Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 19:27:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Ten

      Michael strolled into the peculiar living room, wearing his flannel
pajamas that were provided by Jenna Kloves.  He found his eighty-year-old
friend sitting on one of her plush sofas, watching a rerun of All in the
Family.  He stood by the door frame, observing for a few seconds, and
then followed up his observation by saying: "Do you get much business?"
      Jenna looked up from the couch at him through her dull gray eyes.
"What's that m'dear?"
      "I mean, does your bakery get much business?"  He settled down on
the couch next to her.  Macy, Dylan and Adam were all relaxing in the
spare room that was also bestowed upon them.  Most likely they were
fighting over what to watch on the television.  Curiosity caused Michael
to stray away from them and talk with Jenna.
      She stared blankly at the television as Edith was bossed around by
Archie, the usual situation.  "It makes a decent income - let's put it
that way.  My husband started it," she smiled as though reflecting back
to the past.  "He used to remind me of Archie, so tough, yet comical, but
he was never bossy.  A very fair man.  They say I was the bossy one," she
added with a wink.  "I know I promised I wouldn't inquire further into
your dilemma, but I'm curious as to how four teenagers came to be in this
type of situation."
      Michael reflected back to the events that ultimately led to their
running away from Queens.  He wondered how much he should tell her.  If
Adam were here he would tell Jenna very little, but Michael wasn't Adam
and he felt that Jenna deserved to know the truth.  After all, she was
taking them in for the night.
      Within moments he was telling Jenna everything.  About Rosa,
Carlos, his Aunt Maude, his drinking habit, "I've been clean for a few
days now," he added at that part, and then he told about Adam's smoking
habit that led to this mess and how Macy and Dylan got dragged along -
and finally he talked about his mother.  When Michael felt like he told a
sufficient amount, he fell silent, and watched as Jenna smiled through
her thin lips.
      "That certainly is a mess," she paused slightly, "you're hair isn't
naturally black, is it?"  Michael shook his head from side to side.  "I
didn't think so.  I would have to guess its natural color is brown."
      "Bingo.  Adam had some whack idea that we should all dye our hair
so that the police wouldn't catch on to us."
      Jenna arched her eyebrows.  "And? Did it work?"
      "For approximately two minutes.  They were on to us quicker than
mice on cheese."
      She cackled and stood up and caressed the calves of her legs with
thoughtful emotion, as if she recognized him as the sources of the moral
law within him.  With woman's well-known aversion from the abstract, she
was concentrating her attention on the television.  Now it would be very
wrong to suppose that Jenna was in the least tainted with socialism,
anarchism, or any such pestilent heresies.  Yet, Michael wondered to what
heresy she did prescribe to that would at least put his mind at ease
about whether or not she would turn them in.
      "I think it might be time to go to bed, huh?" she said, as a
grandfather clock chimed three solid times.  "But I'm glad that we
talked.  I don't reckon you'll ever be back after you leave here, but
someday I would like to hear how your drinking habit is going.  It's a
bad habit and so is Adam's smoking habit.  Then again, who am I to
lecture you guys?"  She continued to smile and patted him on the
shoulder.   Michael stood up and followed her down the darken hallway.
      He sidled into the spare room, biding a goodnight to Mrs. Kloves.
The room was lighted by the glowing television.  He stood for a few
seconds looking around.  There was one large bed - and Dylan and Macy
were already occupying it.  Spread out on the rug below them, jaw
slackened, was Adam.  They were all sleeping soundly.  Somewhere in the
room the heat kicked on.  Michael shut the bedroom door softly.
      He knelt to the ground and situated the blankets on the ground and
the two extra pillows.  Adam woke with a snort as Michael's head hit the
pillow.  "What did you talk to her about?" he asked in a groggy voice.
      "Nothing significant," Michael lied, pulling the blankets up to his
chin.  He felt an unspeakable relief after he closed his eyes.  The
humming of the furnace was peaceful in an uncanny way.  And even though
under the blanket Michael was becoming increasingly stiff for some
reason, he knew he could do nothing about it.  Not at the moment, at
least, especially when Adam was lying a mere two feet away from him.
Michael yawned heavily and turned on his side, closed his eyes, and fell
into a comfortable dream.

