Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Feb. 10, 2003: Lifting the Mask

Ever since watching the documentary, "Living with Michael Jackson," by Martin Bashir, I've been having nightmares of people transforming into monsters.

After reading the court document from 1993 that outlines the charges of child sexual abuse against Michael Jackson, which led to a multi-million dollar settlement, I have to say once more that I think authorities should investigate his contact with any and all children, including his own. Especially now that he's declared publicly that he still allows children to sleep in his room.

Interestingly enough, coupled with these dreams of monsters have been dreams about a guy I dated in the mid-90s, who turned out to be an incredible liar, cheater and thief, hence his nickname, the Luser (to borrow a computer geek term). He was the kind of guy who would lie even as you confronted him with evidence. He and Saddam Hussein have a lot in common.

For awhile, everyone who knew him refused to acknowledge he was stealing CDs, filching money out of wallets and worse. After all, he was a wispy little guy, charming and funny and self-deprecating. How could there be a demon beneath the surface?

But if you were a demon, wouldn't it best serve your purposes to look innocent, harmless, sweet? It would be better to look like a fluffy teddy bear than like a savage, razor-toothed beast.

And he seemed a somewhat tragic figure, distanced from his parents, a talented person with big dreams and no money. But his darker side began to emerge, becoming impossible to ignore. Kind of like when you ignore that grinding noise your car stars making and suddenly, parts are falling off.

The Luser had a rather pathetic substance abuse problem, the kind where he stole all of my cold medicine and then put the boxes back, empty. He bought and consumed a bottle of Robotussin DM every day. He consumed anything that could get him high. I wouldn't be surprised if my cleaners had gone missing.

He was also addicted to Internet porn and used my credit card to sign up for a site so disgusting I still shudder, thinking about it. And this doesn't even get into his infidelities, both in person and in the cyberworld.

The worst part of this ugly story is how long I believed him, even in the face of his lies. When confronted with physical evidence, such as an empty bottle of Valium with his mom's name on it, or a phone bill containing long distance charges for people I didn't know, he'd get mad and claim it was somebody else's fault. Somebody must have gotten my phone number and charged long distance calls to my bill. Somebody else must have stolen his mom's Valium.

Somebody else probably put it in his mouth, too.

This pattern of lying became most obvious to me the day his mom called to ask him if he had her video camera. I knew that he had it; I was looking at it as he talked on the phone. He protested angrily that she should accuse him of stealing. When he hung up, I asked him why he lied. He said he wasn't lying, he hadn't stolen it. His mom gave it to him, he said.

Funny, you think she would have remembered that.

So the Luser got his walking papers. I changed all my credit card and bank information, moved and got an unlisted phone number. I recaptured some dignity, if not the many things he stole, including my trust. I still occasionally find myself thinking of a CD that I once had and realizing it was stolen long ago by the Luser.

It's hard to believe that somebody you thought was trustworthy is a low-down, dirty liar. But more often than not, looking back on it, you discover that even though they hid behind a mask, you pretended not to notice when the mask slipped.

If Michael Jackson can't even admit he's had more than two surgeries on his face, how can we believe any assertion he makes? And while I still fondly remember the Michael Jackson of the late 70s and early 80s, that Michael Jackson no longer exists, if he ever did. As in the "Thriller" video, the Michael Jackson of today has transformed. And something needs to be done.

Moral:
Masks are only fun on Halloween.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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