*My apologies for the inconsistencies between past and present tense.* 
I pause on my bike on Houston Street in Manhattan with one foot atop the curb to check my phone alerts when a stranger approaches.
"Excuse me, sir."
I look up at the stranger, a tall African-American man carrying a large bag over his shoulder. The apologetic expression on his face and eagerness in his eyes impelled me to prepare myself to let him know I wasn't carrying any cash.
"Is Michael Jackson dead?” he inquires.
"Yes," I replied. "He died today."
My initial thought was to go into detail about Jackson's death since I assumed the stranger hadn't any access to the news. However, the sad look on his face got increasingly intense and I thought I should try and comfort him instead. But before I could decide, the stranger was gone. He was already up the block, quietly panicking and rubbing his forehead. He reached the corner, then I thought I saw him look back as if to say, "I'm not quite finished with you yet," and was contemplating returning to lead into an awkward conversation. My vision is not the best, but I was not taking any chances.
"Theo," I say to my friend who had also paused on his bike a couple of feet ahead to wait on me, "let's get out of here."
We ride down a few blocks to Whole Foods on Houston Street and Bowery. I wasn't quite prepared for a ride into the city. So there we stood, planning the best way to lock up both of our bikes using Theo's wire when....
"Excuse me. Is Mike dead?"
I turn around to see the same stranger I thought I had escaped a few blocks ago.
"Yes," I said, and this time, assuming he had already forgotten our previous interaction, I would choose both options, details and comfort. "He died today...of cardiac arrest." I continued, "Mike was great! He's a legend."
He appeared genuinely distraught. His brow curled up. He seemed to be crying without tears. Theo chose not get involved.
"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed as if I didn't give him the same news minutes ago. "Mike is dead! Ohhh! Mike is dead. I lived for Michael," he said slowly approaching.
He took a step back and continued to rant on the curb while facing traffic. I was so focused on the stranger's reaction that I paid little attention to the movement concentrated around his pant zipper.
It wasn't until he announced,
"I'm going to piss right here in the street," that I realized what was about to happen. I duly ignored that portion of the one-sided conversation. He repeated, "I'm going to piss in the street. I don't give a fuck. Fuck police! Michael is dead!" This time it sounded more like a threat than a warning. I supposed I should appease his attention-seeking maybe just a little.
"No. You don't want to do that," I said, appearing concerned.
"Michael is dead!
I might as well be dead! I don't give a fuck any more because Michael is dead. Fuck police. I'm going to piss right here in the street."
He kept true to his promise and the sound of a lengthy stream soon began hitting my eardrums.
"Boy, did he come back and what an awkward conversation this is indeed," I thought.
Disgusted and confused, Theo and I hurriedly lock up our bikes to the rack so we could be ready for whatever The Urinator was planning to throw at us when he finished. Sure enough, he approaches us, dropping his pants down to the ground a few times before adjusting his belt.
"I'm 5-(?) years old," he says pulling off his hat to reveal a head of white hair. "You don't know what that man meant to me. Nobody knows what Michael meant to me. I grew up on Michael."
Thankfully, he decided to disappear on his own after overdressing his point.
I must admit, I too loved Michael. As a young boy, considering I possessed the amazing imagination that most young boys do, I would idolize and pretend to be a comparatively very small group of heroes: Superman, the Red Power Ranger from Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and, of course, Michael Jackson. There existed a tradition among myself and my young colleagues to watch the same VHS movie over and over and over again back-to-back. Considering the length, I think I've seen the "Sound of Music" on VHS over fifty times in my lifetime. I've seen a number of Disney movies hundreds of time but I don't think I've ever repeated nor will ever be able to repeat any visual experience as many times as I did the "We are the World" video segment that was added on to the end of my kindergarten graduation tape. Sure the record featured a gang of music superstars but not one of them shined brighter than Michael. There was something so magnetizing about him. It was the style, the passion. You couldn't get any more original. The famous moonwalk, the glove, the white socks.
In the evenings, when the sun disappeared behind the blackness and the shows deemed inappropriate for me would come on, I would shut off the television and sit under the tape deck, playing, pausing, rewinding and fast-forwarding a Michael Jackson cassette over and over and over again. I suppose I was infatuated with pushing buttons, but I can't hide that the music was most captivating.
I understand people's perception of Michael Jackson. I would be the first person to admit Michael was crazy. I remember the pictures of him dangling his child off a balcony. It was not a pretty sight. I remember hearing about him going to court in pajamas and climbing trees. I will not deny his physical appearance got increasingly shocking as the years went on. I was not in the room and I couldn't tell you whether he touched little boys inappropriately, liked them in his bed, or just enjoyed their company in an odd manner. In fact, if I was a parent of a child that stayed over at the Neverland Ranch, all I would need is a slight rumor about my child's safety to make me furious.
I'll admit Michael was crazy, but why do people assume he was intentionally crazy? Because he's an international superstar with a ton of money doesn't mean he's not human. It's like the rapper Game says in his song, "Don't Need Your Love",
"First they hate you, then they love you, then they hate you again."
He had to deal with the pressures of fame starting from a very young age. Everyone has their issues, some more than others. Divorce, debt, health problems, drug abuse: just a few of the things that make us crazy. He went through all of the above, not to mention having his nose fall off. I do not plan to defend his actions but one cannot deny this man's brilliance. He touched not just The Urinator's generation but was a staple of mine also. He was not just a big deal in my city, state or country but an icon in every part of the globe.
I love Michael Jackson...not enough to urinate in the street for, but this man provided me with brilliant and inspirational music and entertainment one could not dream of getting from anywhere else. It makes no difference to me if he looked like a freak. No one is proud of what put his face in the news for the past decade, but his voice remained on the radio for a reason.
This was not meant to persuade anyone to mourn. People should feel the way they want to feel, but I am genuinely disappointed at the number of jokes flying around even at the mention of his death.
R.I.P. King of Pop, Michael Jackson
Sidebar: Theo is blogging on Mike’s biggest hits. My top five include “Thriller”, “Smooth Criminal”, “Rock with You”, “P.Y.T.” and “Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough”. Catch it
here.
