Apparently I wasn’t alone in this line of thinking and my
colleagues took every opportunity to remind me how foolhardy I had been to leap
before I looked, so to speak.
But I stood by my decision; what else could I have
done? We were about to lose funding for
the project I had already put my heart and soul into. But I knew they couldn’t shut us down if I leapt;
so I did. That was five years ago.
The long and the short of it was I was stuck.
Apparently the failsafe to return me to my body hadn’t
been factored correctly, something I took a lot of shtick about.
Hell, I’d figured out how to leap from body to body and
take control of that person’s nervous system; I couldn’t be expected to think
of everything could I?
Eventually I would get back to my body. In the meantime I helped where I could on our
mission to “right the wrongs” and then moved on.
My frontal lobe was swollen and the intensely acute pain
was present – I was leaping.
I can never open my eyes at first because of the pain but
I am always anxious to, anxious to see what reality I’ve landed myself
into. When I could, the first thing that
I saw was a monkey. A chimp to be
precise and he wasn’t in a cage. He was
perched on a stool, in what appeared to be a dressing room, eating a banana
and, oddest of all, wearing a red military style jacket that looked to have
been made just for him.
Still squinting from my headache, I slowly leaned
backwards, greatly respectful of the power of the beast before me. Three things happened simultaneously; I
noticed a huge boa constrictor looking for a way out of its glass cage behind
the chimp, the chimp gave a cry, that I prayed wasn’t its equivalent of a
battle cry, and I raised a hand covered in a white sequined glove in front of
me to subdue him. Ludicrously, it was
the glove that stayed my attention. All
thoughts of wildlife fled my mind as I took in the un-gloved hand in my
lap. My mouth ran dry.
Temporarily unmindful of the potentially dangerous chimp
I jumped out of my chair and lurched in front of the mirror. Michael Jackson stared back at me.
“Oh boy!”
I looked around the room frantically, the chimp and snake
barely registering, as I searched for Al, my leap companion. Bar me and the wildlife, the room was empty.
Knuckles rapped on the door and the chimp cried out
again.
“MJ, you’re on in five.” A disembodied voice shouted out.
I understood what he meant; I was to go and perform on
stage in five minutes, in front of people.
I am a scientist, a man of facts and I write this account
purely for the sake of historical accuracy regarding the project. And in the interests of accuracy it is my
duty to recount my experiences in detail.
So it is with great regret that I report that as I stood staring in
horror at the dressing room door, a little bit of pee came out.
“Al!” I yelled out which startled the chimp into crying
out again. At this point chimp attack
didn’t figure as highly on my avoid list – go out on stage and face utter
humiliation or get my face ripped off by a chimp? Rock and a hard place.
I needed to get out of this body and for that I needed my
womanising, cigar smoking friend who was only able to appear in holographic
form. A rather annoying aspect of
leaping was it appeared to be completely random, or maybe we just hadn’t
discovered the pattern yet. This meant
when I leapt, it took a while for my colleagues to find me.
Al still hadn’t found me when the stage hands came back
to escort me to the stage.
“Look guys, I’m just not feeling up to this tonight,
we’re going to have to cancel.”
The stage hands looked at each other and rolled their
eyes. “C’mon MJ. We go through this every time. You have pre-nerves but you’re always fine
when you get out on the stage.”
This gave me pause.
Was I merely feeling Michael’s anxiety over performing instead of mine?
If I’d had the ability to recall even just one of my wiped past memories I
would’ve known if I still possessed the abilities of my host. There was a very slim chance that I could go
on stage and Michaels muscle memory would see me through the performance, the
singing on the other hand was a different story. I controlled the voice box and I didn’t know
the words.
I renewed my efforts to get out of my predicament.
“Wait, my monkeys sick!”
Both stage hands surveyed the banana eating monkey with
frowns. “Bubbles looks fine to me.”
“He’s not, he’s really not. He’s sick!” I could hear the hysteria in my
voice.
Both men again frowned at the monkey but this time
Bubbles popped the last of the banana in his mouth and made an extravagant
motion of kissing his hand and then thrusting it towards us.
The stage hands tutted, actually tutted, and then hooked
my arms in theirs and pulled me towards the door.
“Come on MJ.” One
of them sighed.
Panic such as I’d never known gripped me and I am ashamed
to say I cussed that chimp out like there was no tomorrow.