Lifted from the soft pit of slumber at noon the next day, he was gazing
up towards the ceiling, with blankets over him.  He opened his eyes, but
could not stir an arm to scratch himself.  Raising his head a few inches
he saw Macy standing in front of the mirror, running a comb through her
damp hair.  Sun streamed in and turned the polished furniture into a
mirror, illuminated Adam who was still lying in a heap on the ground,
snoring heavily.
      Macy caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.  "Good morning,"
she said casually.  She turned sideways in the mirror and attempted to
hold her hair in a bun.  "Did you sleep well?"
      Michael's head fell back heavily onto the pillow.  "I've had better
nights," he said with a heavy sigh.  He heard the rattle of plates and
dishes from the kitchen and a radio playing some sort of oldies music.
      "Mrs. Kloves is preparing breakfast for us," Macy explained.  "She
certainly is a very nice woman, I wish there was something we could do
for her.  You know I was thinking, maybe it wouldn't do much harm if we
stayed for one more day - if Mrs. Kloves allows us.  I don't think I have
enough stamina to head out tonight."
      "We have to head out tonight," Adam called out in a bleary tone.
His eyes were still closed, though he held his hands over them to block
out even more of the streaming sun.
      "But I don't see what the rush is," Macy protested.  "We have
perfectly fine accommodations here and I think if we approach Mrs. Kloves
in a decent manner she would agree," she continued in a matter-of-fact
tone that ultimately bothered Adam.
      "Are you that thick?" he asked, sitting up, looking disgruntled.
"Have you forgotten that the police are on our tail?  Even though we're
in a waste-of-a-town doesn't mean they won't look here.  Once the sun
sets, we're outta here."
      Macy let out a sigh, but did not rebuke his argument.  Instead she
went over to the bed, poked Dylan awake, announcing breakfast.  Dylan's
eyes opened wide, then half closed, and an expression of confusion spread
over his face.  He began to grumble something that Michael didn't catch a
word of, and then he rolled back over.  "No, Dylan," Macy persisted,
having a tug-a-war with the sheets.  "Breakfast is ready, if you want a
decent meal."
      Michael got up and followed Adam to the kitchen, leaving Macy to
unsuccessfully get Dylan out of bed.  Mrs. Kloves was busying herself by
preparing the last of breakfast and making the kitchen extra pristine, if
that was possible.  She heard them arrive.  "There you are, m'dears.
Tell me, did you sleep well?  I understand that that room isn't exactly
fit for four people, but I poked my head in this morning and you seemed
to be doing fine."
      Adam took his place at the table, and yawning said: "I was fine.
I'm not sure about everybody else."  Michael noted that his friend seemed
to be reasonably cheerful this morning, despite the fact that he had just
snapped at Macy.  He was carrying a cherry-disposition.  Not that Michael
was complaining at all.  In fact, seeing Adam grinning caused Michael to
smile even wider.
      After juice and waffles and pastries from Mrs. Kloves bakery, Adam
sat outside on the curb smoking slowly.  Deciding that there wasn't much
else to do, Michael joined him.  He descended down the eerie staircase
and found Adam sitting placidly on the edge of the street, puffing out
smoke towards the clouds.  Cold autumn winds swept around them, but once
the wind would stall the sun would break through and warm the back of
their necks.
      Michael sat down next to Adam noiselessly.  Together they stared
around the town.  It seemed a lot different in the day light; Michael
brought this up, but then felt kind of lame that they were talking about
such a palpable topic.  "So I noticed the change of attitude.  That was
cool, unexpected as well."  He waited for a response from Adam, but when
nothing came he added, "What's the deal?"
      Adam shrugged his broad shoulders and followed up the question
with, "I did a lot of thinking last night.  The past few days - I'm not
sure if noticed - but I haven't been myself."
      "There were some evident signs that helped me draw to the
conclusion.  Let's start with the shooting of the officer."
      "Exactly," Adam remarked, turning to face Michael, squinting
against the sun.  "That's not me.  I don't know who that is.  I've turned
into some kind of freak and placed two of my closest friends and Dylan in
danger.  I feel like I'm caught in some kind of bizarre movie.  You have
all of the components - drama, death, running from authorities, friends,
everything but lust."
      No quite so, Michael thought at his friend's last remark, but did
not say.  There was lust, raging lust that was brewing within him and
Dylan, but was suppressed by the glaring eye of society.  Recently him
and Dylan scarcely make eye contact, let alone sleep together.  They
shared a common interest, and that was their emotions.  Despite the fact
that Michael would give his left arm to fulfill his fantasy with Dylan,
the reality of it was, things like that didn't happen.  The other night,
when they stayed in the motel, he had been so close to Dylan, but reality
slapped both of them in the face and Michael hated it.
