1997

marlon sat on a bench in a tattoo parlor watching michael with an amused look on his face. it had been about a month since they were unceremoniously dropped from their record label and the calls dried up. even their father wasn’t speaking to them at the moment and while marlon saw that as an upside to their current woes, he knew it also meant they were really up shit’s creek without a paddle.

hasbeens, yesterday’s news, bums, etc., etc., etc.

while he hadn’t really unpacked his own feelings on the matter, he knew michael was going through his own complex feelings and after finally peeling himself out of the bed, his first decision was to try a rebellious phase. marlon was accompanying him because he knew his brother only operated in extremes; either he went all in or he didn’t do it all. if he allowed him to go to a tattoo parlor by himself he was more likely than not to come home with a full sleeve and a face tatt that marlon knew he would have to explain like he had been the one to take him to get it…

which was why he needed to make sure he didn’t go too far.

michael already had a small tattoo he’d gotten after marlon got his first one and he’d been too scared back then to get anything bigger. the worst of the tabloids were already picking at any little thing about him to comment on and he didn’t want more attention from them. now, he was mad and wanted to do anything to piss off the first adult in his life who would care that he had done something to ruin the carefully crafted disney-fied image he had. marlon had long since stopped giving a damn about what anyone thought and let everyone know he had autonomy over his body and could do what he wanted with it. if he wanted a lower back tattoo, a hoop in his ear, and maybe some other things down the line he was going to get it.

and they were going to deal with it.

now that michael was currently feeling the same way, it was clear his heart wasn’t fully in it, which was why he was sitting in the chair, with his brow furrowed as he angrily flipped through the idea book in his lap. “you could probably design somethin’ yourself.” marlon suggested.

“i want somethin’ now, mar.” he mumbled, flipping to another page.

“why don’t you get a piercin’ instead? you’re not gonna find anything you like in there.”

“ain’t this how you chose yours?”

“yeah, but i had like 3 hours before someone noticed i was missin’ from set,” marlon laughed.

michael rolled his eyes as he remembered marlon wincing every three seconds during filming before they finally decided to let him sit out for his ‘back injury’ that turned out to be a tattoo the entire time.

in retrospect, he kind of admired how long his brother kept up with the lie.

“what about this one?” michael questioned, pointing to a design in the book.

“you want an insane clown posse tatt?” marlon laughed.

“s’that what that is?” michael questioned with a frown, tilting his head at the image in front of him.

“okay, mike,” marlon took the book from him and shut it, “i kinda’ know what this is about, but…what is this about?” 

“if you know what it’s about, why're you askin’?”

marlon tapped his fingers along the back of the design book and searched deep and wide for the patience needed to deal with his younger brother. he figured michael was a mild case in comparison to the complete nightmare he had been to jackie, so he could at least give it the old college try. if that didn’t work, he would get one of the other older brothers to do it. he and michael were only a year apart and sometimes that was glaringly obvious in situations like this.

“because you been in bed for a week and suddenly you hop up and decide you want a tattoo. see, i struggle with impulse control, that ain’t really your thing y’know?”

michael frowned.

 “you like thinkin’ things through before you do ‘em, i’m more of a deal with the consequences later kinda’ guy,”

“why can’t i just wanna get a tattoo, marlon?”

“you whined to me for a month after gettin’ that l’il ass shit on your finger.”

when michael didn’t say anything to that, marlon continued. “what happens next after the tattoo?”  he questions.

“i dunno, i ain’t thought that far ahead. maybe i wanna be impulsive, maybe i wanna do somethin’ that actually gives a tabloid somethin’ to say.” michael frowned.

“you really don’t want that.” 

michael looks at marlon and sighs realizing his brother is speaking from experience. his shoulders droop and his face crumples into something sad and tired. he leaned back against the chair he was sitting in and closed his eyes as he took a few deep breaths, trying to collect his thoughts. the question of “why are you doing this?” popped into his head a few times. 

“first time someone actually gave me a good faith critique, they called me inauthentic,” michael said, opening his eyes and looking at the graffiti covered walls of the tattoo shop, “said the jackson 5 was a phony, motown knock-off and its lead singer was a carefully curated character. great music, beautiful voice, no substance, and inauthentic. a child tryna’ to fit into an era he wasn’t born into.”

“gotta admire their use of alliteration.”

the corner of michael’s lip twitch, “fuck off, man.”

marlon smiled a little, “and what you think about yourself now?”

