Michael Jackson Imagines

Round and Round (Off The Wall/Thriller Era)

June 1980

"I want to be your lover, I want to turn you on, turn you out. All night long make you shout 'Oh, lover, yeah!' I want to be the only one you come for, yeah" The music playing from my radio faded out as the DJ came back on. "Alright ladies and gentleman, that was 'I Want To Be Your Lover' by Prince! The Ringfield Circus is here all week to kick off summer 1980 for all of you needing something to do. Starting tonight, tickets are on sale at the door." The opening frains of "It's Still Rock And Roll To Me" rang out from the speakers of the oversized boombox. My lips pinched together into a thin line and rubbed against each other to spread my lipstick as I fixed my curled hair and sparkling outfit. "Y/N! Guests will be here soon, one last dress rehearsal if you want it." I glance at the tent flap through my mirror, seeing the tall lean man we called our ringleader. I fixed and fluffed one last time before grabbing the heavy speaker off the vanity, slinging my pointe shoes over my neck. "Yes sir, I'll run it one last time before it's too late. Thank you Mr. Ringfield." The spot we had booked outside of LA was much better than other venues we had occupied in the past. It was a beautiful grassy field, complete with picture-esque hills. If I was more than a Circus Dancer, I would buy this land in a heartbeat, build a home right where I'm standing.

I lugged the gray boombox all the way up the hill to the main tent, a large, smooth, concrete, floor perfect for both mine and Marie's acts. I was a dancer, while she was our songbird. She joined us in France, a beautiful opera singer who couldn't get from under her mother's thumb. I was a dancer from Colorado whose mother was never there. Our lack of positive mothers bonded us closer than anyone else, we looked out for each other and became the sisters we never had.

Finally making it to the space I would occupy, I stretch out on the cool floor. It was definitely a gift in the hot LA summer. All warmed up, I lace up my pointe shoes and press play on the stereo. The opening riff of "More Than A Feeling" rings and echoes through the tent, and I become the song. I sous sous, waving my arms around to the rhythm, and then let myself get lost in the song, spinning wildly when the voices reach crescendos. I leap and lift, spin and jump, becoming the dance. On the last beat I tourgete into a split, grinning up at the imaginary crowd. The stands hold only one spectator, Marie. Her french accent rings out from the seats, "Oh, Y/N, zat was fantastique! You truly are a dancing machine! Such a beautiful ballerina, you could leave the circus, become zomething greater than a circus performer! Just do not forget me when you are Y/N L/N, world famous ballerina." I laugh at her, shaking my head. "Marie, don't be silly. No one needs ballerinas for things. If anything, you're going to be the one to get out and become something. I mean, we are here in LA, maybe some record producer is coming this week with his family and hears you sing. You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, you have a future."

Her waved, dark hair bounced as she stepped down the riser, making her way to me. Her hazel eyes held love and care as she enveloped me in her arms. Everything about Marie was fun and fantastic, her laughter was a twinkling sound, her eyes sparkled with glee and mischief, and her accent only added to her allure. I felt small in comparison, it used to bother me, insecurities running wild, but I had gotten over it after knowing her for a year or so. We had been in the circus for 5 years, going from teenage girls running away from our pasts to women chasing after dreams. Our hug was cut short by Mr. Ringfield clearing his throat. "Y/N, Marie, gates are opening in 10, do whatever it is you need to do before then." Mr. Ringfield wasn't the most patient man, but he let a 15 year old runaway from Colorado who was trained in Russian Ballet join his crew, and a 17 year old from France escape on an old train car with dreams of a brighter future just over a year later. He paid us well, kept the wandering eyes and hands away, and kept food in our systems. He was curt, but he was kind. I slipped my dance shoes off and linked arms with Marie, walking barefoot across the soft grass back to our tent. We laughed the entire way, joking about our dreams of something bigger, a place we could stay for more than a week at a time. "I'm on at 7, what time do you perform, Marie?" She smiles at me through my mirror, "Oh, I go on at six. Do you have any requests for tonight?" I laugh at her, "Mar, you know what I'm going to ask for. La Vie En Rose of course. You sing it so beautifully." Her eyes twinkle in the sun, giggling back at me. "Fine, I will sing zat for you Ma Soeur, but only if you dance to a song I pick." I turn to her, my attention no longer on the piles of shoes and costumes around my space. "Marie, you know it doesn't work like that. It takes time to choreograph, look how long it took me to create tonight's performance." She laughed softly. "I know zat silly, I was talking about ze old routine you did to zat song, oh what was it called. Oh! "Dancing Machine" by zat one group of brozers." I feel my eyebrows crease together. "The Jackson 5?" Her eyes light up at the answer, "Oh, yes! Zat is it! Zat dance is what made me join you. I thought to myself, 'Marie, anyone who dances like zat is someone who understands how you feel about musique.' " I shake my head at her, laughing. "Oh, alright. You sing La Vie En Rose tonight, I'll do dancing machine tomorrow."