      "I don't know," Adam continued, whipping Michael out of his stream
of thoughts.  "Part of me contemplated going back.  I mean we're just a
couple of teenagers or maybe if we don't go back we'll take a bus the
rest of the way or something."
      Michael shook his head.  "No, there is no way we can give up now.
We've been on the news.  We've been hunted by the police.  We've been
through too much and we still have a hefty amount to go."  He gave Adam a
firm, yet playful, punch in the shoulder.  "We'll do this.  There's
nothing back in Queens for us.  Why would we go back?"
      Adam tossed his cigarette out, grinning.  "You crazed fuck," he
laughed.  "Supporting my ideas - you should know better not to do that,
but I have one more idea."
      "Shoot."
      "We'll give Macy and Dylan the opportunity to go home.  The police
already know who the hell we are.  The information Macy and Dylan know
wouldn't be much more help."  He stood up and stretched.  "I have a
feeling from here on out it will be just you and me, buddy."
      Back upstairs Macy was lounging on the flowery settee, while Dylan
showered.  "I think he's drowning himself," Macy said lamely, when she
explained where he was.  "At the same time he is using up all of Mrs.
Kloves water.  No consideration."  Michael craned his neck around and
glanced down the hallway.  He heard the pummeling of water as it poured
out in gallons, splashing along Dylan's body...
      "Well terrific," Adam said, reflecting back on Macy's news.  "Then
we won't have to worry about telling him."
      Macy sat up and clicked off the television.  Looks of varying
attentiveness gleamed in her eyes and across her young face.  "Tell him
what?"  She searched Adam's expression, trying to extract an answer, but
found that he was open to explaining his new idea.
      "We - I decided that you and Dylan no longer have to be my
hostages.  You are free to return home."
      Michael was surprised to see a look of dismay, while at the same
time, eagerness slacken her facial expression.  She pushed her red hair
away from her eyes and glanced upwards at both Michael and Adam.  "Ar-are
you serious?"
      "Dead serious," Adam followed her question up.  "I realize that
it's not me to hold people hostage.  Michael and I are in it until the
end - but that's because we agreed to be."
      The hammering water coming from the shower ended abruptly,
signifying that Adam would soon have to tell the news to Dylan.  Michael
heard the curtains being pushed away and seconds later the bathroom door
squeaked open.  He held his breath as Dylan emerged, a fluffy towel
wrapped around his waist followed by an uprising of steam.  His chiseled
chest still glimmered with remnants of the shower.  A perfect, light,
trail of hair started at his belly-button and disappeared underneath the
towel.
      Dylan paused in the hallway, looking in their direction.  "Oye,
Adam, I'm going to take back those clothes that my grandmother provided
for you," he called out.
      Adam waved away his words, and then signaled for him to come
closer.  Michael sat down, feeling weak at the sight of Dylan approaching
in a towel.  His boldness to not be shy of his perfect body and
automatically more fantasies were conjured up.   "That's fine, you can
have the clothes.  In fact, put them on, and then you and Macy can head
home.  I've decided."
      There were no signs of gratitude paid towards Adam from Dylan.  He
just raised his eye brows.  "You're too kind - letting me have my own
clothes back."  He turned back around and headed towards the bedroom.
"Fucking too late to go back now," Dylan said, not turning around.
"You'll never redeem yourself."  He closed the bedroom door fiercely.
      Adam had hoped for an answer here - for a few words to say that his
conduct was at least intelligible; but they were silent; and, as far as
he could judge, deep in thought.  At last, and tolerably in his usual
tone, he said,
      "He can't say that I never gave him an opportunity, that ass."
      Michael wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be
expected from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession
of his mind, had ever crossed Adam's; and whether his ideas were to be
considered as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance.
      Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings.
Michael watched and decided, that with such feelings as were now shown,
it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily
absenting himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade
of insincere professions.
      "So no one is heading back," Michael pondered aloud.
      Macy leaned back on the settee.  "Looks that way."
      The stairway door clicked open.  Mrs. Kloves came strolling
through.  She was wearing her vibrant, colored apron that was smeared
with powder and she smelt strongly of her bakery.  "Why the long faces,
dearies?" She inquired, mopping the sweat from her brow.  "I have enough
donuts to go around, no need to get dampened spirits."