“that i’m washed up at 18, no one gave a fuck about us even though they were smilin’ in our faces all the fuckin’ time, that i still got so much more to give and i don’t know how to get it out and it feels like i’m goin’ nuts tryna’ understand what the fuck went wrong.” michael frowned and looked over at marlon, “joseph was always up my ass about listenin’ to those suits, let ‘em tell me who to be, how to sing, how to act. i had to pretend i ain’t see my brothers falling the fuck apart behind me and act like that pressure wasn’t making me fall the fuck apart.”

michael closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. he knew there was only so much privacy he could have in a tattoo parlor, but he also knew he didn’t want to start crying in there either so he tried to pull it together. “you know joseph called me ‘big nose’ all the fuckin’ time.” he said quietly.

“yeah.”

“to see people talkin’ ‘bout how i looked, how i ain’t ‘cute’ no more. ‘oh maybe he’ll grow into it’, ‘looks like he grew out of it’. that shit hurt.” he stood up and rubbed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“michael–”

“you woulda thought i fuckin’ killed somebody,” he chuckled dryly, “all i did was grow the fuck up. the music was still good, the…fuck.”

marlon stood and wrapped his arms around michael, allowing him to bury his head in his shoulder. “it ain’t even jus’ that mar…” he mumbled, his shoulders heaving.

“what else is it, mikey?” marlon questioned softly.

“i don’t…i can’t figure out who i am outside of that little kid with the bellbottoms. jackie, tito, and jermaine kinda’ got to figure out who they were before all this shit started. you ain’t let them tell you who to be after a while, but me…i had to be who they wanted me to and i never…” he paused and marlon held him tighter, “they threw that kid away and now that they don’t want ‘im no more…what do i do with myself? who am i supposed to be now?”

marlon swallowed the lump he felt forming in his throat, “you gotta be you,”

“but who is that?” michael snapped, pushing him away, “you know why i ain’t get outta bed all week?”

when marlon doesn’t say anything to him, michael continued, “there was no one tellin’ me what to do, what to wear, when to make call times, how many studio sessions i had. every day of my fuckin’ life since i was 10 someone’s been tellin’ me what to do. and now i got this ‘freedom’ and i just…what am i s’pposed to do with it?”

“live,” marlon shrugged, “and that ain’t a one size fits all thing. i can’t tell you how to live your life, i’m still tryna’ figure that part out myself, you know?”

michael nodded and marlon crossed his arms over his chest. “but i can tell you that you absorb information like it’s all gonna disappear if you don’t learn everything you can, you get real fuckin’ annoyin’ about things not bein’ perfect, when people tell you, you can’t do somethin’ you prove you can do it and better than they ever thought,” he paused to laugh, “nobody can tell behind them big ass eyes and sweet li’l grin, but you always instigatin’ some shit. i still get blamed for startin’ that fight with the backstreet boys even though you threw the first punch.”

“i ain’t like how they was lookin’ at us,” michael shrugged, a small smile on his face.

marlon grinned, “even with people tellin’ you who to be and what to do, you still manage to be mikey from gary who would help me knock li’l niggas’ heads together when they fucked with randy at school. it’s okay if you lost yourself in the mix of all the fame shit, but you know who you are.”

“you never lost sight of that even if you think you did.”

“when did you get all insightful?” michael laughed, wiping at his face with his hands.

marlon just shrugged, “i’m a wealth of ideas, li’l brother, you just gotta be willin’ to listen.”

michael didn’t have a joke or a retort for marlon’s statement. the funny thing was, he genuinely believed his brother. where michael showed his hand to anyone who asked for it, marlon played possum for the unsuspecting. he likened his brother to a trickster character in the old proverbs their tutors used to make them study during homeschool. he existed in a strange space between reality and the glamourized world the jackson 5 had been a part of, and tended to remind everyone around them that he could step between those spaces easily. his transition into ‘civilian’ life had been seamless, or, at least that’s how michael perceived it. marlon could tell him he was still trying to find himself, but michael didn’t think there was much left for him to find. there was a very strange duality to him that was both chaotic and methodical. even his, admitted, impulsivity tended to have a reason behind it.

which made michael wonder if it was actually impulsive at all. he would ask, but he knew marlon would never tell.

“i still want a tatt.” michael said, picking the idea book up from the bench.

“you’re not gonna find it in there.” marlon reminded him.

