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The King Of Pop Spoke To Me

Not many people can write this

Photo by Call Me Fred on Unsplash

Back in the day when men looked at me in ways I don’t like, some friends and I were on a long haul flight to L.A. Like you do, when you have saved up your money and climate change was just a conspiracy theory.

After a short while, the flight attendant came to the front of coach class and told us to please use the toilets in First Class. No, not the champagne, or the wider seats, not even the personal video screens, only the toilets.

Eventually, I made my way. Eleven hours is a long time. First Class had very few people in it. Such a waste.

Making my return, I saw two window seats were screened off. The type of screens on wheels that have gaps between the metal frame and the cloth. A medical case being transferred, I thought.

I saw a very young looking, skinny teenager, or so I thought. We made eye contact. He said ‘hello’ and I smiled at him.

When we landed at L.A.X., we in coach were told we must wait to disembark. There were murmurs of discontent. It was more than an hour. Finally, we were allowed into the tunnel. There were screens everywhere. Screens and photographers. It dawned on me.

Michael Jackson had said hello to me.