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"Three years," Alli Johnston sighed, leaning back on her bed. Her assistant, nicknamed Jean, stirred. Jean had been working with the guitarist/singer-songwriter for a little under a year. While she was supportive, both women knew that Jean never truly understood how much Alli loved her late husband and best friend.

It was 2 in the morning on June 25, 2012.

Jean murmured, sleeping on the couch, "Michael?"

"Mike's dead. Three years ago today," AJ closed her eyes. Every time she thought of Michael, she became sad. June 25th, 2009, was the day that all her thoughts related to him turned sad.

She doesn't really remember much besides a phone call while she was in the middle of recording an album and rushing over to find that what she feared so often had become true.

And she was inconsolable.

Michael had died in his sleep. Dr. Murray, a cardiologist who had been taking care of him, couldn't get the care that Michael needed immediately - he didn't know CPR. (Cardiologists don't know CPR, by the way. They aren't trained in it.)

The world cried.

So many letters flooded to Alli.

The last thing she had said to Michael was, "I love you. I'll be back tomorrow; we're almost done with the album."

But he never saw her again.

He was gone.

He'd told her: "I love you too. Have fun."

How could she have fun now, with her best friend and lover dead?

Jean suddenly shook Alli, who was holding her breath while trying to hold back the tears. "Alli!"

The floodgates broke. The American guitarist sobbed into her pillow, not wanting to be consoled, not needing anything but to be raw, emotional, and quietly in pain.

Her girlfriend suppressed a sigh and turned away. She hated when Alli got this way.

A lot of people did, really; Alli wasn't the same after Michael died. There wasn't any suicide attempts or self-harm, but there was quite a lot of solidarity for hours on end and complete silence in interviews when she was asked about him. It wasn't polite, but she didn't care. No one really understood, and she knew it would be impossible to force people to see things her way.

So she continued with her music as best she could, dedicating whatever she could to Michael. He'd helped her through a hopeless period and she'd helped him through a dark tunnel. They were unsinkable, some said.

Oh, how wrong they were.

She proposed to him in 1984 - a leap year, where women may propose to men - in the middle of a concert where he was trying to be unseen, but she couldn't help herself. In front of a crowd of over 30,000 people, Alli Johnston asked Michael Jackson if he would be hers.

He accepted, looking cutely embarrassed and crying as she slipped the ring on his finger and held him. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment, and the crowd went berserk with support.

She missed his skinny arms around her.

She missed…it sounded odd to anyone listening, but Alli missed his younger self, asking the recently-divorced guitarist if she would stay forever.

"Yes," she promised the day she finally learned to move on from Freddie Mercury. "Forever."

But deep in the recesses of her mind, she had the feeling that one would die long before the other.

…Alli hadn't an idea that he would go first.

It was torture of the worst kind. Psychological, emotional, and physical torture.

All the feelings she missed seemed corny to people listening to her music right after his death, but they were completely true.

If she could only wrap her arms around him again, if she could smile along with his, even if his outshone hers by miles…

"Michael," she wiped her eyes and sat up again, snapping back to reality. "Michael."

"It's been three years," Jean said quietly, walking over in the almost-darkness and sitting on the bed, putting her hand on Alli's back. "You could have anything you want, AJ."

"I can't have the one man that loved me just as much as I loved him. I respected him so much. We came from completely different worlds, but somehow we completely understood each other. And he listened. Nobody listens anymore. Michael was tortured--"

"I know," Jean tried to stop her from mourning him any longer, but obviously failed because Alli continued.

"He was sad a lot before he launched his solo career. I was there when he cried; there wasn't a reason to keep it inside any longer. And Mike listened to me rant and rave about Freddie Mercury before I got over him and the two of us divorced…first Freddie, now Mike. Why am I still alive?"

"No, Alli, don't do this. You've never thought about this before," Jean quickly tried to shut her boss up. "Don't go down this path. You're alive for a reason."

