Hours

25- Thursday, May 17th

9:27PM

"My Dad is drunk right now," Micheal says out of the blue. The song ended just a moment ago, and we were still standing in the middle of his bedroom, hugging. At some point, he had tucked his head into my neck and my head was resting on his shoulder. I could feel him breathing, a shuttering, weak sound. He sounded hurt.

He sounded broken.

"He... has been drunk since I came home from school," Micheal says quietly against my shoulder. "And he got mad at me and so I retreated here..."

"What's going on, Micheal?" I ask quietly.

"I..." He laughed weakly, sounding forced. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this," Micheal pulls away, turns away from me entirely, running his hands through his hair. My earbud fell out when he turned away, and now the white cord hands loosely over his chest, a stark contrast to his dark clothes. I get an idea.

"Here," I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him down, so we're both sitting on the ground. "I- well, I actually read it in a book, but there's this technique that these people do. They sit back to back and say whatever they need to say. I guess it's supposed to alleviate some of the pressure of talking to someone face to face. It seems silly but... maybe there's no harm in giving it a try?" I say, trying to catch Micheal's eye.

"Okay..." He says after a moment. "Yeah, that sounds..." He clears his throat, then turns away from me. I turn so my back is against his, our legs spread out in front of us beside his bed. I lean my head back so it rests on his shoulder. I feel Micheal stiffen before he relaxes again.

"You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to," I whisper, barely more than a breath. I can feel Micheal's hesitation.

"No..." He says after a moment. "I want to tell you. Just... let me say everything before you stop me." I can feel him take a deep breath, then sigh. He begins to speak,

"My Mom died when I was nine..." He starts, "She... it was... cancer. It was just so sudden. We didn't even know," He says breathily, almost like he's trying to laugh through the pain. "Until it was too late. My Dad, he- It broke him. And, you know, we were never a particularly happy family, not close and loving, but... we were a family. He loved her so much. He didn't- neither of us- knew what to do.

"We went different directions. I went to music. She had always taught me to sing along, to try and figure out how this song was played, how that song was played. She taught me piano... She taught me everything. That's her piano there." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the piano that blocks the door. "I had to move it when she died because... of my dad. He kept changing his mind about it. One day he wanted to destroy it, then he wanted to sell it, one day I came home to see him hacking at it with a screwdriver as if that could do anything. That night I moved it in here. I had to keep it safe, it was hers.

"My Dad, on the other hand, fell apart. He kept his only, crappy, factory job, thank God, but somehow he would come home drunk, or leave drunk, or wake up drunk- He always had a bottle in his hand. And then one day, I came home, and I was- I was sad because... well, why wouldn't I be? And I looked to- to him for comfort and... he..." Micheals speech slowly became choppy and emotional. I pressed my back firmly to his if only to let him know I was there. "He threw the bottle at me. Hit me right in the shoulder, right above my heart." I feel his arm move, and assume his hand is going to that spot.

"And then he laughed," Micheal says bitterly. "He laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. And when I went to hide in my room, he shouted after me. I shouldn't have turned around, but I did. I turned around and he actually asked me what's wrong. I decided to ignore that he had just hit me in the shoulder with a beer bottle, and I told him how I was feeling about... about Mom.

"This- this horrible, angry look came over his face, and without a second thought he strode over to me and slapped me across the face. I stood there, shocked, as he grabbed my shoulders and screamed at me, right in my face, to never, ever bring her up. That she was dead.

"He said it was my fault." Micheals voice cracks softly, and I can feel his back shaking as he breathes in and out unevenly. "He said that I was a mistake, that having me killed her, that no one cares about me and that I'd be better off dead-"

"Micheal." I can't help it. I turn around and grab him by the shoulders. I pull him into a tight hug and can feel his tears on my shoulder. "Micheal, listen to me." He looks up at me and I can see that his eyes are red, and his face is red, and the pain and hurt in his eyes shines through as clear as day. "He's wrong. He's so wrong. And, I'm not sure what to say, I don't know what to say, but he's not... that's not..." I flounder for words, but when I look at Micheal again I can see that he's smiling. "I know I'm not the best at this; hell, I don't think I'm the best at anything. But it doesn't matter. He's still wrong. You're the best person I've ever met. I'm sorry I never bothered to talk to you earlier, but I want you to know... I'm here for you."

Micheal looks away, then scrubs his hands over his face. He sighs, leaning back up against his bed.

Something about this night, about what Micheal just told me, about how I got here and the meaning behind all this, something about all of that makes me blurt it out. I don't mean to. It's not even fair for Micheal. I don't mean to say it, but I do. It just... slips out.

"My Mom cheats on my Dad."

Micheal looks at me, confused. Not annoyed, not judgemental, just confused. I look away.

"Sorry," I say quietly, "I'm not trying to outdo you or anything. I just... spoke without thinking." There's a moment of silence, then Micheal says, just as quietly,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I look up at him, then look back down before nodding. Micheal turns away from me, and I take it as a sign to lean against his back. I feel him push his back into mine, just a little bit as if to say, I'm here, don't worry, I'm here.

This time, he rests his head on my shoulder, and I smile a little bit before I begin.