Cameras flash from every direction as I step out of the long, jet-black limo. My two-sizes-too-big tux gets caught in the car door, as the paparazzi drown me in questions. After all this time, I really thought being famous would be more exciting and luxurious. Instead it feels like I’m the red flag all the feisty bulls are trying to charge at. But let’s pause and re-wind to a few months earlier so I can really explain what’s going on here.

Chapter 1: The part where I introduce myself and sound really awkward

The name’s Sailor. Sailor aboard. Hahahah I like to pretend I’m funny. My name’s Sailor Smith. Just like any other 14 year old boy, I have size ten feet and I’m always hungry. Life’s fairly boring. I basically lie around all day and listen to Michael Jackson. Eat, sleep, Michael Jackson, repeat. That’s pretty much what my days consist of. Maybe a few bathroom breaks here and there if I’m lucky. Hobbies include: writing about Michael Jackson, the “king of pop”. Who could’ve guessed? When I grow up I plan on being a journalist for the Rolling Stones magazine. I guess it’s the only option I have. Speaking of Rolling Stones magazine, that’s where this story sort of starts.

Chapter 2: The part where you predict what this story’s about

“Sailorrrrr, there’s a letter here for you,” squeals my mum from the kitchen. As I jump down the stairs two at a time I wonder who it could be from. A thought goes off in my head, but just as fast I shut it down. For the last couple of years, I’ve been mailing in my fan-writing to the Rolling Stones magazine. Before you get excited, let me tell you it’s only because I’m forced to by my mum. As I step into the kitchen, she’s clenching the letter in both hands and grinning from ear to ear. “I already opened it,” she announces. Of course.

Chapter 3: The part where I let your hopes down…and then my mum brings them back up

Long story short, Rolling Stones magazine is beyond thrilled with my review writing on Michael Jackson and they want me to go on tour for two weeks with him next month, as a teen apprentice. I’m just waiting for all the camera men to pop out from behind my curtains, claiming I’m on the next biggest prank show. In fact, I’m almost hoping this’ll happen. As much as I love Michael Jackson, (practically worship) I’m more of a stay-at-home, never-leave-the-house kind of guy. My mum on the other hand, I can basically see the enthusiasm radiating off her glowing skin. She’s all “think about the FANTASTIC opportunities” and “this would look AMAZING on your resume”. Skip ahead a few long days of constant arguing and she’s actually convinced me to go!

Chapter 4: The part where I stop starting chapters with “the part”

Now you may be thinking, “Isn’t this a little sketchy? A young boy just drops everything and goes on tour with Michael Jackson for two weeks?” The answer is yes, yes it is. I’ve been trying to explain this to my dear mother but she’s totally oblivious. She's constantly reassuring me by claiming, "You have a chaperone all throughout the trip. A personal driver and everything!!" Or, "People on the plane are always so friendly". To be honest, we all know the real reason she loves the huge trip so much-it's 100% paid for. No. Cost. At. All. This is like gaining money from my mother's point of view. Not to mention, the month is going by as fast as ice cream melting on a scorching day. Before I can blink, the day has arrived and is staring me straight in the face. My duffle bag is overflowing with all my favorite cassettes and graphic band t- shirts. Who needs a toothbrush or socks anyways? As I anxiously fly out of the front door, the melody of “Billie Jean” fills my soul and electrifies my whole body.

Chapter 5: A bad sandwich and lack of concern for the end of the world

After 16 gruesome hours of traveling, I don’t think I’ll ever step foot in a plane again. Of course I got sandwiched in between the wailing baby and the snoring fat guy.  “Welcome to LA” signs faintly flash past my eyes as I glance out the car window. My watch reads 6:38 pm. It’s mind-blowing to think in just over an hour, I’ll be backstage at Staples Center with Michael Jackson, my idol--wait no--my HERO! Time is drifting by so dreadfully slowly, it feels like I’m back in Math class-where every second feels like a minute. After what feels like my lifetime (and all my relatives to come) goes by, I’m facing Staples Center, just daring it to come at me. “Whoa there kid, what do you think you’re doing?” declares one of the bouncers, practically looking for a fight. I whip out my VIP pass and shove it in his face, as if I’m some sort of underrated Greek god. They immediately step out of the way and giant smiles are forced on their faces. “That’s what I thought boys,” I egotistically think to myself. I’m just seconds away from meeting Michael Jackson and I swear if someone told me the world was going to end, I wouldn’t have cared less.

Chapter 6: Who would’ve thought Michael Jackson was so short in person!?

Michael Jackson, let me repeat that, Michael Jackson, ok I’m for sure seeing things, Michael Jackson is staring me, Sailor Smith, yes for real me, Sailor Smith into the eyes. Whatever magical blast of courage was there before, has completely vanished into thin air. Nada. Nothing. It’s as if I’m a newborn baby who knows nothing at all. Wait, babies can cry, I can’t even do that. "Cat got your tongue?" Michael Jackson smirks. If honey could talk, it would sound like Michael Jackson. "I really like you and your songs and your face that’s why I'm here, actually I'm here because my mum forced me to but, I still love everything about you and I just love you. A lot!" Well that’s going to go down in history as the most awkward thing I've ever said. "Let's just take a deep breath and get rolling," Michael Jackson softly hums, as if he didn’t hear anything I just said (thank goodness). "Ok. Yep. Totally. I would like that very much I would." Did I really just say that? Before I can blink, Michael Jackson has strutted off towards stage. I guess that means go time.

Chapter 7: This is the life!