“i know, but…” michael opened it and flipped to a page in the book with quotes written in different fonts, from handwritten to monotype to serif to script, “i saw a font i liked…here”

he positioned the book in front of marlon, and pointed to a handwritten font that made his brother nod in appreciation. “you got a quote in mind?”

michael bit his lip, “if all the tabloids are right and the ‘magic’s gone’, i can find it again on my own terms. i can still be magic.”

marlon tilted his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “you are magic, whether you know it or not.”

“nah, not yet. but one day, everyone’ll see it. i will be magic.”

1999

michael smacked his lips together in the annoying way he did whenever he got cottonmouth, causing jermaine to smack him in the chest, his nose wrinkled. “stop makin’ them mouth noises.” he complained.

“can’t help it, i need water,” michael frowned, almost whining.

“it’s next to you, dipshit,”

“y’all know i’m still gonna smell like weed right? you might as well let me smoke,” randy piped up from the kitchenette.

“fat chance, munchkin.”

“tell mother you were burnin’ sage,” marlon suggested.

randy’s eyes widened, “you want me to tell our jehovah’s witness mother that i was burnin’ sage? she’s gonna take me to kingdom hall and i’ll never be seen again.”

“yall gave the boy a contact high, he’s paranoid.” jackie sighed.

“you won’t go missin’ ran,” marlon assured him,  “jehovah’s just gonna call on all his witnesses an’ jump you, it’ll be like the source awards in that bitch.”

“marlon that’s blasphemy!” michael gasped and jermaine rolled his eyes at his dramatics.

“blaspheme these nuts.”

“shut ya’lls high asses up, it’s comin’ on!” jackie shushed them.

michael looked genuinely upset as he turned to jackie, “you ain’t gotta be so rude about it…” 

the jacksons sat huddled in jermaine’s small studio apartment in los angeles as they watched a short segment on mtv about their new look and single. they hadn’t been contacted directly about it, just briefly alerted by a trl commercial that mentioned their old name. it was only a 5 minute spot with people being asked on the street about them, but it was still interesting to see how people perceived them after their disney stint. the anxiety of strangers’ opinions had led to jermaine procuring pot from one of the club regulars to calm their nerves before they watched. so far, from jackie and randy’s sober…ish observance, it seemed like only marlon and tito were enjoying themselves—jermaine and michael were two sides of the same coin when they were high: annoying, easily agitated and whiny.

“that’s the jackson 5? like the kids with the afros and bellbottoms in the 90s?”

“i like the song. it’s different from the old stuff, but i like the motown covers better.”

“the new look is cute i like it especially on michael, he’s so fine.”

“that afro **** was racist as ****, you ain’t see new edition with no afros, hi-five ain’t wear bellbottoms and sing old ass songs. i like the new ****, rock is our ****!”

“i always thought the 70s aesthetic was weird y’know. it was different from the other groups, yeah but like…it felt so…forced.”

“our first mtv spot and we’re bein’ insulted,” jermaine frowned.

“i don’t think they insulted us,” tito reasoned.

“they ain’t compliment us either.” jackie smiled.

jermaine elbowed michael, “they complimented mikey.” 

“fuck off,” michael said, ducking his head in embarrasment.

“okay but that one dude was right, that shit was racist,” marlon pointed out.

“you took one black studies class and now you never shut the fuck up.” randy groaned.

marlon sat up from his spot on the carpeted floor and narrowed his red tinged eyes at his younger brother, “you know what randy, harriet tubman woulda shot you—”

“marlon.” tito snorted, “guys, look at the bright side, people are interested in our shit. they wouldn’t be askin’ if there wasn’t buzz.”

michael nodded in agreement and took a sip from his water bottle. they had radio airplay-–not enough to really make a dent on the charts, but the local pop and soft rock stations seemed to like the song enough. the larger stations didn’t know what to make of “this place hotel”. the jacksons were marketing themselves as a pop rock band after years of the bubblegum pop and rhythm and blues labels. anyone they pitched themselves to seemed to want to keep them in those genres despite the fact that their music no longer could be tied neatly in that one little bow. they couldn’t even get a nod to the obvious funk elements of the song. mostly everyone liked the sound, it was just the faces attached that made them apprehensive.

“we gotta do somethin’ with that buzz though,” michael got up from the couch and stumbled over marlon before righting himself and checking his surroundings.

“act like you been high before.” jermaine said with a shake of his head.

“shut up. i have an idea, but y'all ain’t gonna like it.”

