Michael Gild. 2

"Michael," they repeat over and over. Occasionally, they crack, contorting under the whoosh of a calm wind. The gentle, faceless sounds abruptly coalesce into a clear, loud yell. "Michael!"

A whoosh follows suddenly, suctions away and every thing is still once again.

And a scene opens, colourful, noisy.

Michael, for some reason, ignores the call of his name, choosing to break into a run.

"Pass the ball," comes a voice in the distance.

He heeds this voice like a predator on its prey, his red boots sending the ball rolling over green carpets of grass.

Cheers thunder in the background, rises in staccato after staccato. Then-

Out of the blue, the scene severs into a lattice and Michael is thrown into darkness.

He feels the grass squashed underneath him, pinpricking his skin where it lies bare as the first sensation when he comes to. Groggy, his eyes open to see spots playing in his vision.

Through it, he makes out two figures towering over him and talking. Since when did they get this tall?

They don't even notice his wakefulness.

Through the daze, Michael is aware of needle pricks of pain in the arm lodged under him. In the awareness of this sensation, a wave of panic slowly sweeps through him.

Time seems to have been awaiting for his realisation because the space starts to twist and distort. He is so cold. His mouth is so dry.

"MICHAEL!" This voice booms like Sanders has just spoken into his ear with a microphone.

It jolts Michael upright in his bed, wide-eyed.

The white sheets wrap around him in a death strangle, chest rising and falling palpably against his white pajamas. Beads of sweat cling to his pale countenance. His arms curls into his chest as he swallows, saliva partially soothing his parched throat.

This dream again. His weak eyelids shutter on a despaired sigh.

Afterwards, routine drags on for Michael like the normal log-work. A morning therapy with Blue, a rejuvenating work-out and a check-in to his office.

After a short while, he checks out. His next destination is Texas.

When Michael had first expressed his wish of owning a refinery at the Mega board meeting that fateful day, the shock had been expected quite alright.

But there had been looks, subtle looks filled with impression. Reckless, foolhardy - and more adjectives he could have ascribed to them. In addition, the media had played their part. Thanks to them.

His patron and mentor, a man greater than his father himself, had been also rendered speechless by his voracious ambition. Nevertheless had believed in him until his dream difficultly but soon became a reality.

Leo Banks, the first man to win the business mogul awards. And, not just a win. But a win for all the black men across the nation, including Michael.

Under Leo's nurture, Michael had also won the award, making him the second black man to pave way for the black community in the business industry.

Now, Michael gapes, sharp jaw angling up towards the long, dark roof of his beautiful refinery. The clear, blue sky is a gorgeous backdrop.

Just then, a big, brown bird flies past. Michael feels wistful. Won't it be nice to spread wings and fly?

Judging by the amount of sweat pouring down his back and coupled with his black shirt, there is no doubt that he will long be pot-roast before he even gets to a destination.

After a few breaths of soaring in the breathtaking scenery against the glare of the sun, he turns to the man standing five inches behind him.

Will Donald, the manager of this new branch, and of course, tested and trusted.

"When is the permit and license arriving?" Michael asks him and reluctantly turns away from the building.

"Soon."

"Soon?" He wants a definite date.

"We just reached a draw on the tax allocation." Will mirrors his movement and on realizing that Michael is moving towards his car, he halts.

Seeing the act from his peripheral, Michael swings around and queries him in form of a lifted brow. The sun chooses to go down and Michael almost goes down too on his knees with joy.

Thank the heavens.

"Are you not going to take a look inside?" Will gesticulates to the structure behind them.

Calmly, Michael sends the said structure a cursory look, tongue rolling in cheek. "Has anything changed, perhaps?"

That instant, the light rays come out in full force.

"No, but- Sir!"

Michael continues to walk away.

What made me put on black today? I'm looking cool outside and dying inside. Oh, man.

Every Thursday is a dip in this sauna called West Texas, yet he still has not learnt his lesson.

The protest tumbles around in Will's mouth before he resignedly speeds up his pace to match Michael's.

I wish I brought a face-cap too. Michael trudges the rest of the steps. Behind him, the sands traces his tracks past a wired fence and stops right before a shiny black Porsche.

Above the roof of the car, he scans the barren landscape, looking past the sprinkle of personnel surrounding their equipment like cacti clusters. The sun seems to burn brighter and his hands quickly go under to free his boiling shirt from his skin.

Should he try afforestation? What's to say that this sun can't start a wildfire from a crude oil kiss? He shudders then and opens the backseat of the car.

Blue sits comfortably with a warm smile of welcome. A portable fan is pressed to her dark neck.

"Move over," he says curtly.

The smile lingers sweetly as she does his command. Like she hadn't been the one who vehemently refused to set her flats outside the car.

"Here." She hands him another fan which he unashamedly accepts without hesitation.

Michael's vision swoons as he gets in, having been under the sun for too long; and the coolness that hits his skin, makes him groan inwardly. He is busy stretching his collar and unbuttoning when Will appears.

Yes, please block the sun a little more.

"Think you will be my colour by the end of this summer?" Michael asks when he catches Will squint to the sky.

"No," Will answers immediately.

