My Friend Michael

You know how it is, when there's someone who likes you but you don't like them back, and you can't ever tell them you don't like them because it would hurt their feelings. So every time you see them you say hi, talk, whatever, but you never really hang out with them one on one. They might suggest it, but you always have some excuse...you hang out with them in a group if at all.

Michael was like that to me, and Andrew was our group. Andrew is my cousin and Michael was his friend who always seemed to think I was just as close to him as I was to Andrew. I liked hanging out with Andrew, but Michael was just a friend of a friend to me. He was big for his age with big hands and feet, long arms and legs and a slightly inane face. He looked like a joker, like someone who wasn't too bright.

Andrew looked more like me, blue eyes, black hair, dark skinned and good at sports. Our moms were sisters and our dads had been best friends, so we'd grown up together and hung out a lot, even though I was younger and shorter. Andrew and Michael met when they were 12 yrs old through sports, they were in soccer, baseball AND basketball together and liked to play frisbee in the park. Michael looked even older than Andrew and people sometimes asked him what college he went to, even though he was only in middle school.

Because he and Andrew were great friends, and Andrew and I were great friends, Michael thought he and I were buddies too. But his "What's up, buddy?" Irritated me because he was annoying, told the same jokes all the time, and had a loud, dumb laugh. But since he was always over at Andrew's and I definitely didn't hate him enough to stop hanging out with my cousin, we ended up hanging out a lot. He was ok most of the time but while we had fun playing frisbee or hanging out around the park he always did SOMETHING that made me mad, ruffle my hair like I was a little kid or tease me. I think Andrew kinda knew how I felt because once he was like, "Don't let Michael bother you, he sees you as a little brother. He's a good guy to have around, you know he's always got my back and I have his." I didn't care what Andrew said, Michael pissed me off sometimes...but I guess I was getting used to having him around too.

I'd just turned 11 and school was about to start. It was August and the cicadas were out, humming and working with the evening heat to create the summer feel as we walked downtown. The sun was setting as we walked home along the sidewalk, smelling like sweat from the pickup game of baseball we were coming back from. Michael and Andrew were laughing and talking and I was thinking about something else as we watched the light go from red to green right where we had to cross. Andrew was wearing his baseball cap that pushed his hair past his ears, Michael was bareheaded, his soft brown hair blowing around his forehead and his blue eyes crinkled at some joke. He'd grown even taller over the summer and now stood 3 inches above Andrew, thick and broad shouldered almost like an adult. We were all filthy and stinky but he was especially bad because he'd slid to home base a couple times and all down one side of his shirt and pants was red-brown dirt. The light turned red again, the walk light flashed and he stepped out in front of us swinging his Louisville slugger, the setting sun illuminating his face.

We didn't see it, it didn't see us and came around too fast to be anything but lethal. Blood spurted over the sidewalk and us and Andrew screamed. Then we saw him on the pavement, long legs sprawled in either direction and bat thrown off to the side of where his body lay flung back against the sidewalk. Everyone was screaming, and people ran to him, turned his blank, lifeless face up from the pavement. The man in the car got out and ran over, his face bloodless and white. I stood there, panic, hysteria, horror all rolled into quiet. Michael was dead.

Andrew cried a lot at his funeral...I cred a little too. I couldn't believe he was dead, couldn't believe something this horrible had happened. However I felt about him, Michael had never ever deserved this! The whole next year was different, because Andrew's family moved away to a different neighborhood and Andrew started going to a new school. Playing with him wasn't the same. I couldn't talk about it to anyone but the therapist I went to all yearlong and I struggled with intense feelings of guilt for not liking Michael, for actually hating him when all he wanted was to be friends. It took a long time for the feeling of remorse and horror to fade, every time I happened to pass his house or went to the park to play frisbee I felt it. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'm really sorry." I'd whisper over and over, hoping his ghost, or angel or whatever would hear me. I knew he couldn't hear me, that I was really saying it to myself, but it made me feel better to apologize.

