Goodbye, Michael Jackson

When I was 10 or 11 years old, I wanted nothing more than to be Michael Jackson's girlfriend. I distinctly remember spending most of a family vacation in New Hampshire listening to Off the Wall over and over and over again on my Walkman, and pining for this handsome, graceful pop star, who I knew would love me just as much as I loved him, if only he could meet me...the scenario for which I had all plotted out in my head of course.

I recently found these in a moldy-smelling cardboard box in my parent's basement. A small part of what was once my prized Michael Jackson paraphernalia collection. Of course in addition to trading cards and puffy stickers there were books and posters and newspaper clippings. There were nights laying on the wall-to-wall carpet in the living room mesmerized by his appearance at the Grammy Awards or on the news — reduced to tears in fact. The glove. The moonwalk. The voice. Ahhh! I even had a special red winter jacket not exactly like the infamous "Thriller" costume but heavily inspired by it.

At that time of my life my parent's were at their most religious I think, and prayers said aloud before bedtime were an absolute requirement. Since I "loved" him so much, my mom strongly suggested I pray for Michael Jackson (and later Prince as well as David Bowie, both of whom obviously needed their super-sexy souls delivered from certain damnation), and I did include him in my nightly prayer list for several years, right there alongside my grandparents.

Though I don't pray much anymore I may make an exception this evening, while listening to Off the Wall and thinking about the man who made my 10-year-old heart flutter. May he rest in peace.