Pulling out a bottle of water from his bag, he takes a long, refreshing swig. "How far is the water source from here again?" He inquires while closing the bottle cap.

"100 acres away from the last perimeter."

Blue gasps. The revelation takes Michael aback. That far. Shit!

He strokes his chin roughly, the coarse texture grounding him. He is sure there had been no indication of that clause in the groundwork plans. Who am I going to blame for this?

"Mr. Will. Remit the rest of the correspondence to Blue here."

He doesn't look but he is sure that Blue must have a pout on.

"Sir -" Will starts and shifts on one leg.

The sun.

"Mmh."

"I need an assistant."

"Noted? Anything else?" He had been working on that before. Looks like he'll be picking it up again.

"No," he looks pleased with himself and moves away from the car door.

"Keep it up," Michael pauses, "next time, use an umbrella."

Will's face breaks into a big grin. "You forget I grew up here."

"Oh, right." Michael takes in the bleak horizon. "But the umbrella, it's for me," he whispers.

"Oh."

A bird squawks loudly in the distance.

"Oh," Michael echoes with a vigorous nod. See, even the bird agrees with him.

"Take care," he says and the door firmly shuts by his hand.

Not wasting time, and as expected, Blue whips out his work phone. "Seven missed calls."

Michael fully relaxes as the driver in front revves up the engine. "Most important..." He lets his eyes close.

"Janet," she says and stretches out the hand that carries the phone towards him.

"Did I not say important? What does she want?"

Blue rolls her eyes and retracts her hand.

"The usual."

In a show of exasperation, he lifts the pink blowing-air device to his forehead.

"You should find your sister a hobby or something to keep her occupied."

His head turns to her for the first time since he entered the car. "Did I ask for your opinion?"

She meets his gaze defiantly. "No," She replies in a surprisingly gentle voice and purses her lips.

If she had just met his eyes and looked away cowardly, he might have felt better. But she is all of him in her.

Looking ahead, he sighs.

The black witch.

But, she's right. His younger sister can use a little development skill. The problem is... Will she agree?

Janet has really been a thorn in his side. However, she is nothing that he can't pick out. If he wants.

The car hits a bump and it draws Michael to the fact that they have left the arid lands behind. A sea of trees rise up in the horizon and speed past in quick tides. It's only a matter of time before the buildings begin to present themselves.

However, Michael is back again in his thoughts to appreciate the view.

Janet stays with his parents. And, is he ready to see them? Absolutely not.

His folk. They just- They won't even- Those folk never miss the chance to arrange series of introductions to people - women. He just might murder someone if his mother calls him again to ask for a grandchild.

He regrets his promise to them. Whipping up kids from nowhere? That is way far from his power.

"Miss James sent an invitation letter."

His heart stops.

"Melanie?" His usually deep voice has taken a dip. He clears his throat, a myriad of possibilities already racing in his mind. Is she getting married? It's been a while since they separated. Two years. Three?

"It's her birthday."

His chest deflates and his heart begins to beat again.

"Birthday?" Melanie's quirky laugh fills his ears and he remembers. Things that he should have forgotten but are strangely still there. Under his sleeves, his palms are folding and unfolding.

It's so hard, but he pulls himself together. Getting invited to her party for the first time since they went separate ways. Something is up.

There's something in Michael's features that prods Blue. "Yes, why?"

"Why what?" He asks absently, eyes straight ahead. Unseeing.

"You seem surprised." Her hair falls into her eyes and she impatiently combs through it.

"I am?"

Okay. Her boss isn't here anymore. She side eyes him, teeth working her lips in worry. His sharp jaw is all she can see clearly in this position and the occasional clench of it is enough to show her that he is down that bleary road called reminiscence.

Recalling the pink checkered envelope, her pretty face mars in a frown. Melanie is climbing up again, her name showing up in more and more articles. Blue can't ignore that.

It's not her place to but it angers her to see it happening. She eyes Michael again. What a pity.

At the airport, enroute to the door of the airplane, Michael's sudden instruction to accept the invitation catches Blue off guard.

As she struggles to maintain her composure, she trips on the stairs. Her face burns with embarrassment under the gazes of the two stunning women she's been stealing glances at since she saw them standing by their luggage.

One of them steadies her, and it takes all her willpower not to pull away forcefully and stomp up the rest of the way.

Michael is already out of sight, past the doors and oblivious to what he has caused.

Fuck you, Sir. she straightens her dress and hurries ahead.

"What are you doing?" Michael questions when Blue attempts to settle next to him.

She glances at her card and is about to make a sarcastic comment when she sees that the number engraved on it is different.

"I uh..." She turns it over, looks at him and looks around.

"Go to your seat."

Her mouth falls open as she takes offence. On seeing his smug face and the shadow of a smirk, she huffs and and goes to find her seat.

Luckily for her, it's by the window. Unlike the one next to her prickly boss. It's a blessing in disguise.

"Like I want to sit next to your ass," she retorts. Not less than a second later, she rolls her eyes and plugs her ears against the cacophony of noise.

---

"And the press conference?" Michael asks, and shuts the door to his office. It makes a click sound.

"Thursday." Ah. No Texas next week.

Michael turns that over in his mind. Two days time and he'll be convincing the public that he can run a telecommunications company alongside a refinery.