Free No Land's Man by Aasif Mandvi Page B

reality by his quiet voice saying, “I think it’s time for bed.”
    Around the same time that my Michael Jackson transformation was in its pupa stage, my grandparents came to visit us from India. They clearly wondered what had become of their grandson. I wore dark shades, my Indo-fro was Jheri-curled, and I would spend hours in my bedroom singing and dancing with my Walkman on my head. Roy and Rick even started calling me Michael.
    After much provocation from my sister I even deigned to perform for my grandparents. I couldn’t imagine how this was going to go over, but at least it would explain why I kept jumping up onto my tiptoes all the time. My grandparents looked puzzled as they sat in the living room with my mom next to them. My sister hit the cassette player and as the song began I came out from my bedroom wearing shades and one sparkly glove. I began singing too early in the music so I started again. This time I attempted the 360-degree spin and my shades flew off and landed by my grandmother’s feet. I don’t think she knew if she was meant to laugh or not. I sang and danced through the rest of the song, missing notes and missing steps. A couple of times I even lost my balance completely and collapsed to the floor. By the end I was exhausted but had learned two very important lessons: singing and dancing at the same time is really, really hard, and moonwalking on a carpet just looks like you are trying to wipe something off the bottom of your shoe.
    Despite my poor display my family was supportive. Even though my grandmother didn’t understand what it all meant, my less-than-average homage to Michael Jackson brought a smile to her face. For the rest of their visit she would walk into my bedroom every day and sing “Billy Jesus not my lawyer.” She had no idea what she was saying, and it didn’t matter. She was now a fan.
    For most of the following week, I kept practicing while feeling increasingly sick to my stomach. I realized that stoned people make impulsive decisions that lack judgment and that this was the backbone of the “Say No to Drugs” campaign. I also realized that singing like Michael and dancing like Michael at the same time was probably out of the question for a kid with asthma and so I reluctantly switched my name from the singing category to the lip-synch category, knowing full well that the only way this would work was if I nailed those turns and kicks. My moonwalk had to look like my shoes were made of glass.
    The day of the variety show arrived and my transformation was complete. I was about to lip-synch “Billie Jean” for the entire student body.
    I walked out in the darkness and stepped into a spotlight at center stage. My heart was pounding and in an instant my mouth seemed to lose all moisture. My limbs felt heavy as I assumed a familiar pose. The audience recognized the silhouette but not the person and there was a murmur that went through the auditorium. Before I was ready for it to happen, the familiar throbbing beat began and students began to look at each other. A whistle pierced the air and I heard an “Oh yeah!” as I reached up with my makeshift glittered glove, drenched in sweat, and slid my fingers across the brim of my fedora. Here we go, I thought, as I thrust out my hip and kicked my right leg straight and hard. A girl screamed, “I love you!” I heard another voice scream, “Hell yeah!” Then another, and another, and in an instant something felt different. For the first time I was not just recreating choreography—I was inhabiting it.
    A confidence began to come over me that I had never experienced before. I felt strong and graceful as I began to release my anger, rebelliousness, sexuality, and playfulness through the pounding of Michael’s rhythm. As the drumbeat gave way to the first few lyrics I turned from profile to face front. There was an explosive scream from the audience as I swallowed and opened my mouth, becoming a vessel for Michael’s