I don’t dream about Michael Jackson as often as I’d like, so when I do, my dreams tend to be particularly memorable and meaningful.
As was the case last night.
I dreamt that Michael visited my hometown. Prior to his visit, I was responsible for hanging a sign that said, “Michael Jackson: Turn Left” (strangely, I have no recollection of hanging said sign during my dream).
Suddenly--and I’m very grateful for this part--my best friend Cristy appeared beside me. While I’m pretty sure she was preoccupied with trying on hundreds of pairs of goggles (?!), she seemed just as excited to meet Michael as I was.
When he finally arrived, crowds gathered around our idol and--somehow--I waited patiently for Michael to make his way to me.
When he did, he and I made eye contact and exchanged smiles. I also happened to notice how his hands formed fists at his sides; I took those fists, put my hands atop them and I held those fists in front of his chest with all my might, gently shaking them as I told him over and over again how much I loved him. And I meant it. And I knew he could tell that I meant it.
I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone “I love you” with that much force, enthusiasm, and honesty. It was incredible.
Michael kept smiling and nodding his head, and then suggested that perhaps I could meet him backstage later that evening. I was thrilled.
By the time he walked away, I told Cristy that I couldn’t believe that I didn’t get a photo with him, but she and I managed to sneak a photo of him walking away. By that time, he was trekking through snow up to his shoulders with the help of his bodyguard (and wouldn’t you know that his bodyguard was Robin Williams!). Michael continued to greet fans by shaking their hands and shyly nodding as they complimented him. Before he disappeared into the snow, he turned around and looked at me and I looked at him.
And that was it.
That whole “I love you” scene--the part where I’m repeating those words over and over and over--is a scene that reminds me that outside of my dreams, Michael has taught me to love, love, love. I not only love him, but music, nature, art . . . everything in life that he loved, too.
Fiction, poetry, and all that good stuff . . .