"Well, why?" AJ all but screamed.

"Maybe you've already found it but don't know it yet."

Alli suddenly stopped as her mind raced, trying to make sense of this.

Then she realized something.

"Memories."

"You keep their memories alive," Jean smiled, going back over to the couch, sitting instead of lying.

"I keep…their spirits here…as long as I want. By playing…by doing concerts with Queen and performing Michael's songs, they're with me always. But what about everyone else?"

"The fans agree with you. Have you seen the outcry of support that your singles got? For Freddie's 65th birthday, you recorded the Queen medley, and suddenly sales on Queen merch skyrocketed. Everyone suddenly remembered how important they were to the music world - and are, as you've proven. Then when Michael died, you kept going. What did that do?"

"Inspired my fans?"

"Yes. Because even after all that, you're still going. You can't just end it now because it's been too long. It will be over for you someday, but I know you want it to come later rather than sooner. Because I know you - Alli, you love living life. Don't think that you don't just because people that you knew don't have it anymore."

"…That must've been easier to say in your head."

"Yeah," Jean chuckled. "I'm serious, though. Maybe you should do something special for the anniversary."

Alli smiled suddenly. "I'm 60 years old. God, I'm slow. I know what I'm gonna do." Moving slowly but surely, she turned on her laptop and logged onto her Twitter.

She tweeted: 'RIP MJ. love you lots. every1, listen to anything MJ you have today in his memory. <3'

Jean looked over her shoulder and smiled. "That's the Alli I know."

"Well, thanks, Jeannie," AJ grinned. "Nice to know people still remember the old me."

"Or, if you mean the current you, yes, the old you."

Alli resisted the urge to sock her in the arm. "Ho-ho! Thine words cut me worse than the knife that did'st betray Caesar."

"Shakespeare?"

"Fake-speare, more like. Go to bed." Alli put her computer away and crawled back under the covers, humming 'Here Today' until she drifted off, dreaming of days gone by.

Description
"Three years," Alli Johnston sighed, leaning back on her bed. Her assistant, nicknamed Jean, stirred. Jean had been working with the guitarist/singer-songwriter for a little under a year. While she was supportive, both women knew that Jean never truly understood how much Alli loved her late husband and best friend.

It was 2 in the morning on June 25, 2012.

Jean murmured, sleeping on the couch, "Michael?"

"Mike's dead. Three years ago today," AJ closed her eyes. Every time she thought of Michael, she became sad. June 25th, 2009, was the day that all her thoughts related to him turned sad.

She doesn't really remember much besides a phone call while she was in the middle of recording an album and rushing over to find that what she feared so often had become true.

And she was inconsolable.

Michael had died in his sleep. Dr. Murray, a cardiologist who had been taking care of him, couldn't get the care that Michael needed immediately - he didn't know CPR. (Cardiologists don't know CPR, by the way. They aren't trained in it.)

The world cried.

So many letters flooded to Alli.

The last thing she had said to Michael was, "I love you. I'll be back tomorrow; we're almost done with the album."

But he never saw her again.

He was gone.

He'd told her: "I love you too. Have fun."

How could she have fun now, with her best friend and lover dead?

Jean suddenly shook Alli, who was holding her breath while trying to hold back the tears. "Alli!"

The floodgates broke. The American guitarist sobbed into her pillow, not wanting to be consoled, not needing anything but to be raw, emotional, and quietly in pain.

Her girlfriend suppressed a sigh and turned away. She hated when Alli got this way.

A lot of people did, really; Alli wasn't the same after Michael died. There wasn't any suicide attempts or self-harm, but there was quite a lot of solidarity for hours on end and complete silence in interviews when she was asked about him. It wasn't polite, but she didn't care. No one really understood, and she knew it would be impossible to force people to see things her way.

So she continued with her music as best she could, dedicating whatever she could to Michael. He'd helped her through a hopeless period and she'd helped him through a dark tunnel. They were unsinkable, some said.