But sometimes bigger troubles come to fill the pants of the ones you thought were worst. My mom got remarried and every other Sunday I had to go live with her and my new dad for a week. He was ok, at first... but he was always bugging me to go out and play more, said I played too many video games, didn't hang out with friends enough, didn't do this or that. Gradually I realized he just didn't want me around him. When I went back to school, if I was home I had to either be studying or doing yard work otherwise he'd be on my case. It got so bad I started asking my dad if I could just stay with him for an extra week instead of going home to mom's house.

"Just talk to your mom, Alex. Tell her how you feel, she'll understand." He said. "Maybe you guys can find a balance, because you should be helping out with housework and doing your school anyway. That's not a bad thing."

So I told mom how I felt, that Brad always on my case and I felt like he didn't like me. She didn't really help. I don't know if she talked to him or not, but things seemed to get a little rougher after that. If he ever had anything to say to me it was to scold or tell me to go outside. I always knew he didn't like me, but now I was beginning to think he loathed me. Sometimes I'd catch him staring with a mean look in his eyes, and I'd take whatever I was doing and go up to my room to get away from it. I complained to my dad again and he said he'd talk to mom about it. But then he was called away on a business trip that week, and at the same time mom was gone for HER business trip. I was left alone with bad Brad.

The first night he was gone all night long. I am not even kidding, I played video games late on a school night and fell asleep on the couch, only to hear him come in at 5am in the morning. I have no idea where he was all night but he was drunk when he came back. I had to call Andrew's mom to bring me to school. She asked why couldn't Brad do it and I told her, and she got this worried, depressed look on her face. I hate seeing that look, it makes me feel like adults aren't really in control. "I'll have to tell Andrea. You should come stay with us until she gets back." She told me. "I'll get your stuff after school." I almost liked that less. However bad Brad was, Andrew's stepdad was ten times worse. He threatened Andrew a couple times and started a huge family scene when we found out Andrew's sister was pregnant. He almost threw her out of the house but Andrew's mom called his real dad and they dealt with it. Lynn ended up moving out soon after anyway, but neither she nor Andrew like being around while their stepdad is there.

Anyway it was arranged that I spent the night at Andrew's for the next few nights. It was cool hanging out with him again, though it was still different and we got in trouble the very first day. We'd been outside shooting bb guns at cans set up in the trees in Andrew's backyard, came in hungry and thirsty and bugged his mom for koolaid. "No." She said, "Andrew has a cavity and until he starts learning to take better care of his teeth he's drinking water. You too."

"Can we at least have a snack?" He asked.

"No, supper is in one hour."

"Come on mom, we're staaaaarving! One snack? C'mooon!"

She looked like she'd been having a bad day anyway. "No." She said shortly. "Now go put those bb guns away!"

We turned away sulking. "You never give me anything I want." He mumbled.

My aunt's voice rose. "Andrew Christian Schmidt! Don't you dare tell me that. You get what you need when you need it and a lot more besides! Now go put those damn things away!"

"What's all this noise?!" I cringed inwardly when Andrew's stepdad came in. He wasn't too big, only an inch taller than my aunt, but he was tough and angry looking and constantly verbally or emotionally abused the family. I was scared of him. He looked at us, pointed his finger at Andrew.

"You! Get your butt out of the kitchen right now before I have something to say to you. What's that skinny kid doing here?!" He growled at my aunt as he looked at me.

She brushed her dark hair out of her damp face. "He's staying with us for a few days, James."

"Not without my permission he's not! You're letting ANOTHER brat stay here? You can't even keep control of your own kids!" He yelled at her, his face flushing. My aunt gritted her teeth and Andrew and I escaped from the kitchen as their shouting match started. It didn't get any better the next few days. Finally, the day before mom was supposed to come back things came to a climax. I'd been feeling creepy all day anyway, it'd been an unusually warm afternoon and the airconditioning wasn't working in my last class so the teacher opened the window. I was lucky, my seat was next to it and I felt the breeze first. Warm sweat ran down my neck as I listened to the cicadas drone on and on in the August heat and began to get this sick feeling.

