This Isn't It (A Michael Jackson Story)

Chapter 1 - Dysfunction

I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stand up. I had been sitting there, thinking, for almost 20 minutes. The auditions are at 11:30am, and it will take me about 4 hours to drive to the Nokia Theatre. On top of that, I would rather be early than late...so I will have to be in the car at 7:00. I start walking towards my closet.

'What am I gonna wear?' I whisper to myself.

I run my fingers through my rack of shirts. I need something light, something that will be easy to dance in. Michael likes sparkles...right? I picture his outfit from the music video for Rock With You, and decide that he does like sparkles. I settle on a white tank top with shimmering rhinestones along the neckline. Simple, but hopefully eye catching as well. I throw on a pair of dark sweats and walk into the bathroom.

I look into the mirror for a moment, and then I grab my hairbrush. I slowly run the brush through my hair many times until I'm satisfied with it. I apply only a little bit of mascara and nothing else. I've never really liked using much makeup. I look into the mirror, but I see myself differently than I ever have. I feel like a true dancer now. I smile into the mirror one last time and walk back into my room.

The clock reads 6:12am. Right on schedule. I leave my room and run downstairs where I see my mother sitting at the kitchen table. She is reading the newspaper and carefully sipping her coffee. My mother is the only person who lives in this house with me. I don't have any siblings, and I know nothing about my father. I don't know his name, I don't know if he's dead, I don't know if he left before I was born...I know nothing. My mom refuses to speak whenever I ask about him. I draw in a deep breath and clear my mind before speaking to my mother.

"Good morning Mother," I say.

She looks up from the paper at me.

"Why are you up so early on a Saturday? And why are you wearing that hideous shirt?" She asks with a painful sharpness in her voice.

I look down at my tank top. The rhinestones reflect the sunlight in every direction. It doesn't look that bad, does it? I frown, wondering if Michael would think that it was hideous too.

"Mother, today is my audition. You know... the day I finally get to see Michael Jackson?" I explain, trying to keep myself calm.

"Oh great. Well let me know when you leave."

She takes another sip of coffee and looks back down at the newspaper.

"...So thats it?" I say, crossing my arms.

She glared back at me, not saying a word.

"This is probably the most important day of my life, and you're not even acknowledging it " I say, frowning.

"You know, you're probably not even going to get in. I don't know what you're so excited about." She says, not even looking up from the paper.

"W-why would you say that? Do you not have even the littlest bit of faith in me?"

She looks at me. I can feel her eyes pierce into my soul.

"You don't have professional training, you know. All of the other girls are going to be older than you too."

I feel crushed.

"How do you know that they're going to be older than me? You've never even wanted to see me dance so how would you know that I'm not going to get in?!" I can feel the anger building up in my voice.

My mother doesn't say anything, she just holds up one of the pages from her newspaper. It reads: 'Wacko Jacko's Comeback?!' accompanied by an unflattering, extreme close-up shot of Michael's face. It makes me sick to my stomach.

"Look Daniella, I don't know why you are so obsessed over this freak of a man." She says.

"Hey!" I snapped at her. "He is not a freak! You don't know anything about him!"

She begins to read the article out loud.

"Wacko Jacko has recently announced a comeback tour, which will almost certainly result in failure based on-" I cut her off.

"You don't actually believe what the press writes...do you?!" I say. "Look, I'm in a good mood right now, so don't ruin it for me." I hiss through my gritted teeth. "And don't you dare call him Wacko Jacko." I add as I begin to walk away from her.

I can hear her slam the newspaper down onto the table.

"Daniella!" She shouts, her voice filled with rage.

I bolt towards the basement door and I throw it open. My mother doesn't hit me often, although it has happened multiple times before. I'm not going to take the chance today, so decide to get as far away from her as possible. I run down the stairs, slamming the door behind me. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I look back at the door. It doesn't look like my mother is making the effort to come after me, so I let my guard down. I turn the corner and walk over to the large patch of hardwood flooring that's in the basement. I try to clear my mind of what has just happened. Once I'm focused, I've decided that I'm going to practice the audition routine one last time.

For the audition, I have to dance to an MJ medley that consists of three songs: Bad, Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough and Smooth Criminal. I walk over to my speaker system and press the play button on my iPod. The keyboard riff plays and Bad begins. I slide across the ground in my socks onto the hardwood floor. When Michael begins to sing, I shuffle to the side with my hands on my hips. I throw my head back and spin around, landing perfectly on my toes.

"When they say the sky's the limit, and to me that's really true. But my friend you have seen nothin', just wait till I get through..."

"Because I'm Bad! I'm Bad! Shamone!" I sing with Michael.

I throw my arms out in front of me and bounce back and forth on my heels just as the song changes into Don't Stop Till You Get Enough. I continue to dance, jumping and spinning, until the end of the song, where I spin to the ground, and shoot back into the air with my arms out to the side. Then the song changes for the last time, into Smooth Criminal, one of my favourite songs to dance to. The strong bass line urges me to pop my shoulders out every two beats, just like Michael does in the music video. The musical interlude cues my moonwalk across the floor. I smile as I gracefully glide backwards. Then I strut across the floor and tip my imaginary fedora as I twist my feet together and begin to spin around. This spin is the most critical part of the dance.

I count the number of rotations...one ...two....three...Suddenly my feet become entwined during the spin. I manage to let out a gasp as I fall to the floor, my hands outstretched to absorb the impact. Pain jolts through my hands and up into my arms as I hit the floor. I wince. I don't normally fall during a spin...what if I fall during the audition? I close my eyes and try not to think about it.

After lying there for a few moments, I pick myself up off of the floor, and turn off the music. What if my mother is right? What if I'm not good enough to perform in front if Michael? Everything I know about dancing, I've taught myself without any lessons or training. I walk back towards the staircase. The pain in my arms has subsided now, thankfully. As I walk up the stairs, I glance at the clock on the wall. It reads 6:49am. It's almost time for me to go.

I cautiously walk back into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with my mother. I grab a slice of toast off of the table and quickly pour myself a glass of milk. I put the carton back into the fridge and turn to the window. The sun has just come up, creating a beautiful blend of colours in the sky. I eat my breakfast as I stare in awe at the beauty of nature.

The silence is broken by the sound of my mother putting her dishes into the sink behind me. I still can't believe that she's never supported me in anything I love to do. Ever since I can remember, I've been told to 'do it on my own' or to 'give up already,' But now I'm actually achieving a dream of mine: seeing Michael Jackson. And I've done it all without my mother's help.