I was at Staples, getting 300 pages of a book copied for a full read. The cashier asked, “Can you believe Michael Jackson is dead?”
“Which Michael Jackson?” I answered.
“The Michael Jackson,” she said. “MICHAEL JACKSON from The Jackson Five. You know, ‘ABC. Easy as 1, 2, 3. . . Billie Jean. Thriller. That Michael Jackson.”
“Smooth Criminal Michael Jackson? Janet Jackson‘s brother?”
“Yep.”
I
was sure it was just another tasteless joke about a despised man.
“He is dead-dead,” she enphasized.
I owned a few of his CDs. I liked “You Are Not Alone” and some others songs. I had heard the rumors about his personal life. I didn’t know the man, so I had no opinion. The man was a genius musician period. “Michael Jackson is dead!” the cashier repeated, while other customers filed in, saying the same, shaking their heads.
Everyone seemed to be in shock–as if they had lost a member of their own family. The air grew somber. Time moved slower than normal.
Later when I reached home, I checked the Internet to see if it was true. It was. Michael Jackson was gone. An era had ended. That much everyone knew for sure.
This post is dedicated to Rachelle Coriolan, a die-hard Michael Jackson fan.