I could hear them chanting as I was practically
dragged along. They were demanding and I
fancied I could almost feel the vibrations of those chants in my chest. It reminded me of the many movies I’d seen
where the virgin was sacrificed to the raging volcano. No happy ending in sight.
In the blink of an eye I was on the stage, fireworks went
off, the music roared to life and the crowd screamed manically.
I froze. The
microphone in my sequined gloved hand hovered around my mouth but that was it.
In confusion the band stalled their playing and everyone
was looking at me. Possibly ten thousand
people were looking at me, the most people that have ever looked at me my
entire life.
I vomited.
I would like to say it was a discreet, into my hand type
of affair, but alas, this was more like a scene from the Exorcist.
The band members retreated from the spill zone and pretty
quickly the manic crowd stopped cheering.
Now ten thousand people were just looking at me with
frowns; if I’d had more to come up, it would’ve. Instead I motioned for the band to continue.
Like the incredibly well paid band that I assumed they
were, they resumed their performance.
It is at this point you should know I am not, what you
would call, a pop aficionado. Over my
career I have worked with a multitude of scientists and physicists. Many had music blaring in the background, others
would sing rock anthems as they worked – I was not one of those types, I liked
to work to silence. So whilst the
occasional tune would work its way into my subconscious, mostly I tried to
remain ignorant of the pop scene.
At that moment I had never regretted anything more in my
life.
I was making noises along to the music and trying my best
to moonwalk when the booing started. The
harder I tried, the louder they booed. I
was drenched in sweat, my heart was thundering in my ears and I’d had
enough. I ran off the stage back to the
dressing room.
People shouted after me but I kept going.
I was safely back in the room with the potentially
dangerous animals when a rectangle of light appeared next to me and Al stepped
through it to stand at my side. I’d
never been so glad to see that receding hairline or saliva tipped cigar in my
life.
He took one look at me and shook his head. “Talk about biting off more than you can
chew.”
“Al, get onto Ziggy and find out what I need to do to get
out of this body.” I snapped. I didn’t mean to but I was having a very
trying day.
“Keep your hair on.”
Al muttered as he poked at his hand held console.
I shrugged off my sweat drenched military style jacket
that I noticed matched the chimps.
“Okay, clearly you know who you are already.” Al had jammed the cigar into his mouth and
spoke around it; he knew I hated that.
“Apparently I’m the king of pop.”
“Not yet you’re not, it’s only 1984, that crown won’t be
given to him for a few years yet. Although
your performance tonight may have delayed that a bit.”
I made a gesture as though my sides were splitting. “Hilarious.”
I dead panned.
“I aim to please.”
He muttered around the cigar in his mouth.
“Al, what am I doing here? This guy’s got it made. What would I have to change about his life?”
Again Al punched furiously at his hand held device.
“Ah, according to Ziggy it doesn’t end so well for MJ.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, after a long struggle with an addiction to pain
meds, he finally succumbed to cardiac arrest under the supervision of his
personal physician. The physician got
four years for involuntary manslaughter.”
“Addiction to pain meds?” I queried.
More tapping on the hand held console.
“According to Ziggy MJ does a commercial for Pepsi, on
the sixth take his hair catches on fire which burns him badly and starts his
downward spiral into the addiction.”
I laugh out loud. I
couldn’t have been given an easier assignment.
“Right, so MJ doesn’t do the commercial, everything turns out fine?”
“On premise, I can’t argue with your logic.” Al nodded while chewing his cigar butt.
“One step closer to home baby!” I shout as I offer my
hand up for a high five. Al’s hand
sailed right through mine.
**
“Let me read you
the reviews!” Frank, my manager shouted as he poked his cigar at me. He was like a fatter, more receding,
unfriendly version of Al.
“He didn’t even know the words to his own songs. He danced like he was constipated. The act at my bar mitzvah was better and I
didn’t rate them!! MJ, what are you doing to me?!”
“I had a bad night.”
I replied lamely.
“You had a bad
night? MJ, you already spend money like its water and now you’ve cost us a
fortune. We have to refund all those
people. Do you know what that does to
our bottom line!”
“I’m guessing by the throbbing vein in your forehead that
it’s not good.”
Frank launched out of his seat and jabbed his cigar right
at my face. “You’re damn right it’s not
good! Fans pay. No fans, no pay! You had better make it up on your next performance
or we’re in trouble.”
A rectangle of white light appeared next to me and Al
stepped through it. “Don’t even worry
about it Frank, the next performance will be perfect.” I assured him, as I knew I would be out and
MJ would be back.
