the young mother's hand hardly registered the sensation of the drip of condensation from her drink when the music started. the Jacksons were on stage. the mother sat with her five-year-old son -- who had been, at nearly all times previously, unaffected. this evening held the greatest potential to reach him. by the end of the first song she noticed the boy wasn't moving to the music like the rest of the arena; he was, in fact, encased in ice with the rhythm, as if an entangled youth. sensing the impact upon him, the mother was satisfied, but as she settled in for the rest of the show, the pounding of hertz pushed through the bottom of the boy’s seat and drove him toward the stage to the source of its power. between sliding under and around soft limbs, the child jumped to see the lead singer under the lights. "he knows i'm coming," he thought. when he reached the pit of the audience -- where the kick drum hit his chest hardest -- he exploded; he jerked and tried to break his own backbone. he climbed into the throat of the beat and wrestled it to the ground. spinning his legs and splitting his legs just like the young man on stage. the audience pressed themselves together and left a canyon for the freshest dancer in the room to fan his body parts. the large formation allowed for an exhausted Michael Jackson to point joyfully to a reason to rest and ended a mother's frantic search. only eyeing her son from the rim of the audience’s circle -- because she was at once relieved to find him and afraid to touch him while he was in this trance – granted a quality to the moment.