When school was out Andrew and I walked back to his house slowly. We didn't call his mom to come pick me up because one of their two cars had broken down and I knew my James was using the good one. They'd had a big fight over that last night too. I looked at him as we walked back, I knew he was feeling the same way I was. This was right around the time Michael died, and I know he hadn't opened up to anyone about it. He didn't even have a therapist to talk to, my aunt had wanted to get him one but his stepdad said no and his real dad lived in another state, he got to see him less than I got to see mine. Plus the situation between his mom and stepdad were just getting worse. There was a lot on his plate, a lot more than a 13 yr old kid should have to handle. Watching him made me feel helpless because I just didn't know what I could do for him. We got to the house just as Andrew's mom was leaving it. Her face was flushed and the screen door closed behind her with a bang as she strode passed us.

"Mom, where are you going?" Andrew called to her as she went to the car. She didn't answer, just got into the car and drove away. We went inside and saw Andrew's stepdad watching tv and drinking beer.

"Your mom's gone for a while." He grunted. "You better not give me any trouble." As we walked past him quietly he swiveled in the overstuffed chair to look at us. "Hey." He threw a frisbee at Andrew. "Go play outside for a while." Andrew looked down at it and I knew he was thinking about Michael. "I SAID GO!" James roared. We stayed out there all afternoon, tossing the frisbee back and forth.

"I haven't played since he died." Andrew said finally. He was watching me through hurting blue eyes. "Do you ever think about him?"

"Yeah. Every time I go by that park."

"Me too." He tossed the frisbee half heartedly and it landed a few feet from me. I didn't even pick it up. Andrew walked over and got it, then in one sudden movement threw it high and far into the trees behind his house. "Let's play something else." We picked up his baseball mitts that were laying around his yard and began to play catch. "I hate it when mom's not here." He said. "Especially once James started hitting me when she's gone." I remembered him showing me the bruises and making me promise not to tell anyone, because James said if he told he'd hurt the family. "He really scares me."

"Me too." I picked up the baseball bat and he pitched. I swung, connected and it also went into the trees. We stood staring after it for a moment. A wind blew around the yard, ruffling Andrew's dark hair and making goose bumps rise on my arm. Then it was gone, replaced by the warm, sticky heat and an unsettling quiet. The sun had begun to set, the cicadas had gone quiet and dark clouds were rolling in. I shivered. "Let's go inside." I said, the uneasiness from earlier today stirring inside my stomach.

Andrew turned his head to watch as the sun, a blazing, orange globe entangled in the trees, sank a little further. The sun turned him into a black silhouette. "This can't last much longer." He said quietly. "Something is going to happen." We went back into the house, leaving all his baseball stuff out in the yard.

The tv was still going and Andrew's stepdad was still in front of it, smoking this time. Andrew climbed up on the counter and got some poptarts from the shelf while I drank from the sink. It was piled full of dirty dishes and I had to move some of them aside to reach the faucet. We had poptarts and milk for dinner and were talking about one of our teachers when James came into the kitchen. His eyes looked red and bleary and little black and gray bristles covered his chin.

"Where's my frishbee?" He slurred. We looked at him, didn't say anything. Watched what he would do. He came closer and grabbed Andrew, "WHERE'SH my FRISHbee?" He yelled again.

"W-we left it outside...somewhere..." Andrew said. His eyes were wide and I knew he was scared of his short, built stepdad. I sat with my half-eaten poptart in my hand, being very quiet. James slapped his stepson open palmed and turned his bloodshot eyes to me.

"Go get it, Alex." I slid off my chair and pulled open the glass door. Outside the sun had sunk farther behind the trees and the sky was rapidly darkening. The clouds had not moved, they just sat above the house in an ominous mass, waiting. It felt like something else was waiting out there too. I could see the bright orange edge of the frisbee at the edge of the bank where the yard slipped away into trees and a little stream, and the dread I'd felt all day culminated in my chest. I turned back to see James right behind me.

"I-I don't want to go out there." I said shamefacedly.

"Whassa matta? You a sissy boy like Andrew here? You afraaaaid of the dark?" He sneered, his boozy breath wafting down at to me.

I was afraid of THIS dark. Normally nighttime didn't scare me, but today something didn't feel right. "Can't I get it tomorrow?" I whined. He grabbed me just like he'd grabbed Andrew and put his burning cigarette against my skin. I screamed and writhed and he snarled into my face. "I said go get it." He dropped me, and with the little round circle burning with pain on my skin I ran out the kitchen door into the overshadowed backyard, sniffling. Halfway towards the trees my bare feet seemed to slow of their own accord. I can see now the bright piece of color at the edge of the embankment is just a piece of plastic, meaning the frisbee is even farther into the woods, and I have to go find it in the dark. The creeping fear takes over me again.