“spit it out, giblets we ain’t got all day.”

michael flipped marlon off and took a deep breath, “there’s a battle of the bands in anaheim next month. a contract with columbia records is one’a the prizes.”

the apartment is quiet then, even the television seems to fade to the background. michael figured his brothers would be apprehensive. a battle of the bands felt like auditioning again in the way that performing on a club stage felt like being entertainers again. finding the fine line between fun and proving themselves as competent artists who didn’t need to sacrifice their members to fit a certain look was always a chore for them. they struggled with finding balance because to them, navigating this entire industry was work. they were employees again instead of a bunch of boys playing in a band.

“we want a contract?” randy asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

michael looked over at randy and shrugged, “i dunno, do we?”

he glanced over his jermaine who looked indifferent, but he knew deep down all he wanted to do was make music for the masses again. his eyes moved to jackie who looked apprehensive, then tito who kept his expression, annoyingly, neutral. marlon was looking at him through half-lidded eyes that didn’t really give him any indication that was particularly for or against the idea. 

“i can’t read ya’lls expressions for shit, so somebody say somethin’.” michael frowned.

“what’s it mean if we get signed?” jackie asked for the group, “that machine ain’t around us no more. we ain’t got lawyers, managers, none of that.”

“maybe we don’t need that,” michael said.

“no, we need it,” jackie told him, “you think a label would do right by us without lawyers?”

“lawyers ain’t do us right the first time.” tito pointed out.

“and the suits at the label will?” jackie questioned.

“ya’ll are talkin’ like we won the competition.” jermaine said as he glanced at michael, then back at his brothers, “how ‘bout we just...enter, play, and try to get our name out there?”

another silence settled amongst the group and michael regretted even bringing it up. it was clear there was still anxiety about the prospect of going further than club gigs and local radio play. 

“i’m in.” randy said, “‘maine’s right, we ain’t won nothin’ yet. what’s the risk?”

“fine.” tito said with a sigh.

jackie rolled his eyes, “i’m gonna regret this.”

everyone turned to marlon who had been uncharacteristically silent. “you wouldn’t bring this up unless you thought we had a shot.” he said, looking at michael, “which means you want the contract.”

michael bit his lip, but didn’t say anything. 

“whatever man.” marlon shrugged.

“that ain’t really a yes.” jeramine said.

marlon grabbed his water and took a sip,  “it ain’t a no either, so take it for what it is and leave it alone.” 

“i think ya’ll blew his high,” randy commented.

“no shit.”

“you don’t wanna do it.”

“i don’t.”

“then why are you?”

marlon turned to tito and shrugged, “majority rules.”

tito crossed his arms over his chest and leveled marlon with a look that the younger man wanted to ignore, but couldn’t. “stop lookin’ at me like that.” he muttered.

“mar.”

“ti’.”

“you know, i used to be able to tell whatever you were thinkin’. you got a good poker face now, so you’re gonna have to use your words.”

marlon looked down at his hands and fiddled with one of the rings on his fingers before shrugging, “what’s it matter?”

tito sighs, “you can talk to me marlon.”

“i know. i’ve always known that.”

a small smile comes to tito’s face and he briefly thinks about all of the talks he and marlon used to have when he was younger and felt like he had no one in his corner. 

“then what’s the issue?”

“joseph ain’t lettin’ us get a contract without wantin’ a piece.” marlon said.

“we ain’t won yet.”

“but what if we do? who’s gonna stop him from stickin’ his nose in our shit?”

tito pauses and seems to really think about what marlon is saying. if they did win, and for tito it was a big ‘if’, the recording contract did seem daunting. it would be announced somewhere, joseph would find out, and he would force himself into the equation like he always did. 

“he don’t care right now because he don’t even listen to the local stations they play us on. hell, that mtv shit mighta’ gotten back to him.”

“i’m not sayin’ i don’t think we can’t win, i’m just bein’ realistic which is why i ain’t as worried about it as you and jackie,” tito said with a thoughtful look, “i told jack i’d be here to bring you, mike, and randy down to earth if your dreams got bigger than your britches, but it looks like i may have to do it now.”

“you sound like papa jackson.”

tito shrugged and smiled, “look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. one thing at a time. you start catastrophizin’ and you get worked up almost as bad as michael when he does it.”

“i ain’t that bad.”

“you’re right, you’re worse. at least mike gets quiet, you start cussin’ up a damn storm. you could probably hold a record for the longest string of ‘motherfucker’s’ said in one day.” tito laughed.