Too different

      Farrokh first came across the name Jackson in 1969.       He had only just finished college and still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life — whether to pursue the graphic design he'd studied or throw himself into music instead. Meanwhile, The Jackson 5 were tearing through the American charts with such overwhelming success that even the British news couldn't stop talking about them.       Curiosity got the better of him. He managed to get hold of one of their records — and it completely blew him away. The youngest lead singer everyone kept going on about had an absolutely phenomenal voice. Until then, Farrokh had assumed the journalists were exaggerating the boy's talent. Now he realised they'd been doing the exact opposite. They simply had no idea how extraordinary he really was.       The boy's name was Michael. He was only eleven years old. Even then, there weren't many singers who could have matched him.       Then Smile happened. Songs, endless rehearsals, dreams that suddenly seemed almost within reach. Somewhere along the way his birth name quietly disappeared, replaced forever by the nickname he'd invented back in college — Freddie. For a while, he forgot about the Jacksons too. At least until people finally began talking about his own band — now performing under a new name — outside tiny circles of friends and smoke-filled clubs.       One evening, the four of them ducked into a pub for a quick pint between rehearsals. Freddie's gaze drifted to the ageing television perched above the bar — and he froze. The Jacksons were performing. At least, he assumed it had to be them because he recognised one of the older brothers. For several bewildered seconds he searched the screen for the youngest one.       Did he quit?       The thought had barely crossed his mind before he realised how wrong he'd been. Michael was still the lead singer. He just wasn't a little boy anymore. The sweet, round-cheeked child Freddie remembered had vanished. In his place stood a young man of such impossible beauty that Freddie forgot how to breathe.       How long had it been? Four years? Only four... wasn't it? When did he have time to grow up?       He moved like a god. And he sang... Freddie would gladly have bet his own voice that Michael sounded even better than he had as a child, though the noise inside the pub drowned out whatever song they were performing.       "Oi, Freddie! Earth to Freddie!"       Someone snapped their fingers right in front of his face.       He jerked.       "Hm? What?"       "What've you been staring at?" Brian frowned. "Couldn't get a word out of you. Another pint, or are we off?"       Freddie rubbed both hands over his face, glanced once more at the television, then back at his friends waiting for an answer.       He sighed.       "One more pint. Then we'll go."       "You all right?" Roger leaned around Brian's shoulder.       Freddie nodded.       "Yeah. Perfectly."

***

      Albums came one after another. Tours. Concerts. Parties. The parties dissolved into brutal hangovers... If there was one thing that made all of it worthwhile, it was Mary. His wonderful Mary understood everything. She never made scenes, never threw accusations, never demanded explanations. Freddie could honestly say he loved her.       They were perfectly in tune with each other. Mary could spend hours talking with him about his own songs just as eagerly as she discussed whatever music he happened to be listening to during the rare moments he had to himself. Naturally, she noticed the youngest Jackson sooner or later.       "He really is an incredible singer, isn't he?"       One evening, when they finally had the flat to themselves, Mary switched on the television just as a concert by the Jackson brothers came on.       "Yeah," Freddie answered without thinking.       A second later he added,       "You mean the youngest one?"       "Of course." She smiled. "I think he should go solo one day. Don't you?"       "I think he'll figure out for himself what he wants to do."       Freddie shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but his eyes never left the screen.       Suddenly Mary sat bolt upright, accidentally digging an elbow into his stomach before excitedly pointing at the television.       "Look! Look at that move! That's just like yours! ...Almost."       She laughed.       "Did he steal it from you?"       Freddie made a thoughtful noise.       "Mmm... No. I stole it from him."       "You're serious?" Mary stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Well, that's a surprise. Freddie Mercury — the terrifying rock star — secretly studying dance moves from a teenage pop singer."       "Oi!" Freddie protested. "Stop laughing. It's strictly professional."       "I never doubted that."       Still chuckling, Mary settled back against his shoulder.       And then David happened.

