Fiction by New Breed Leader: Call Me Michael
PROLOGUE
Marin County, CA
Christmas, 2025.
Fifty-year-old Michelle Simmons slowly opened the front door and stepped out onto the enclosed porch. It was cloudy and drizzling. She opened the outer door and inhaled the fresh moist air. She loved overcast days. They felt safe to her, like she was encased inside of a gray cocoon. She stood and waited out on the top step for the taxi that was supposed to arrive any minute now.
Suddenly, there it was, a yellow taxi, pulling up to the curb. Michelle smiled. They were here. She was so excited to see them.
A young man and woman emerged from the back seat of the cab. The young man walked to the trunk to retrieve the luggage while the young woman bounced toward Michelle.
“Mom!” she opened her umbrella.
“Hurry and come on in before you get drenched”, Michelle held out her arm. The young woman increased her steps a little bit so she could reach her. She opened the white picket fence and ran a little to get to her.
The young bespectacled man was getting soaked as he slammed the trunk shut and pulled two large suitcases toward the steep steps that lead to the house.
“You could’ve helped me you know” the twin brother said to the twin sister as they stomped onto the porch. The twin sister let down her umbrella and shook it. The twin brother wiped his feet on the carpet before entering into the living room.
“I know, but I figured you had it handled”, said the twin sister to the twin brother, hugging her mother.
After shutting the latticed-window door of the front porch, they got settled inside.
“Cedric, go get a towel and dry yourself off”, instructed Michelle. “I’ve got cheesecake and coffee in the kitchen, Mariann”.
Mariann, the twin sister, named after her paternal grandmother, Mariann Archer; Cedric Linberg, the twin brother, named after his maternal grandfather and paternal great-grandfather, respectively, were visiting their mother during winter break from college.
Mariann from Northwestern University; Cedric, from Stanford.
It had been two months since they’d seen each other at their father’s funeral.
The world had lost a phenomenal musical genius, an accomplished musician and songwriter; but to them, D’Angelo was just dad. The man who played monopoly with them as kids and would pick Mariann up and tickle her nonstop when she was winning;
The man who taught little Cedric how to fish on the lake in Virginia; who collected seashells with them at Virginia Beach.
Who even played dolls with tiny Mariann, and let her wrap feather boas around his neck.
This Christmas would be bittersweet. The first one without their father.
Michelle and Mariann got caught up on her studies. She followed in her dad’s footsteps; she was a music major. Mariann loved her classes. She was in her senior year and looking forward to graduating.
Cedric emerged from the bathroom, dry and hungry. He followed in his mother’s footsteps; an English Literature major at Stanford, with plans to apply for a Rhodes scholarship.
“Hey Ma”, he rubbed a towel against his neck, “we got anything else besides cheesecake? I’m starving”.
“Boy, how are you starving? They don’t feed you at Stanford?” Michelle laughed. “There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge, or we can order Uber Eats. Besides your uncle Carl is bringing food soon”.
“Nah”, Cedric yanked the refrigerator door wide open. “I’m way too impatient for that”.
He snatched the foil-covered lasagna from the bottom shelf of the fridge and slammed the door shut.
They talked about Cedric’s current girlfriend, a law student at Stanford. “She reminds me of you, Ma…wicked smart”, Cedric said.
“That’s nice, dear”, Michelle said. “When am I going to meet her?”
“Soon”, was all Cedric would say, with an air of finality.
Just like his dad, Michelle thought to herself.
Mariann retrieved the large photo album from Michelle’s rear den office, placing it on the table in the large bright kitchen.
She opened it and thumbed through the pages.
“I can’t believe in this day and age, you still have a physical photo album”, Mariann laughed.
“There’s something to be said for physically touching memories”, Michelle said, reaching over and pulling the album towards her. “Your father taught me that”.
There was a photo of a very young Michelle and D’Angelo, taken inside of a hotel room
“I think your Carl took this picture”, Michelle said. “This was in Minnesota”.
“At the Prince concert?”
“Yep”.
