Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 10 - Part 2

"Because that's all part of it. To have all these ahead-of-the-time opinions, and shout them out in interviews—if you were a man, big fucking deal..." he trailed off, reaching out and performing a masturbatory gesture over the coffee table before continuing. "It was a time when, if you were female, half the people out there—no, more—assumed, before you even opened your mouth, that a man had already said something of greater value. So fucked up. You know what Bette Davis said was her biggest mistake in her marriage? She said it was picking someone who wasn't as smart as she was. Well, I mean, she said it a lot more eloquently than that, but still, can you imagine the courage that took on her part, to put it that way? And at that time?"

I shook my head.

"Sorry," he said. "Just some private interest of mine, I guess."

"It's fine," I said. "I mean, I don't disagree on any particular point."

He just smiled, his eyes unfocused and wandering a bit.

We watched about half the movie before Mikey confirmed that he was too tired to go on. "You can still finish if you want. I'll just fall asleep here."

"Let's go to bed," I suggested. "It's late enough for me."

A blue ceramic mug sat near the edge of his small bathroom vanity, in which he kept his toothbrush. After he'd finished preparing for bed I took his place to find that the one I had opened on my previous stay remained in the mug, next to his.

I washed up, removed my shirt and came to his bedside to find him lying with his eyes open, pillow propped up somewhat against the headboard. His stout, bare shoulders cropped up just above the comforter. I removed my pants unreservedly and climbed into bed next to him. He remained completely still as I did so. I turned to him and asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, just woke up a little as I got ready for bed, I guess. Start thinking about things and then I can't stop."

"I know how that feels," I told him. "Is anything bothering you?"

"Not really. It's sort of a sad night for me. It happens sometimes. I didn't think it would tonight, though. With you here and all."

"You can feel however you want with me here. It doesn't matter."

He nodded and started to speak, but the words hung in his throat. For a time all I could hear was the low whine of a streetlamp at the corner through his vent window. He shifted and said, "When my parents died, I began to feel so many unexpected emotions that eventually nothing surprised me. But there's this one thing that has stuck around, and it still catches me off guard, even now. It's their voices—and I have to say, I never would have expected it to be like this."

"Their voices?"

"Yeah. It's like, I can imagine so clearly either one of them saying all this shit they used to say. The sound of it...it comes to me as if they were alive yesterday. My dad hounding me to keep applying for scholarships. Or my mom telling me to stop paying for my own bus fare. I swear to god, for the rest of my life, I'll always remember exactly what they sounded like."

In these final few words, Mikey's own voice took on an unfamiliar quality, and I glanced over at his face to see that there was now a single, small dewdrop tear, whose thin trail glossed the skin of his cheek.

"Sometimes," he continued, "it's like I start to conjure them up a little, and then I can't stop. It's hard to deal with. Then I wonder, like, if it will always be like this. Like if this one small part of it will always feel so fresh. It'll suck if that's true."

"Mikey," I said. "Can I do anything?"

"It's fine," he said. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too." I paused and then asked, "Would it help to talk about it some more? Can you tell me more about that day? What it was like? But I guess...don't tell me, if you don't want to."