I look back, and can't see Andrew or his stepdad in the dark kitchen. Everything is getting dark. I can just barely see the baseball mitt on the ground where Andrew dropped it, but I don't see the bat anymore. I move towards the woods, my fear gripping me so tight I almost can't breathe. I step on twigs and rocks but my callused feet don't feel the pain and I can't stop shivering even as I'm sweating yet again. It's so warm out, and way too still. I enter the trees and breath a sigh of relief to see the frisbee sitting on top of some roots at the otherside of the stream.

The stream itself is shallow but the bank is steep and I have a little trouble getting down it in the dark. I drop down into the stream bed and gingerly wade across the stream, up to my knees in the warm water and my ankles in squishy, soft mud. On the otherside I clamber up and have to pull myself up the gnarly roots to reach the odd little branch where the frisbee perches. I can barely see the frisbee as I reach for it, so eager to get it so I can get back inside. Chills run down my spine at the silence behind me and I can't help looking over my shoulder. The loud, dumb laugh comes out of nowhere. I jump painfully and scream, my fingers jabbing against the frisbee and causing it to slide down between the roots and the dirt bank. It lands on a face. Dead blue eyes stare into mine and I scream loud as a man rises from where he'd been squatting underneath the roots of the tree. He has a baseball in his hands. I lose grip and fall backwards, landing with a splash in warm water as he stands over me.

"What's up buddy?"

My heart is pounding hard in my chest and ears are ringing. I'm staring slack jawed up at a figure in the night, then I turn, claw my way back up the embankment and sprint hard across the yard, not stopping until I'm through the sliding glass door and in the kitchen. I stand there, trembling and shaking, the table between me and the door and James and Andrew in front of me. I start to cry. James knocks me to the ground when he sees I don't have his frisbee but I almost don't feel it. I can't explain what I've seen and the terror is too fresh and real to make room for anything else. They're both staring at me, they don't see the figure moving across the backyard towards them.

A frisbee drops onto the kitchen floor. I realize with another painful jolt that the door rebounded just enough when I slammed it in my rush to get inside, for someone to push the frisbee through. Michael is standing right outside the glass, staring in at us. His fingers follow the frisbee through the crack and the door slowly begins to slide open. The light from the living room illuminates his broad body, his features, grinning and yet horribly lifeless. One side of his body is spattered with blood and twisted, the other side streaked with red-brown dirt. He comes in as we stare and looks down at me on the floor, over at Andrew who sits at the table with one cheek red from where James slapped him. He looks at each of us in turn, and we stare back, no one knowing what to do. All of a sudden Michael is standing in front of me, and he puts his finger on the burn mark by my neck.

"Is he hurting you guys?" He looks at James. "Are you hurting my brothers?"

James stumbles backwards and Michael steps forward, a baseball bat hanging from his hand. Andrew and I could do nothing as he followed James when he tried to escape to his room. There was a drunken scream and crack, followed by more screams, then Michael came back out. "Call an ambulance but don't go in there." He looked at me and I sucked in my breath, nauseated and seriously freaked. "What are you doing here on a school night?"

"I'm staying w-with Andrew u-until my mom g-gets h-home." My voice won't stop shaking.

"It's because of your stepdad, right?" I'm too scared to nod. Michael's skin is translucent in its whiteness and blue veins stand in stark contrast to its palor. His unnaturally pale hand reaches for me, I close my eyes tight shut...and feel a hand ruffle my hair.

****************************

We hear the door open and turn to see my stepdad walking into our house, drunk. He stops in the doorway, eyes wide and staring. Michael sits between Andrew and I on the floor playing video games with us. I see Brad's eyes travel down Michael and up again. In the bright living room light the spattered blood shows up clearly against his face and body. That combined with the morgue-pale skin and the bent body seem to freak Brad out. We heard the ambulance sirens hours ago, and were just waiting for him to get home.

"Meet my friend Michael." I say.