“Ah, maybe not Sam.”
Al frowned as he tinkered with his hand held device.
“What?” I asked out of the side of my mouth and under my
breath. Frank still frowned at me.
“There are five more performances between now and the
commercial.”
“I can’t perform five more times!” I shouted as fresh
sweat broke out over my body.
“Why not?” Frank asked with a huge frown.
I didn’t know how to argue my point until my holographic
friend pointed out the obvious.
“Diva card Sam.”
“If I say I’m not performing, I’m not performing. Reschedule the concerts for next month.”
“No way MJ! We’ll
lose millions.” He argued.
“Frank.” I stared
at him pointedly.
“Fine.” Frank mumbled and I felt the heady sense of
power.
“And another thing, I’m not doing that Pepsi commercial.”
“Like hell you’re not.
Contracts have been signed – you’re doing that commercial.” Frank insisted with enough persistence to
cause spittle to fly from the sides of his mouth.
“I am not!” I had
power, I was the star, and I would prevail.
Frank smirked at me.
“Well we’ll see what your daddy has to say about that.”
I was on a roll; I was in the power zone so I couldn’t
figure for the life of me why my body started shaking uncontrollably.
Al clued me in.
“Sam, MJ’s daddy - not such a nice guy.
He’s been accused of being abusive and controlling, MJ ditched him as
manager four years ago.”
“He’s not my manager anymore.” I asserted to Frank.
Frank laughed and sucked on his cigar. “Yeah, but he’s still you’re daddy.”
**
“What am I going to do Al?” I would like to think I asked the question in
an assertive manner but I’m pretty sure it came across as whining.
“You can’t let MJ’s hair get burned Sam, that leads to
his downfall.” He punched his hand held
device. “Yep, that is definitely the
crux.”
“You saw the way I shook like a girl when Frank bought up
my Dad. Clearly there are some latent
father/son issues there.”
“Well, one thing is for sure, no one is going to help you
get out of this commercial.”
I paced the hotel bedroom while rejecting plan after plan
as they occurred to me until I came up with the perfect solution.
“Bingo!” I grinned.
“What do you have in mind Sam?” Al asked as he worked his
cigar around his mouth.
“I’m going to make Pepsi not want me.” I said with determination.
**
The t-shirt was crudely designed, I will admit, but it
was the message that was important.
And I got that message out there.
Fans were crowded around my hotel, being held back by
security but when I showed my face the security team had to triple their
efforts to keep the baying crowd at bay.
A mustang was parked in the forecourt of the hotels
entrance and before my security team could stop me I jumped up onto its bonnet
to proudly display the message I wore on my chest.
Pepsi is poison,
Coke is king.
**
I lasted up there about thirty seconds before my security
team dragged me down and hustled me back into the hotel but that was enough
time for hundreds of camera’s to capture the moment. When I was alone in my room I called out for
Al. He stepped through that rectangle of
light already poking at his console.
“So? Did I do it?”
I asked anxiously. I always got a
real high from helping people.
“MJ didn’t do the commercial so he didn’t get burnt.”
“Yes!” I fist pumped the air in victory.
Al made a funny noise in his throat.
“What?”
“Pepsi sued the hell out of MJ, as did the venues of the
concerts you cancelled.”
Now I made a funny noise in my throat. “Well, I’m sure he would’ve bounced back from
that, he was a pop icon.”
“Not in this new reality.
Prince did the Pepsi commercial with his hit 1999 and eclipsed MJ’s
fame. Mj was declared bankrupt in 1989
and was committed to a care facility. He
was put on suicide watch on the eve of the millennium when Prince’s iconic song
shot back up the charts.”
I cringed with regret.
“Well at least he lived.” There
was always a silver lining.
Al rolled the cigar around in his mouth and then took it
and pointed it at me. “Sam, you are a
gifted physicist with six doctoral degrees but have you ever stopped to
consider that maybe you’re not the most qualified person to be messing about in
these people’s lives?”
My ego didn’t like it but he did have a point.
Before I could argue the familiar pain seized my brain.
The leap took me.
Memories of MJ’s life were stripped away leaving an
aching emptiness. Before I could open my
eyes I was aware that I was sweating profusely and panting. The first thing I saw over my huge belly was
a man in a white coat peering between my spread eagled legs and my feet were in
stirrups.
“Okay Mrs Shipman, your little Harold is almost ready to
come out.”
“Oh boy!”
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