26th
Some memories
First grade. Art class. Becky Resser and I draw pictures of a Michael Jackson concert. She has a crush on him, so I follow suit. He’s my first crush, followed swiftly by Kevin Bacon in Footloose and Steven Simoni. My picture is a black oval with a red jacket in a sea of faces and stick arms.
Second grade. The guidance counselor visits our class bi-weekly. She spends most of the time talking about warm fuzzies and cold pricklies. In one class, she plays Man in Mirror while passing around a wrapped package. We each take off the top in turn and look inside. It’s, of course, a mirror. She says this is the best gift we can give ourselves, to look into the mirror and like ourselves. Later, in the backseat of our blue station wagon, my brother and I sing Man in the Mirror over and over again.
Fourth or fifth grade or sixth grade, my best friend and I spend weekends in her basement watching MTV. She closes her eyes and holds my hand every time the Thriller video comes on. She is afraid of dead people.
A couple years ago painting Karell’s new apartment, we find records in her closet. We find Off the Wall and Thriller. I take them home and stumble upon my childhood every time I put them on. My sister and I drink Sparks and dance to Beat It in my narrow hallway to get ready to go to Royal Oak most Saturday nights. When we used to go out.
Right now, listening to the BBC’s World Have Your Say. People from Saudi Arabia, India, Turkey, Antarctica, Kenya, everywhere are calling in with memories like these. Chuck D is calling in. It’s like Neda wasn’t killed last weekend. The South Carolina governor never went to Argentina. The Health Care Crisis halted. There are no insurgents in Iraq.
This morning, I ask my boyfriend what Michael Jackson wanted his legacy to be.
“I think it’s pretty clear,” he says. “He was the King of Pop.”
“No,” I say. “That’s what his legacy is. What do you think he wanted it to be?”
