The next day, Michael invited Isis back at his ranch. He was determined to find the root of their misplaced anger. They tapped their foot against the floor, inpatient. Michael came from a hall, hands in his pants pockets. He gave her a warm smile.
"Good evening." They greeted, standoffish. "Would you like to proceed with our last session?"
"Well, aren't you a glass of sunshine?" Michael asked with an amused tone. "Yes. We can take a walk around the ranch and discuss more about my early years."
"No."
"Don't tell me that's a phobia, too."
Isis shot him a glare. "Don't overstep."
"Or what?" Michael chuckled. "You're going to storm out like a child again?"
Isis bit their tongue. "Fine. Let's walk."
With their arms folded, Isis walked alongside Michael outside. They refused to look at him and had a bitter facial expression. What is their problem? He wondered.
"What's your vendetta against me, Isis?" Michael inquired, curious. "Yesterday, your behavior was very questionable to say the least. You appear to have a biased opinion on me, yet you decided to be my ghost writer."
"Celebrities deem themselves more than what they are based on the fame they have. They believe they are gods and we are their disciples."
"Didn't you attack me for making an assumption based on no factual evidence? Your assumptions of who I am is based on a generalization. I recruited you to write this book about my life to clear the assumptions the media has made about me, not have you added to the list."
Isis brought their lips in a firm line, feeling slightly regretful of their behavior. "Okay, I'm sorry. I always wanted to learn how fame constructed the God complex celebrities often have. That is why I accepted this job. You are the most famous celebrity in the world. I assumed yours would be the biggest."
"You assumed wrong."
Isis lightly joked. "Not entirely sure about that."
"Then these six months will prove to you who I truly am. Anything you ask, I will answer."
"Alright, then." Isis said, pondering. "Let's pick up from where we left off. Tell me about the Jackson Five. What toll did your child stardom have on your mental health?"
"That's a loaded question." Michael admitted, slightly uncomfortable. "My father created the group. If we weren't rehearsing or performing, we were in the studio. That had a negative toll on my mental health. My social life caused poor communication skills. Because of that, I have ruin many of my relationships. I sacrificed my childhood to produce entertainment. I try to compensate with my ranch and get ridiculed. There were no friends. My brothers were my friends. But I'm different from them. I didn't agree with some of the life choices they made while on tour, so that left me alienated. Being an entertainer is wonderful, but it costed my mental health."
Isis felt a small twinge in their chest. They treated him so harshly as if he didn't have enough to deal with. Isis looked at the amusement rides quietly, filled with guilt. All you could hear was their footsteps walking against the brick road.
"Let me ask you this: What made you become a ghost writer rather than an author that publishes original works?"
Isis let out a dry laugh. "When people pick at your creativity often, you limit yourself."
Michael was in amazement. Without protest, Isis willingly talked about their personal life. What caused them to lower their barrier to expose more about them?
"Yes, that's true. Not everyone will understand your creativity, but they don't need to. Only you do."
Isis nodded. "Well, what fuels your creativity?"
"God."
Isis was taken back at his quick response. "You replied without thinking twice."
"Because it's the truth. Who am I without God? We are his children and he blesses each and everyone of us with a purpose. My purpose is to spread joy, which I do through my music." Michael expressed. "Whenever he decides is the right time, he drops a piece of music into my mind to produce. Whether it be a lyric or beat."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." Michael replied. "Liberian Girl popped in my head while I was in my arcade."
They laughed short. "Just out of the blue while you were playing some ping pong?"
"Could have been Pac-Man." Michael lightly laughed. "It just appears. No other explanation other than God."
"Well, let's dive deeper into that. What is your creative process? A song lands in your head. What follows?"
"I imitate the piece of music I am hearing in my head with a beatbox on a tape recorder. That's my foundation. In the studio, I attempt to build around it with instruments, vocals, adlibs, and the sorts. I continue to construct the song until I am satisfied. Although, that is very hard to achieve."
Isis was bewildered. "What is the reason behind that? Why are your creations not satisfying you?"
"I strive for perfection, but there is no such thing."
"Hm." Isis hummed. "Very true."
"Look at you being civil." Michael said in a comical tone. "Very proud of you."
"Don't push it."
He flipped the question on them "And what about you? Do you find satisfaction with your writing?"
"Of course."
"No, not of course. Writing is a very hard skill to master. We tend to find fault in our writing. Often, we read works by other phenomenal writers and compare our quality to theirs. We can grow envious at times. We convince ourselves that we are less than what we truly are."
Isis wasn't expecting that response. That was hitting very close to home. They needed to hear that. "How do you stop comparisons and learn how to grow fond of your writing?"
"Only you know."
Isis was disappointed. They hoped he had an answer. Writing was sacred to them. Whenever they were in a state of agony and suffering, especially during the time they were held captive, their escape was writing. Sharing it was the problem. When you present your heart and soul only for it to be repeatedly shut down, your confidence falls short. Michael noticed their disappointment in his answer.
"It varies, Isis. I don't have an answer for you. Just remember that your writing belongs to you. You don't write to please others, only yourself. Our writing is different for a reason. Appreciate the differences, not envy them. "
Isis was stunned. In that moment, they realized that he was not what they assumed he was. "Perhaps I did jump the gun. You aren't..."
"A self-proclaimed God?"
"Exactly." Isis smiled. "What a shocker."
Michael admired the change in Isis. Their typical rigidness was slowly dissolving, revealing a personality he was not aware was there. They were open. Warmer. Insecure. Michael wasn't too sure how long the absence of their barrier would last, but he had hopes it would never return.