***

      They met at some party, and Freddie was immediately drawn to him. There was something about David — something that made it impossible to look away. Both of them had been drunk. Maybe there had been something else involved besides alcohol too — Freddie wasn't sure, and by then he couldn't remember much anyway. But by the end of the night, when he realised that if he didn't leave on his own, someone would have to carry him out — and preferably not feet first — he finally made a decision. Right there, in front of everyone who happened to be watching, he kissed David. And then he gave him his phone number. The possibility that someone might tell Mary about his little adventure never even crossed his mind. Not then.       Strangely enough, nobody said a word. At first Freddie waited for the inevitable confrontation. He expected questions, accusations, explanations he didn't have. But eventually he realised that everyone who knew about it either didn't give a fuck... or simply didn't give a fuck.       For a long time, he couldn't accept what was happening. He kept hoping it would pass. It was just some kind of obsession... A temporary madness — but every time he saw David, something inside him turned upside down. His mind shut down completely, and he was no longer capable of controlling himself. And the worst part — the absolute worst part — was that he still loved Mary. Loved her so much it hurt. But he couldn't bear the thought of being without David either.       In the end, he confessed everything to Mary himself — almost a year and a half after his relationship with David had begun. And the moment he did, he regretted it, because if he hadn't told her then, perhaps he should have just kept silent forever.       "Are you being serious right now, or is this some kind of joke?"       Mary actually sat down from the shock.       "Serious," Freddie said quietly. "Mary, I'm sorry, I..."       "Wait."       She cut him off, grimacing.       "So you've been with some man this whole time, behind my back..."       She didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she threw her hands up in silent outrage.       "Mary..."       "Yes. I am Mary," She stared at him. "And you are an idiot, God help me. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Do you understand that if you'd been honest with me about this from the beginning, everything would have been different? We would've broken up twenty times by now and probably both been happily living our lives with someone else."       "I... I don't know," Freddie looked away. "I thought it was just temporary. Some kind of madness."       "It seems to have lasted rather longer than expected, doesn't it?"       "Mary..."       "Freddie!"       Austin threw her hands up again.       "Was it really that difficult to tell me? Nothing would have happened. None of this would have happened!"       She pointed at herself with both index fingers, at the round belly stretched beneath her T-shirt.       And Freddie felt his eyes and nose start to sting. That was exactly why he hadn't told her. Because he'd hoped the obsession would disappear, that one day he and Mary would simply go back to being a family. That everything would be all right.       It wouldn't.       Of course he'd chosen the perfect time to confess. She was about to give birth, and here he was, dropping this on her. He should have kept his mouth shut. And now he was going to lose both her and their child. What if Mary decided to give the baby up because of all this? Why had he opened his mouth?       "Mary, please... I just... I can't keep living like this. I can't keep lying to you."       His voice broke.       "I'm not abandoning our child. I want to be there. For both of you. I want to help. I want to support you. Please..."       "And how am I supposed to explain to him that his father left his mother for some strange man?"       "Don't explain," Freddie shrugged helplessly. "We'll tell him I work a lot. That we decided this was better. That we'd be happier living separately."       He shook his head.       "Mary, please... I love you. I love both of you... But I love David too. I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know how to explain any of this."       "I do," Mary let out a frustrated breath. "You're an idiot, Freddie. You act first and think later. Honestly, what was I thinking leaving Brian..."       "Mary..."       "God... What?"       "Please forgive me."

***

      Luckily, Mary and Freddie eventually managed to make peace. They didn't get back together, of course. But she allowed him to pick her and their daughter up from the hospital, and she seemed willing to let him help. At least she didn't object to move into his neighbourhood, and Freddie was able to visit whenever he wanted. For the first couple of weeks, he practically lived with Mary and Bibi. He barely left them, even spent the nights there.       And then he and the others left for another tour to support their new album. North America was waiting for them with open arms.       A new city almost every day. At some point Freddie stopped paying attention to where exactly they were performing. The names blurred together, until they reached California. It was the very beginning of spring, the first of March, and they were playing a stadium show in Phoenix. The crowd screamed along with every song; the sea of people swayed rhythmically in front of the stage.       They had already performed "Tie Your Mother Down", "You and I", "Let Us Cling Together", and several others... They played whatever felt right in the moment rather than following the exact order of the album. Freddie habitually scanned the audience, making sure no one felt ignored. And then, a second later, he froze, his breath caught. Among thousands of people, among all that moving, colourful blur — one single face. A face that made his heart skip a beat — and then start pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and ears.       The youngest one.       Michael.       Luckily, nobody noticed the stumble. They had just finished one song and hadn't started the next yet.       His voice returned before his brain had managed to process what was happening.       "Uh-uh..."       "Take it, take it all away..." the others joined in, understanding without needing any instructions what song was coming next.       The rest of the concert passed in a haze. No matter where Freddie looked, his eyes always found their way back to Michael. His hands trembled slightly, his voice seemed to tremble too. He was absolutely certain he'd sung "Somebody to Love" while staring directly at Michael. The rest? He couldn't remember. Only when it was finally over did Freddie manage to escape the attention of everyone around him, retreat into the dressing room, and let his emotions out.       A disaster. An absolute disaster. Why had he seen him? There had been so many people there. Thousands of faces! And somehow, he had found that one. Why had Michael even come to his concert? Did musicians even go to each other's concerts? Did they listen to each other's music?       They did. Of course they did. They watched each other's performances. Borrowed each other's moves. And apparently... they lost their minds over each other too.