Michael Jackson

This morning on my way to the subway I see her at the corner of 1st and 72nd. I am trying to powerwalk in my heels while staring at the sidewalk, focusing on nothing when I suddenly look up and see her. It is in fact, Michael Jackson.


My boyfriend and I often walk up to Carl Schurz Park on 83rd street in the evenings and though we don’t have a pet, go to the dog run. Made just for small dogs, we enjoy standing on the outside and watching all the puppies run and play. We often see the same dogs and owners and we often see Michael Jackson.


Michael Jackson doesn’t have a dog, yet she lets herself inside the fence at the dog park. My boyfriend and I always stay on the outside because there is a large sign that says “No dogs without people, no people without dogs.” She is not homeless but definitely really weird in a creepy-has-problems sort of way. This is unusual for this Upper East Side park, as nearly everyone is yuppie professionals with either babies or puppies. She is always dressed in really bizarre droopy clothes and a giant wig of long black Howard-Stern-like hair. She has odd pale makeup on and her face looks like she has had about 1,000 bad facelifts. In other words she resembles the pop superstar exactly.


She always shuffles aimlessly around the dog run picking up stranger’s toy poodles and Boston terriers. Everyone at the dog run knows her and they all look extremely nervous whenever she appears. These looks turn into borderline panic when she turns herself toward one of their little precious purebreds. When she sits down on the benches everyone around her moves away and when she actually tries to touch someone’s dog you hear the owner announce awkwardly, “Okay Bitsy, you’ve had enough fun with your doggie friends today- time to get going.” The owner doesn’t make eye contact but in a swift motion scoops his pup out of harms way and hurries home, cutting their visit to the park short.


It really throws me off seeing Michael Jackson on my morning commute. Easily the scariest character in the neighborhood, I have gotten used to seeing her at the park- her focus always on the dogs. In my mind she does not exist anywhere else. There she is though, shuffling down 1st avenue, with a Gristedes bag in one hand at 7:45 in the morning. She is going about her daily business like everyone else is- whatever that may be.