Here’s the thing. I love Michael Jackson’s music. Say what you will about the man. His music was amazing. His dancing phenomenal. Sure, he was crazy. I don’t know if you can be that talented without being a bit insane (okay, a lot insane.)
Anyway, MJ and I have history. I remember watching on TV when his video for Black or White came out. The news did a big story about it, and my entire family gathered in the living room to watch it. My brother and I spent hours trying to learn all the moves to the dances in his videos (I still know most of the dance from Thriller.) My dad would watch his videos and say, with a touch of awe, that he was an amazing dancer (if you knew my dad, you’d understand how hilarious and weird this would be coming from him. The man loves Celine Dion, for heaven’s sake!)
When I was in college, I started working for a certain coffee company. We used to get these mix CDs to play in the store. One day Billie Jean came on the stereo. I was so excited! (All the free coffee may have contributed to my enthusiasm.) My coworkers made fun of me. I told them that from that moment on, every time I thought of it, we would listen to Billie Jean. (I was the boss, so I could abuse my power however I wanted!)
I think we listened to Billie Jean ten times that night. Within a week, it had become my thing. Pop in the CD, hit skip 17 times, and you were there. Billie Jean is not my lover! My coworkers thought it was hilarious, if a bit annoying.
To this day, I can’t hear Billie Jean without being reminded of those crazy caffeinated days.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who remembers that, because my phone has been going nonstop since he died. I’ve gotten text messages, emails, voicemails from people I haven’t heard from in years. They hear that MJ dies, and they think of me.
That makes me smile.