To All The Michaels I Have Ever Known

Letters #10

It's football season.

It's been football season for about a month, but I was just able to get to a game this weekend. Let me just get this out of the way. You look really good in your football uniform. The shoulder-pads. The jersey, The pants. I was not okay. Okay, now moving on.

I was really tempted to smear your number in black paint on my face, but after much consideration I felt that was a bad idea. I mean, we're friends, and it's cool, but still. Bad idea. My friend and I huddled on the bleachers and we watched your every move, hoping to God that no one could hear what we were talking about. It was fun. You're fun. I wasn't able to stay the whole time, unfortunately, but it gave me the opportunity to message you and ask who won. We talked all night--until like two in the morning. I didn't even think that you were capable of staying up until two in the morning.

I feel like conversations with people that last that long get deep. It's no longer "how was your day?" or "so I had mac 'n cheese for lunch." It becomes "I kicked a dog once" and "I can't do this anymore." I heard all about school and homecoming and how much you've changed. I love that it was a decision. You told me that you were tired of people not knowing you for who you truly are and that you wanted to avoid that persona that you had always put on. You are more of yourself now than you have ever been, I think. My favorite, though, was when I made a joke about how you should listen to me more often, and you said "working on it," and left it at that. You moved on. Just like that. It makes me feel like all of those times that I commented about how you are so much more than you put out, you listened. You took it into account and you tried to make yourself better. And that means so much to me. You could never know how much that means. And I don't think that I could ever tell you.