had friends and had never been invited to anybody else’s home, so it’s not like you knew what you were missing.
At first, your mom disappeared to her new job while you were at school. Nothing changed in your life. You still stayed alone most of the time, walking home after school and waiting for your mother, who would typically return an hour or two after you’d gotten home. After about a month of this routine, your mother came to your room, interrupting your reading time.
“(Y/N), you’re gonna have to start coming to work with me.”
You stared at her, a bit confused.
“Why?”
Your mother sighed, clearly not wanting to answer questions. She was often like this. She wanted you to just listen the first time. Not to question anything she said. Sometimes, you figured if she could get away with never having to speak to you again, she’d do it.
“Because I said so, that should be enough.” She stared at you, rolling her eyes, a bit impatiently upon seeing your puzzled face. “I’m switching to late shifts for the summer, and my probation officer said I can’t leave you alone that late at night until you’re at least 16.”
You groaned. Your mother, unlike your father, was sober. But she’d gotten into a lot of trouble earlier in life, and often relapsed. This was the first time that she’d been able to last over a year at a time, and her probation officer was on her constantly to make sure it stayed that way. Always reminding her of the child she had to take care of. Not that she had any real maternal instincts, but more so just a sense of responsibility.
You didn’t push back, didn’t try to compromise. You knew it didn’t matter; she’d end up dragging you with her no matter what. Besides, you were curious about what the inside of the house could look like.
The day came when your mother dragged you through the gate, clearing security easily. You would’ve felt embarrassed, having to walk with your mother in her maid’s outfit to what was most likely the richest house you’d ever set foot in in your life, but you were so used to being humiliated that you found it more pathetic than anything else.
The first day had been dull. You followed your mother around the house as she cleaned, or sat in a stiff chair off to the side, reading some asinine book you’d brought along that you’d read a million times. With your mother’s budget as tight as it was, you couldn’t afford to waste your money on stories. The library would’ve been a good option, except that once you’d had water thrown on you by a couple of the girls at school who seemed intent on getting you to put their name on a suicide letter. The book inside your backpack was ruined, and of course, the librarian hadn’t believed you when you’d told her what had happened. Being banned from checking books out of the school library was just the icing on the cake of your miserable life.
The next couple of days had gone mostly the same. Go to school. Walk home. Walk to that giant house you could never dream of owning. Be bored out of your mind. Go home. Repeat. You were just biding your time until summer. It wasn’t until the lady of the house happened to cross your path during one of these days that your life changed for good.
“Who are you, dear?”
You were startled out of your reverie. You’d been staring down at the pages of a book you’d practically memorized at this point. You weren’t even reading, just staring, eyes glazed over, imagining you were anywhere else, with anyone else.
“Uh, I’m (Y/N), Ma’am.” If nothing else, your mother had taught you to be polite around her clients.
Her face remained unchanged. Expression neutral. “How old are you?”
“13.”
She seemed to think for a moment. “Well, I have a son who’s around your age. Seems a waste for you to sit here bored out of your mind. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind entertaining you for a while.”
You immediately hated the idea. You had no interest in becoming the torture toy of some rich boy. “Oh, that’s alright, Ma’am, really, I’m not bored or anything.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense! A girl your age ought to be making friends, being social! Not stuck with her nose in a book. Come on!” She turned and started walking up the grand stairs, motioning for you to follow her. You closed your book, stifling an audible sigh as you got up and followed reluctantly.
The two of you made your way up the stairs, down a long hallway, the dim lights seeming to make it even more gloomy somehow, to a door at the end. She knocked lightly on the door. “Michael?” She asked.
“It’s open.” You heard a soft reply from inside. She opened the door, revealing a large room covered in items you’d never imagine owning in your life. A stereo set, vinyls, toys, books, everything brand new and shiny. And at the center of all of it was a thin boy, white t-shirt contrasting against his dark skin, blue jeans complementing his long legs, lying on the floor as a record spun behind him.
“This is (Y/N). She’s here while her mother works. I thought you two could keep each other company. I’ll leave you to it!” She introduced you quickly, swiftly making her exit and shutting the door behind her, presumedly trying to get the two of you to bond as fast as possible.
You stand there awkwardly for a moment before sitting down on the floor a good distance from him.
“Hi..” You say quietly. Not expecting much from him besides telling you to shut up and leave him alone.
“Hey, I’m Michael.” He says instead.
You nod simply, looking around his room. Your eyes fall back to the spinning record. “What’re you listenin’ to?”
“The Temptations,” he responds, turning over onto his stomach to look over at you. His wide dark eyes felt like they were boring into you. You try to look away, uncomfortable with him staring at you.
“Oh.” You say, letting the conversation die. You didn’t really know about them. You didn’t have a radio in your house, so you really didn’t know much about music. Even if you’d had enough money to own a radio or any kind of music player, you didn’t think you’d use it much. You would much rather spend your time reading. You catch his large doe-like eyes move from your face to the rotating vinyl.
“They make stuff kinda similar to us, I think.” He tells you, as if you were just supposed to know what he was talking about.
