Date: Tue, 13 Mar 2007 10:12:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Two

      He changed into khakis and a red polo-shirt, leaving the top three
buttons undone and now stood by the door of the living room looking
around the decaying room.  The wall paper was stained with yellow marks,
the coffee table only stood if there was the English- Spanish dictionary
supporting its one leg, and every once in awhile to get the television
working you had to whack the back.
      That's what Michael found his Aunt Maude doing.  The many rings on
her fingers clunked against the back making a sharp thumping noise.  The
static suddenly turned to Law and Order: CI.
      "Okay, great Maude, you got it," Rosa said from the couch.  She was
dressed in her terry cloth bath robe, curled up with a glass of ice tea.
      Maude straightened up, wiping the dust off of her skirt.  She
caught sight of Michael standing at the doorway.  Rosa craned her neck
around, to see what distracted Maude's attention, but seeing that it was
only Michael she returned back to watch Vincent D'Onofrio and Kathryn
Erbe solve another case.
      "You're allowed to join us," Aunt Maude was saying, settling down
next to Rosa.  "It's a Saturday night and you're still indoors and Carlos
still does not know about last night.  I think that gives us reason to
celebrate."
      There were times when Michael was forced to admit that Aunt Maude
was actually a nice person.  In fact a religious person like herself
could be a real charmer, but she did have her pessimistic tendencies,
especially during moments like last night.
      Taking up on the offer, Michael sauntered over to a lone sofa that
ran perpendicular to theirs.  Although he could tell the moment he sat
down that Rosa was now staring at his scar over the rim of her cup.  She
sipped her ice tea delicately, still keeping her eyes on Michael as
though he would run off any minute.
      He planned to run off tonight, but not any minute.
      Finally Rosa placed her cup down on the coffee table.  "You know
Michael, we should really have that scar looked at.  It's not looking any
better."  Michael didn't bother to say anything.  "You might even need
stitches.  What do you think, Maude?"
      "I say we wait until Monday to tell.  It's too late to contact a
doctor now and Lord knows they shouldn't open their offices on a Sunday."
      Michael despised being the center of discussion, but he could
always count on Carlos to change the subject.  Not because Carlos knew
how much it bothered Michael, it was for the sole reason that Carlos
always thought there were much more important things to talk about.  Once
upon time Carlos considered Michael a son of his, until Michael hit the
adolescent years and learned that Rosa and Carlos weren't his biological
parents.  Now their son, by birth, was eleven year old Joseph.
      And that's exactly what was on Carlos's mind as he came through the
doorway, and relaxed in his easy chair.  Rosa ran the same question by
him about Michael's scar.  Carlos shook his head, "No, the boy gets what
he deserves.  It should teach him a lesson to be more careful next time
he takes out the garbage."  Rosa previously told Carlos a different story
about how Michael got his scar.  The truth would send Carlos foaming at
the mouth and throttling Michael.
      "Well hopefully there won't be a next time," Rosa said, turning to
meet Michael's eyes.
      Carlos failed to pick up on the emphasis of Rosa's statement.  "I
think Joseph might be coming down with a cold," he began an abrupt change
of subject and at the gasps of both Aunt Maude and Rosa, he continued.
"I was helping him with his homework and he couldn't stop coughing.  I
felt his forehead; he's becoming hotter by the minute.  He's in bed now."
      Immediately losing interest, Michael turned his attention back to
the television and had to stifle a laugh.  Vincent D'Onofrio was
interrogating a dumb heavy-weight mobster who looked strikingly similar
to Carlos.

Michael was getting drunk nearly every weekend.  For him the weekend was
a long time, insupportable if sober, for he hated his non-biological,
good for nothing family, and he hated the feeling of being suppressed by
their paranoia of being departed more.  He carried a picture of his real
parents in his back pocket to help him overcome any feelings of
depression.  Alcohol and the picture are his escapes.  His tickets to
freedom and tranquility.
