Ladies and Gentleman! I have just awoken from the most magnificent of dreams. I danced with Michael Jackson. He was lovely.
I don't know why Mr. Jackson was on my mind. I haven't seen anything about him in the last week that would make my brain pluck him out of my thoughts and create a bizarre dream. I almost flatter myself with the thought that he visited me in my dreams, (well he essentially did). Let me tell you how..
The dream was set in a hotel. An enormous beautiful hotel, in a warm country. I want to say Morocco, but that may be because I want to go there. Suffice to say it was one of those grandiose hotels with an enormous marble fountain in the lobby, with flowers adorning just the right areas. I was wearing little patent leather shoes, that made a slight pitter patter on the marble floor. I love that sound. (On a side note, when I was about five we would all sit around my teacher Mrs. Jameson, a Scottish marvel of a woman, and at times she would ask us to come and get something from the front of the class. Our teeny toes in our tiny slippers would make a beautiful pitter patter on the floor. We would all hold our breathe and envy the person making the noise. It was almost a competition, who could make the clearest roundest pitter patter.....)
I am not sure why I was in the hotel, or with whom. I know I was with friends, but I can't remember who at this point. I do, however, remember finding out that Michael Jackson was staying at our hotel. The excitement! Everyone was heaving with joy, and trying to find a way to meet him. The next thing I know I was walking along a corridor, and was going to get something (perhaps buy a diet coke?) when i found myself standing in front of a door. I didn't know why. I just stood there. I remember feeling confused. Then, the door opened. Michael Jackson stood before me. He was wearing sunglasses. The shades, however, were not very darkly tinted so I could see his eyes. They were friendly, slightly squinty, and looking right at me. He had on his typical black leather trousers. A white tank top, and a sort of checkered red loose shirt. He had a black hat on, and a yellowish scarf around his neck, and yes, a glove on one hand. He smiled at me, and in his soft effeminate voice asked me to follow him. He even knew my name! I can't tell you how hard my heart was beating.
Suddenly we were in the lobby. Hundreds of people grouped around him. I was standing by his side. On his right side in fact. (See? I told you this is the strangest yet most wonderful dream.) Then he started to dance, and we all copied him. He was teaching us his moves! the strange thing is that this must be where my brain interfered (as of course the rest of the tale is sheer truth and I am starting to believe it happened), and the dance move Mr. Jackson was teaching us (I almost said me) was one in which he walked forward, in his familiar swagger, then his right leg shot out behind him, whist he bent his left knee. This is a rather uncomfortable position. You have to do it right, or else you look like an idiot. We all looked like fools. He looked great. He tried teaching us this for a while. Behind me was the most annoying little man. He kept trying to get closer to Michael (we are on first name basis now), and tried to sidle his annoying self up close to me. Finally after a silent battle, whereby my foot kept attempting to nudge him, and his body kept trying to elbow me away, he won. I watched as Michael and this idiot danced off into the distance. I was so disappointed. I walked back to my room and told my friends what had happened. Of course, nobody believed me.
Suddenly there was a loud knock at our door. I opened and there stood an FBI looking body guard....man. With the suit, shades, and coil thing in his ear. "Would you be so kind as to follow me. Mr. Jackson has requested your company". I stood there, my jaw dropped to the floor, turned to my friends who were equally flabbergasted. Collected myself, gave them a little "told you so!" look, and marched off with the body guard. I was taken to a room that was buzzing with all sorts of people who seemed to be fixing anything from Michael's makeup to screwing in light bulbs, everyone equally busy. It was a bit uncomfortable to be honest. Then Michael emerged, smiling, still with his shades on, took me by the arm and said, "come on, I've got a party to go to, and I would love you to accompany me.." Suddenly, as if in a fairy tale, I was dressed in a cool little black sequined dress, hair done perfectly, beautiful make-up and we strutted through the lobby. Past my friends.....te he. It was swell.
So there you are. I awoke with a soar rear end from all that dancing, and a new found love for Michael Jackson. I have always liked him a lot, and loved his music. His dancing has always made me squeal with excitement, but now, I know this may sound mad, and it is mad, I feel I have met him, and like him even more. Crazy, but true.
When I was twelve I was invited to his concert in Oslo. It was for a birthday. I had no idea who he really was. My first CD had been "It's not easy being Green", a Kermit the frog compilation of songs sung by a list of artists consoling Kermit's despair with Miss Piggy. The concert was incredible. from the moment he came on stage the audience was in awe, moved to tears, screaming, and silent when his musical numbers required it. He was a star. A super star. Nobody will ever compare. His dedication shone through his perfectly choreographed dances, each step was there for a reason, followed by a perfectly accompanied move. His passion for entertaining, spreading joy was insurmountable, incomparable, will always be, unforgettable.
I was in New York, in Lord and Taylor's in the shoe department when the news spread like wild fire, of his death. First we were told that he had had a heart attack. Sadly, everyone knew. We all knew this was it, his number was up, and he was dead. There was a true sense of loss that afternoon. We all sat in silence as the news sunk in. Even those who hadn't really liked him felt sad. That night his music boomed through the city. Every borough mourned his death. In Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, our crack addict neighbours played his music all night, singing and dancing.
He was a complex character, obviously with many issues, but an icon nonetheless. A true mark was made in musical history by him. May he rest in peace, and find happiness wherever he is.