The last year of my high school life had suddenly turned into the first year of the rest of my life, even though I strongly doubted it and fought against the idea. It was a year that could not last long enough, yet flew by in a matter of seconds. Without realising it, I was living my happiest days, because everything is easier and especially more beautiful when you are young. Our love, by which I mean the love between Michael and I, was still a friendship then, it was pure and innocent; I loved him without knowing that this was more than just love between friends, he loved me as he thought he loved every child in the world. There was nothing that bound us together, nothing that required us to be together, and yet from the first time we saw each other we looked for any excuse to visit one another.

That became a lot easier when I got a job at Neverland. My horse-riding experience had not gone unnoticed by the ranch staff, and soon enough I was cleaning stables and taking Clydesdale horses for rides through Neverland's vast countryside. I didn't always see Michael - he was off to Los Angeles or some other destination for work, or in the studio working on his music - but often enough we saw each other and had a nice conversation.

One of the first times I saw him again after dinner with my family was in early September. School was almost back in session and I was reluctant to get back to the humdrum of life, especially after this wonderful summer. The clouds were low and there was a sultry silence as I put a halter on one of the horses. I had arrived in an almost melancholy mood, and I was grateful that Neverland lay deserted. As if this little piece of Sunday afternoon magic was the last thing I would get to experience before the school bell rang. The overseer of the barn was napping lazily in a chair with a newspaper over his face (he was only too glad I was there to do the dirty work) when I said hello, and he mumbled something in between words.

I sighed deeply as I and the horse shuffled across the endless plains. Bits of gravel crackled across the terrain as I kicked the same one forward and forward until I finally lost sight of it. We passed sad, damp trees, waterfalls, small gazebos looming out of the thick fog that had fallen. I should have left a crumbly trail to find my way back, but I was so caught up in the silence that I hardly knew where I was going. I had left the barn far behind me, passed all the attractions and the only piece of recognition I had left was a lost piece of track from the little train that was not doing its rounds today.

After what seemed like long minutes, I decided to take a break by a random tree. The ground was damp and the trunk cold, but still I enjoyed the peace that was so unique. Holly meekly stood still, sniffed around and started picking at the grass. The calm inspired a melody, and I began to sing a little, with my chin on my knees. 

I remember that at that moment, I was deep in thought about the recent turn of events. It was, as naive as that may sound, the first time that I had thought thoroughly about the future, because the past had so far gone wonderfully smoothly. It was as if the fog that hung in front of me visually presented the ambiguity of what was to come. I worked hard, got good grades and had a great chance of getting into an Ivy League college. I knew what I wanted to learn, what I wanted to get my degree in, what kind of career I wanted to pursue. And yet, in a matter of weeks, those once sweet-tasting dreams were fading, as if that earthly goodness no longer sounded so enticing now that I was in an almost paradise. But I knew that was ridiculous. What I had was an instinctive feeling based on outward appearances. If I looked deeper than the postcard that was Neverland, I could see that there was something dark behind it, a lonely desolation and profound sadness. No normal person made their own imaginative world for themselves - even if they had all the money in the world. There had to be a reason for this that I had unconsciously understood a long time ago. And yet I didn't know Michael very well, I had only seen a part of him, when he walked on Neverland and was busy with children. It was a beautiful side of him, and yet only one, one polished side of a brilliant diamond. I remembered how in the days before, on a certain afternoon, familiar sounds suddenly echoed through the living room at home. The TV had been on, and I was preparing dinner with my mother. It was a recap of the most important musical moments, and Michael Jackson's Grammy performance was among them. I had walked over to the black box and sat almost glued to it, I couldn't look away, not for the full ten minutes, and yet I found it all strange and unusual. This was not the man I knew - no, that was wrong, I didn't know him at all, and I made a fool of myself if I proclaimed that I did. It was good for me that I had seen the show. It taught me not to delude myself, that this so-called paradise was not mine, but a casual fata morgana.

I had to focus on the future, and yet my heart was consumed, my cheeks reddened when I saw his face before me. Like the answer to my questions, or like the demon from my dubious nightmares, he suddenly appeared out of the mist, with a refreshed smile on his face, and a bag of grapes in his hands which he immediately offered to me. I was startled by him, and he laughed. 