      The sun was well nestled behind the western horizon before he
slipped on his tennis shoes and noiselessly crept through the dark
apartment.  He paused briefly in the kitchen, listening intently for any
sound of movement from either of the bedrooms.  His heart was beating
slightly, but he swallowed over his nervousness and without looking back
he tossed open the kitchen window and like a predator, so agile and
quick, he vaulted over the windowsill.  His feet landed softly on the
fire escape.
      The clear, blue, burning day had ended, and the night was
pitch-black and filled with jostling clouds.  Hands in pockets, whistling
an old tune, Michael strolled down the sidewalks of Queens, leaving the
apartment building far behind, both physically and mentally.
      Standing on the corner of 76th Road and 137th Street, dragging on
his cigarette pensively, was Michael's closest friend, Adam Klein.  Adam
was the only one who knew the truth about Michael's family.  On a number
of occasions Michael used Adam's home as escape from his own.  The two
friends were about the same height, same thinness, and comparable
personalities.  All these factors and a few others helped to contribute
to their friendship.
      Adam tossed out his cigarette when he spotted Michael.  "All right,
you did get out."
      Michael nodded.  "Alive," he added, and smiled briefly.
      "You really did take a beating from those stairs," Adam said,
observing Michael's scar.  "You should have just come back to my place.
My parents enjoy overdosing on night quill; a bulldozer couldn't wake
them up."
      "I'll have to keep that in mind.  Yeah, I really mashed myself on
those stairs, but you should get a load of how they look."  Michael
winked.  "I only told you half the story, though."  He plunged into the
story about the post-party after he had lost Adam somewhere in the
crowd.  For one reason or another he left out the part about Dylan.
      Before either of them knew it, their conversation carried them to
the entrance of a desecrated home that was presently vivid with life.
The vibration of pounding music crawled up Michael's skin as they knocked
on the door and then stepped inside.  The door closed behind them.  They
began to push their way through the mob of people that infested the
living room.  A lot of people Michael and Adam noticed from their senior
class.  People waved in their general direction and almost immediately a
beer was thrust into their hands.
      As Michael began to slip slowly, his eyes scanned the many familiar
faces.  Adam was talking quickly to Macy Danish.  Michael knew Adam had
some affection for Macy, but so did a lot of guys.  Yet, Macy found
Adam's avid gestures and exploding way of talking, cute.  She giggled and
moved in closer to him.
      Checking over his shoulder to make sure that Adam was still
preoccupied with Macy, Michael disappeared into the dancing crowd.  In
more ways than just one he was on a mission.  The bottle was being held
tightly in his grasp as he maneuvered around the room, and nearly
colliding with an already drunken kid, Michael did a quick side step.
But the room was so crowded that moving to the left only sent him
crashing into someone else.
      Startled and slightly disoriented, Michael spun around and found
him face to face with Dylan.  For a few seconds everyone around them
seemed to vanish quickly.  Blood was thudding in his ears as he was lost
in Dylan's deep brown eyes.  And though it must have only been a few
seconds, it felt like a few hours that Dylan and Michael stood there,
before Michael apologized and quickly walked away.
      They were both still sober.  Last time they had been completely
plastered before any "magic" took place.  When they were both in a sober
state, nothing was going to happen and Michael had a feeling that Dylan
comprehends it.  Although, Michael couldn't help but to wonder if
anything would happen tonight.  Last night had he just been lucky?  Was
it a once in a life time experience?
      He watched from across the room as Dylan was surrounded by a group
of hyper-active cheerleaders.  The fact of the matter was, Dylan could
have any one of those girls drop their skirts in the middle of the room
just by looking at them.  He had that sexual power that sent everyone's
heart aflame.  Or at least that's how Michael felt as he surrendered to
downing his bottle of beer.
      Adam emerged from the crowd, pulling an already drunk Macy along
with him.  They were both laughing uncontrollably.  In one hand Adam was
carrying two, ice cold bottles.  He tossed one to Michael.  "Let loose
man," he told Michael, giving him an awkward punch on the shoulder.  "I
decided tonight you'll just crash at my place and we'll drive a fucking
bulldozer just to prove my parents will sleep through anything."