I'm standing front and center when suddenly the lights flash on, causing an instantaneous roar of pure energy coming from every direction in the room. The excitement overwhelms me and unexpectedly I hear myself screaming too. This atmosphere is unlike anywhere I've ever been. That's when I see him. Michael Jackson, dashing onto stage, like a knight in shining armor, wearing a fire-hydrant red leather jacket, black fedora and a single white, sequined glove. Classic outfit. I brace myself for the unreal music I’m about to hear. Throughout the whole concert, I am captivated by Michael Jackson. The show is electrifying, breathtaking and sensationally spine-tingling.  I feel like I've been put into some sort of weird trance. Is this even real life? Wait, I know- I'm in a coma. A Michael Jackson coma.

Chapter 8: Lights! Camera! Gollum?

So…back to where we started. Paparazzi. Everywhere. I feel like I’m suffocating. I am the fish. They are the sharks. The only thing that’s getting me through this is Michael Jackson. I can almost see the shining spot light on him and I’m just following it straight to the pot of gold. It’s like the paparazzi are hooked on Michael Jackson. They’re acting as if they would die if they don’t’ get a half-decent, blurry photo of him. Now that I think about it, I know exactly what it’s like. Michael Jackson is the beloved ring and the paparazzi is the psychotic Gollum. My precioussssssss…

Chapter 9: An unexpected trip that would let me die happily

And that's what it's like. Everyday. A never-ending rush from all his concerts. Crazed fans, blaring music and senseless paparazzi. I mean, ya I talk to Michael Jackson sometimes, but it’s not like I’m there to be his best friend. And the “after-parties” are nothing like I expected…AT ALL. They include sitting around a table eating M&Ms and playing “snakes and ladders”. It’s like something I dreamed up. But what was I expecting?! It’s no rumor that Michael Jackson is known to be pretty childish. Now this still would continue to be a remarkable experience if things continued to play out in this matter. But they don’t. Sorry to break it to you. It’s a typical after show meeting when Michael Jackson brings up the idea of a “weekend getaway” to his legendary Neverland Ranch. Quick side note: Neverland Ranch is Michael Jackson’s 2700 acres mansion play house. It has Ferris wheels, amusement rides, movie theatres, tons of zoo animals and massive swimming pools. It’s basically Disneyland’s child. Anyways, as soon as I hear this, I perk up like a dog getting called to go on a walk. Going to Neverland is something I’ve dreamed about since the day I was born. Literally. I was born dreaming about Neverland. If I could go, my life would be complete.

Chapter 10: Neverland or the world?

And so it is decided. Next weekend we are going to Neverland. There’s just one little problem. It turns out that the drummer can’t come because he’s sick. Plus, none of the sound crew wants to go because they’ve already been so many times. Michael’s boss is too busy and the guitarist, well, the guitarist has to watch over his pet hamster…or something like that. Who knows. To get to the point, no one else is coming…..no one but me. And Michael Jackson. However don’t worry, this won’t change a thing. I wouldn’t give up my chance of going to Neverland for THE WORLD.

Chapter 11: If Disneyland and Typhoon Lagoon Water Park had a baby

The moment I step through the massive metal gates with the lit up neon sign reading "Neverland" at the top, I am greeted by Michael Jackson's pet monkey named "Bubbles". And he's doing the moonwalk. Life doesn’t get better than this. This is only one of the many zoo animals he owns. There's "Muscles" the snake, "Rikki" the parrot, "Sabu" the tiger and "Gypsy" the elephant-my personal favorite.  Everywhere I look, my eyes catch a glimpse of something new and exciting.  Personal chefs, pony merry-go-rounds, cotton candy machines and towering water slides. Giant speakers fill the mansion, continuously playing catchy Michael Jackson songs. One word: PARADISE! The only thing that would make this better was if Michael Jackson was with me, oh wait, HE IS. "Let's get this show on the road", Michael Jackson grins.


Chapter 12: I can’t tell who’s creepier…Michael Jackson or Muscles the Snake
                                                                 
What my weekend consists of: unexpected dance parties, continuous laughter, thrilling amusement rides and infinite amounts of sweets and junk foods. At Neverland, the fun really is never-ending. When it's time to leave, I can't bear the thought of saying good-bye to this place. I mutter something along these lines to Michael Jackson when we're about to drive through the gates, and he surprises me by creepily whispering, "Luckily you don’t have to." Muscles hisses in agreement. "Wait, what," I blurt out, nervously laughing. In an instant the gates slam close and sirens start screaming, "Lock down". Michael Jackson slams his foot on the brakes and we start driving in reverse. I try to open my car door but the moment I touch it, the lock is flipped. I look at Michael Jackson, for some sort of acknowledgment about what's going on. Instead of reassuring me, he pulls down his sunglasses over his face and cranks the song "Smooth Criminal" over the radio. He just keeps muttering, “The fun never stops, the fun never stops.” The next thing I swear I see is what appears to be Tinkerbell flying out of nowhere and shooting shimmering fairy dust out of her star-shaped wand at me, just before I lose track of reality and black out…..

Chapter 13: This is forever
One month later:

I sit on the patio at Neverland, facing the water and staring off into the distance. Type, type, type. Bubbles strolls onto the deck with a cup of coffee for me in his hands, followed by Michael Jackson. "How's the writing coming along?" he grins. "Perfect, anything for you." I respond anxiously and unsteadily. "Exactly what I like to hear," he snickers. Michael Jackson looks me in the eyes, into my soul. "Forever," he whispers. "Forever," I respond.