There was a photo of Michelle and D’Angelo standing in front of the hotel entrance. D’Angelo was holding up a peace sign with one hand, his other hand around Michelle’s shoulder.
“He followed us that night”, Michelle remembered, looking up from the album and staring into space. “We were leaving Paisley Park and we got in our car and suddenly, there he was, in the back seat.”
Mariann pulled out another photo. Michelle and D’Angelo in a close intimate embrace on a couch. D’Angelo’s lips were pressed against Michelle’s neck; his hands were around her waist. His arms looked small wrapped underneath her mountainous chest. Both their eyes are shut tight from ecstasy.
“This was at Electric Lady Studios”, Michelle’s index finger caressed the photo.
“You were so pretty, Mom”, Mariann smiled. “No wonder Dad fell in love with you”.
Michelle placed her hand behind Mariann’s head and pulled her close so they were touching foreheads. “You’re very sweet, baby”, she said.
The doorbell rang.
Michelle pushed herself out of the kitchen table chair. “Carl is here.”
She opened the door to find Carl Edmonds, her oldest friend, holding a large bouquet of red and green roses in one hand and a large box wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper in the other.
“Mi Amor!” he yelled
He jumped into the living room, dropping everything and giving Michelle a big hug.
“Your father could barely look at me in the eye when we first met”, Michelle sipped her coffee. “That’s how painfully shy he was”.
“He could barely look anyone in the eye”, Carl arranged the flowers inside of a glass vase. “He was the most socially awkward boy I’d ever met. But honey, he loved you from the minute he didn’t lay those Prince-like eyes on you”, Carl sat down and took Michelle’s hand from across the table.
“It was love at first sight for me, too”, Michelle laughed.
“Don’t I know it! You seem to forget, I was there”, Carl snapped his finger.
Carl was gray now, his hair close cropped, still curly. He still looked as svelte as ever, still tall and thin, but his silver goatee gave him an air of wisdom.
Carl cooked dinner: ribs , mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, collard greens.
They all ate heartily, talking about D’Angelo, and life, and Carl’s husband back in New York.
“Our very last argument…was about WAP”, Michelle announced to the table as they cleared it after dinner.
“You’re kidding!” Carl gasped.
“I kid you not”.
“Let me guess, he didn’t like it”
“He hated that song”, Michelle said. “I said to him, how can you be against women expressing what they want sexually in a song? It was the very thing your idol Prince advocated for”.
“Yeah, but on Prince’s terms, honey. He was still a man, androgynous though he was, and he was still the one pulling the strings”, Carl said.
Michelle had to admit that Carl was right.
Later on that night, after the twins went to bed, Carl and Michelle sat on the front porch, watching and listening to the rain. Her head lay on Carl’s shoulder. They sat in silence for a long time.
“What are you thinking, my love?” Carl said.
Michelle began to cry.
“I miss him so much”, Michelle sniffled.
“I know, honey”, Carl kissed the top of her head. “Yours was a love affair for the ages”.
Michelle buried her face into Carl’s chest. “Why didn’t I marry him? I should have married him, I-“her voice was muffled.
“No, no, we are not doing that”, Carl admonished her. “Would marrying him have stopped his cancer? Tell me that”.
Michelle shut her eyes and let the tears flow, pursing her lips.
Carl hugged her tight, rocking her back and forth. There was nothing left to say.
After Carl went to bed, Michelle retired to her study in the rear of the house. She brought the photo album with her. She pulled open the drawer on her desk and took out a thick journal. She opened it and thumbed through the handwritten pages. She could already feel the tears coming. She pulled out another drawer, and took out some blank sheets of writing paper. In front of her, near the edge of the desk, was a gold fountain pen, a college graduation gift from her father. She plucked it from its stand. She sat for a moment, looking around at her office. To her left, sitting upon a shelf on the wall, was her Pulitzer Prize. She stared at it. It seemed so insignificant now. She offered to give it to D’Angelo, but he didn’t want it. Placing the tip of the pen at the top of the page, she began to write…