      They both laughed.
      Within a couple of hours Michael began to feel the familiar sober
feeling succumbed to the equally as familiar feeling of being elated and
slightly dizzy.  The dull lights were too bright, like giant magnets
inflating his head to several times its size, burning his eyes into a
squint so that he was hardly able to see.  All he could use was his
senses of touch and hearing.  The bodies of the crowded room dancing up
against each other, the sound of his laughter as well as Adam's while
they consumed another pint of beer.
      He was hanging on the shoulder of one of his classmates.  They were
laughing about something, but whatever it was probably would not be
remembered the next morning.  Adam had been right in saying that he
needed to loosen up.  Flashes of Rosa, Carlos, Joseph, and Aunt Maude
appeared in the back of his head.  For each person he did a shot of
tequila and in a snap of a finger their mental images were wiped clear.
      "I wish I could forget them when I'm normal," Michael told Macy.
They were leaning up against a table watching absentmindedly as Adam
staggered off to the bathroom.
      Macy turned to face him, her eyes heavy with sleep.  "Normal?"
      He gestured to the bottle he was holding.  "Not drinking this.  You
know, normal.  Leading a normal life.  Being a normal person.  I've only
told Adam about this before.  You should feel special."  He smiled weakly
at Macy and then let out a laugh as she hiccupped.
      "Your family is living illegally in the country?" She asked,
draining her beer and then placing the bottle off to the side.
      "My non-normal family." He fished in his back pocket and retrieved
the photo of his biological parents.  "Those are my parents.  I've never
met them."  Macy took the picture, studied with unfocused eyes and then
handed it back.
      "You look nothing like them.  You're not even Hispanic!" she shook
her head, and gave Michael a firm pat on the shoulder.  "Lo siento," she
hiccupped and joined in laughing with Michael.

The night wore on.  Michael would sometimes search high and low for
Dylan, yet he was never successful.  He could barely figure out what foot
to move next as he danced around to Fergie.  And for the most part, when
it got even later, he had almost forgotten about Dylan.  That had been
his main mission on arrival, but it seemed that fate was separating
them.
      It wasn't until the crowd parted partially.  Michael looked up.
There lying on his back on a couch, shirt off, was Dylan.  A girl was
doing body shots off of his abs.  His small teenage pecs and quarter
sized nipples forced Michael to focus his eyes and in the last moment
before the crowd closed back around him, he spotted Dylan tilting his
head in Michael's general direction and smiling, revealing perfectly
white teeth.
      Feeling aroused, Michael excused himself from the group of his
friends and headed towards the bathroom, but before he even got close to
the door, something or someone snagged his hand and before he knew it he
was being propelled forward, away from the crowd.
      That's when Michael noticed the bare, tan back of Dylan right in
front of him.  His eyes followed down Dylan's arm and saw that their
hands were linked.  He followed, loving him on every second stair, loins
aching for his athletic, strong teenage body.
      Upstairs was deserted.  There were a few stragglers, but they were
heading back down stairs and didn't even notice Michael and Dylan nearly
rushing down the hallway, heading for an empty room at the end.
      Michael's head was spinning, not only from all the alcohol, but a
sense of sexual energy was coursing through his body.  Holding hands with
such a person made him want to cry with joy, but all the while he was
trying to savor every single second.
      Being drunk made him reckless, but Dylan's sharp appearance and
capability to carry himself even when he was plastered, put Michael back
on his guard.
      The evening had begun, and the evening was about to end.  Once they
were in the room, Dylan flicked on the lights, shut the door quickly
behind them and locked it.  Michael looked around the room.  They were in
someone's bedroom that was stripped of life.  Only the two of them were
there, laughing at nothing.  Just feeling overwhelmed with this elated
feeling.
      Dylan stripped to his underwear.  Red boxer briefs.  He bounded
onto the bed, smiling back at Michael and laying there waiting for him.
Never had an evening begun so badly and ended so well, Michael reflected,
pulling off his shirt.