You just stare back at him, not really understanding. “I’m in a group.” He elaborates. You’re a bit shocked by this; he was just as young as you. You figured it must’ve been him and some other rich kids from whatever boarding school he likely attended. “Oh. What’s your group called?” You ask, not even all that interested in the answer.
He stares at you like you just asked the most obvious question ever, then something else crosses his face. You thought maybe it was excitement, but that didn’t really make sense to you. “We’re called the Jackson 5.”
You just nod again. You were right. The name didn’t mean much to you. “Are you guys any good?”
“I think so.” He moves to sit on his knees, turning and rifling through his collection of vinyls as he selects a new one, taking the current record off and replacing it with another. A beat begins to play, and after a bit of buildup, a beautiful voice begins to sing out. At first, you didn’t piece together that this was the group he was talking about. The sound of that singer gave you goosebumps, and suddenly, you thought you might understand why you overheard kids at school talking about music so much.
“This is really good, who’s this?” You asked again, still not putting it together.
He grins, part amused by your obliviousness and part appreciative of the compliment. “It’s me. It’s the Jackson 5.”
Your eyes light up a bit, not thinking that a kid as young as him could sing like that. “You have a whole record ‘n everything? Is that why you’re rich?”
He laughs a little, surprised that your awe comes mostly from the fact that he was able to get his voice on a vinyl. “Yeah. The band is my brothers and me. Joe runs the group.”
“Who’s Joe?”
“My dad.” He says plainly. He gives a deadpan delivery, but you can sense contempt in his body language.
“Oh. My dad doesn’t come around much.” You figured the way he felt towards his dad was probably pretty similar to the way you felt about yours.
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” He says, before a brief look of regret crosses his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Look at this.” He changes the subject quickly, and you let him. You didn’t really care to get into family stuff. He shoved a cover into your hands, and suddenly, you were staring at a slightly younger version of the boy sitting next to you, 4 iterations of him to either side.
“You got your picture on it and everything!” You were genuinely impressed. You’d never been around anyone like him before.
He laughed a little, possibly shy from the attention. “Yeah, it’s kinda cool.”
The two of you chat for a bit longer about what his group did. Where he’d played, what recording was like, how photoshoots went. You found yourself growing genuinely interested in him. Despite not having much interest in music, the way Michael lit up at telling you about it made his excitement leak onto you. He explained how he’d practice constantly, how it seemed to just rise up out of him. He also told you about how he loved to dance, improvising a couple of sounds into an odd beat as he showed you a couple of moves he’d use on stage. At one point, dancing like a robot, you found yourself genuinely beaming, finding yourself delighted by this new boy.
The afternoon went on, and once the two of you had enough talk about Michael’s talents, the topic shifted towards something else you’d come to find Michael was passionate about. Looking around his room, you notice a lot of animal paraphernalia. There are a couple of posters on the wall depicting all kinds of animals: gorillas, giraffes, rats, dogs, elephants. Multiple books were lying around with animals on the cover, not to mention a couple of stuffed animals he had carefully arranged on his bed. “You like animals?”
He instantly beams at the question. You took from his eager expression that he wasn’t asked about himself much.
“I love them. One day, I’m gonna have a whole zoo that lives with me. They’re gonna be my best friends.”
You snort a bit, taken aback by his admission. “Can you really do that? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”
He shrugs. “I doubt it.” Still smiling, he stands, grabbing a magazine from nearby.
He flips it open carelessly, pointing to an article in the middle. “Lots of people are getting exotic pets. Look.” He points to animals across the pages, pictures of celebrities you didn’t know accompanying them. “But I don’t wanna take them from the wild. That seems cruel. I wanna save the ones that get abused, that are trapped somewhere. That way, I’m helping them instead of trapping them.”
You nod along. “I mean, that sounds like what should be done, I guess.” You couldn’t imagine he’d really have a tiger or a chimp walking around his house. You’d never had a pet in general, let alone something as expensive and hard to obtain as the animals in the magazine.
“Hey, how come you’re here? Nobody else who works here brings their kids.” He asks you.
“Her probation officer said I had to.” You don’t clarify anything else.
“Oh.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and instead goes back to talking about animals, pulling out other magazines and books to tell you random facts. You didn’t mind, you hated talking about yourself, and you enjoyed getting to look at some new books for once.
The evening sped by in this way, both of you lying on his floor, record player long forgotten as you flipped through his books together side by side, reading silently and pausing briefly to talk about something that you’d just read that caught either of your attention. As the sun slowly began to set, you knew you were going to have to leave soon, and for once, you found someone you wanted to stay with. Not able to escape the inevitable, your mother is directed to Michael’s room, dragging you out as you waved goodbye to your new friend.
That’s how the rest of the summer was spent. You joined your mother as she cleaned, sitting on the floor and talking to Michael, using all the things in his room that he found more interesting whenever you were around. Eventually, she went back to working days, but even then, you’d kept coming over. Even on school days, as soon as it was over, you would rush to his house, running up the stairs and through the now-familiar hallway to his room, where he’d often be waiting for you. Sometimes he had some activity, or something he was excited to talk about, and other times he’d just be there, waiting to see if you had any ideas on what to do. The years passed by easily this way; you’d finally found someone who understood you.