"What were you thinking about, Bethel Regel," he began, taking a seat beside me by the wide trunk, "that made you look so lost?"     

I fidgeted with the rope, and shrugged, not because I was irritated, but because I didn't know where to start. I looked at him. His fingers were playing with some buttons on his camera, occasionally looking through the lens to check something. My eyes slid to his face, to his strong jaw and rounded nose. It had clearly been rebuilt and I wondered how he had come to that decision. It should have turned me away, but for some stupid reason, I admired this aspect of his existence too. I admired that he had the courage to change something about himself that he did not like. He wiped his nose, pulled his knee up to rest his elbow on it. I carefully picked up the camera, which was now lying next to him, and stood up. Without filming, I pointed it at him and looked at him through the lens.  

"Hey!" He laughed defensively, but he stayed put because he didn't care that much. Holly came close, intrigued by this new excitement.  

"What do you do with this thing anyways?"

"It's new. I wanted to try filming with it but then the fog came outta nowhere."

Michael became a condensed cloud on the screen. I could just see his finger crooked to signal me to give the camera back. He took it and hung the rope over his neck.

"Can you ride a horse like that?" He asked, pointing at Holly. I looked at where his finger pointed and patted her on the back.

"Without a saddle, you mean?"                                
He nodded.                                                                          

"Do you want me to show you?"                                   

He nodded again as if dead serious about it, his eyes peering darkly through the damp air. His eyelashes were sticking together from the drops. I felt a tingle go through my arms and then my back, but it wasn't that cold after all. 

"You're gonna have to give me a hand," I laughed.

I had often ridden without a saddle. Me and Tracy did it often, through the woods of Los Padres, with Midlands' horses, which were no tamer than Neverlands' Clydesdales. Holly was as gentle as a lamb. Michael nodded and walked towards me, pushing his camera on his back. Without hesitation he grabbed my leg. His hands clasped tightly around my naked, smooth skin, through which my blood surged. I felt my thigh against his shoulder. I didn't turn red, I wasn't embarrassed, but I don't think my heart had ever raced so much in the face of such minimal physical contact. I sat on Holly's back and Michael walked over to the tree. I tried to give myself an attitude by working with the halter, but I felt elated, because I knew he was looking at me. I even knew that he admired me, as I sat there proudly with my curls not dissimilar to his, with my flowing skirt pulled up a little so that I could sit astride. Holly obediently stood still and I knotted my hair together. Never before had I felt so aware of myself, when he pointed the camera at me and watched the red light burn like a foggy haze, never before had I been so aware of the way my legs rested against Holly's flanks, of the way I gazed, of the way my chest heaved back and forth with my light breathing. Michael captured me as if I were his next big film project. 

"It could be from a fairy tale!" He said, taking away some of the tension of which he probably wasn't even aware.         

"Oh yeah?" I said, as Holly spun around, becoming aware of what was about to happen. For a moment I stood in front of Michael, Holly's snout meeting the lens.                   

"See you," I said teasingly into the camera, urging Holly on and we flew off at a rapid pace. Within a moment everything faded away, Michael and the tree had disappeared like snow in front of the sun and I was alone in a forest of white vapour. All the questions I had just had came back to me like clouds of pressing thoughts. Neverland was not just a mirage, it was a living, real man with a slender figure and dark eyes who had conquered a part of my heart and would never give it back. I had to laugh at my own melancholic drama, but I was comfortable in the knowledge that it was the truth. Now I had to figure out how to deal with that, but as a first step I had Holly turn right around and we galloped back to the tree. Michael had sat down in one of the broad branches, and I was even happier to see him than before. He looked up from the camera screen, and smiled warmly at me.            

"Why'd you run away?"                                               

When he laughed, his voice sounded low. He grabbed my arm to help me climb onto the branch next to him.     

"Because we're not in a fairytale," I said nonchalantly, not realizing the meaning of my words. He had turned the hood on the lens, and put the camera between his legs. His gaze focused on me.                                                       

"No, we're not. But I'd like to believe we are."                        

It had slipped my mind at the time. But as I gazed thoughtfully at the starry sky that evening, the silhouettes of the vines hanging above me, the words came back to me. I rolled them over my tongue as one does with wine, and they tasted sweet and full of promise. The emphasis on the we had not escaped me.