      "I think it has to do more with this looming prospect of continuing
the trip," Macy spoke up, since Adam and Michael just sat around looking
completely impassive.
      Mrs. Kloves stood by the stove.  She sighed in sympathy with their
ordeal, repeating: "Then why the long faces?" - dipping a tea bag into
the kettle and pouring a thin trickle into the pot, so that she filled it
completely.  "I mean, you made it this far and everyone is still
together.  Even though you may not consider Dylan as your friend - Adam -
I think he is one of yours.  He stayed not because you were holding him
hostage, but because there is a forming friendship, like it or not.  Same
goes with Macy.  They could have left at any given point - while you were
in the shower, while you were sleeping, you see my point.  But they
didn't.  So allowing them to go home now means nothing to them."
      Macy, Michael, and Adam looked round at each other, absorbing her
words, but what they were all ultimately wondering is how she knew about
Adam allowing them to go home.  His idea that was indirectly vetoed.
      As if she read their minds, she finished by saying, "You could say
I have a knack to listen by the door."  The kettle whistled at the top of
its lungs.  "Tea, anybody?"

Saying good-bye to Mrs. Kloves did not give Michael much pleasure.  After
a subdued afternoon spent in her apartment of the bakery, Michael decided
that he would help clean up after closing time and before they left.  She
had constantly expressed her worries about how dirty the bakery will be
tonight, despite the fact that it would be a relatively slow day and
consequently she decided to close early.
      The other three hung back as Michael left to go help clean up.
Macy stated that she would be down later, "because Mrs. Kloves deserves
our help after all she put up with."
      The bakery doors closed behind him.  Mrs. Kloves, who had been
putting boxes away underneath the counter, straightened up, smiling as
usual.  "I hope you understand what you are getting yourself into," she
laughed.  "This place is an absolute mess."
      Michael merely shrugged and fully offered his help.  It was the
first time that he had ever been inside the shop.  He stood at the
entrance, tying on a plain-white apron, while looking around the room.
The front of the bakery was bent in a semi-circle and was decorated in a
50's manner.  A jukebox stood in the corner, presently playing Bob
Seagar's "Old Time Rock and Roll."  He wondered if the jukebox had woken
him up this morning, as he recalled hearing oldies music.
      He clapped his hands together once.  "So, where do I start?"
      "Well, for one thing you could turn that 'Open' sign, to 'Close.'
And then come help me move these large boxes to the back refrigerator.
Can't have them sitting behind the counter all night long and get
spoiled."
      Like an obedient puppy dog, Michael did as he was told, flipping
the sign over and then began hauling the boxes to the back.  He was in
the back, situating the boxes into a neat stack, listening to Mrs. Kloves
hum vividly to the song when he heard the front door open.  At first he
automatically assumed that it was Macy - she did after all, promise to
come down.  But he was taken aback when he heard Mrs. Kloves report
kindly, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm closed for the night.  Bummer,
huh?  But don't worry I'll be open normal hours tomorrow."
      "We came for a different reason," a deep and eerie voice
responded.  "Mine name is Don Rafael, and this is Pedro - we're here on
behalf of Carlos for a," the man paused, but Michael knew the rest of the
sentence and it sent his heart zooming.  He silently placed a box down,
and slipped to the door, looking through the cracks that revealed the
front of the store.  He received a distorted image of two burly looking
men, Carlos's size and ethnicity, standing on the one side of the
counter.
      "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I don't know any Michaels.  Perhaps you have
the wrong location."  Michael raised himself on his toes to see more, but
he felt himself shaking not just out of nervousness, but lack of
stability.
      "Listen, ma'am," Pedro said, sounding incredibly harsh and uncaring
- also Carlos's type.  "Outside sources told us that four teenagers were
last spotted hanging around your place.  The neighbors next-door never
recalled in the past when four teenagers would stay here.  So it doesn't
make sense that they would be here today, this very second."
      Mrs. Kloves shook her head from side-to-side.  Michael felt a rush
of gratitude towards her.  "I'm sorry," she repeated firmly.  "Have a
good night."  She turned around and went to go pick up some dirty dishes
- when Don Rafael swiftly extracted a pistol, pointing it directly at the
back of her head, saying,
      "I don't think you understand.  The information you could share
with us might be sufficient enough to save your life, if it's worth
saving.  Now, let's start over and I'll be the judge."