Oh, how wrong they were.

She proposed to him in 1984 - a leap year, where women may propose to men - in the middle of a concert where he was trying to be unseen, but she couldn't help herself. In front of a crowd of over 30,000 people, Alli Johnston asked Michael Jackson if he would be hers.

He accepted, looking cutely embarrassed and crying as she slipped the ring on his finger and held him. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment, and the crowd went berserk with support.

She missed his skinny arms around her.

She missed…it sounded odd to anyone listening, but Alli missed his younger self, asking the recently-divorced guitarist if she would stay forever.

"Yes," she promised the day she finally learned to move on from Freddie Mercury. "Forever."

But deep in the recesses of her mind, she had the feeling that one would die long before the other.

…Alli hadn't an idea that he would go first.

It was torture of the worst kind. Psychological, emotional, and physical torture.

All the feelings she missed seemed corny to people listening to her music right after his death, but they were completely true.

If she could only wrap her arms around him again, if she could smile along with his, even if his outshone hers by miles…

"Michael," she wiped her eyes and sat up again, snapping back to reality. "Michael."

"It's been three years," Jean said quietly, walking over in the almost-darkness and sitting on the bed, putting her hand on Alli's back. "You could have anything you want, AJ."

"I can't have the one man that loved me just as much as I loved him. I respected him so much. We came from completely different worlds, but somehow we completely understood each other. And he listened. Nobody listens anymore. Michael was tortured--"

"I know," Jean tried to stop her from mourning him any longer, but obviously failed because Alli continued.

"He was sad a lot before he launched his solo career. I was there when he cried; there wasn't a reason to keep it inside any longer. And Mike listened to me rant and rave about Freddie Mercury before I got over him and the two of us divorced…first Freddie, now Mike. Why am I still alive?"

"No, Alli, don't do this. You've never thought about this before," Jean quickly tried to shut her boss up. "Don't go down this path. You're alive for a reason."

"Well, why?" AJ all but screamed.

"Maybe you've already found it but don't know it yet."

Alli suddenly stopped as her mind raced, trying to make sense of this.

Then she realized something.

"Memories."

"You keep their memories alive," Jean smiled, going back over to the couch, sitting instead of lying.

"I keep…their spirits here…as long as I want. By playing…by doing concerts with Queen and performing Michael's songs, they're with me always. But what about everyone else?"

"The fans agree with you. Have you seen the outcry of support that your singles got? For Freddie's 65th birthday, you recorded the Queen medley, and suddenly sales on Queen merch skyrocketed. Everyone suddenly remembered how important they were to the music world - and are, as you've proven. Then when Michael died, you kept going. What did that do?"

"Inspired my fans?"

"Yes. Because even after all that, you're still going. You can't just end it now because it's been too long. It will be over for you someday, but I know you want it to come later rather than sooner. Because I know you - Alli, you love living life. Don't think that you don't just because people that you knew don't have it anymore."

"…That must've been easier to say in your head."

"Yeah," Jean chuckled. "I'm serious, though. Maybe you should do something special for the anniversary."

Alli smiled suddenly. "I'm 60 years old. God, I'm slow. I know what I'm gonna do." Moving slowly but surely, she turned on her laptop and logged onto her Twitter.

She tweeted: 'RIP MJ. love you lots. every1, listen to anything MJ you have today in his memory. <3'

Jean looked over her shoulder and smiled. "That's the Alli I know."

"Well, thanks, Jeannie," AJ grinned. "Nice to know people still remember the old me."

"Or, if you mean the current you, yes, the old you."

Alli resisted the urge to sock her in the arm. "Ho-ho! Thine words cut me worse than the knife that did'st betray Caesar."

"Shakespeare?"

"Fake-speare, more like. Go to bed." Alli put her computer away and crawled back under the covers, humming 'Here Today' until she drifted off, dreaming of days gone by.