Mikey. Mikey is my best friend on all of god's green earth. If there was a ever a more complex relationship between two people, I'd love to hear about it. Mikey dated my sister on and off again for over three years. The first night I met Mikey I was drunk and high and practically naked. My mom was in the middle of interagating the poor bastard. I had just fell out of bed.
"What's up,?" I said. I tried to shake Mikey's hand but I missed on the first attempt. Everything was a blur. After several tries, I finally got a hold of his hand.
"I'm Kathy. I'm Erin and Patrick's brother," is what I was told I said later on. Pathetic!
Anyway, my mother seemed to be suspect of this guy. I was no help. I don't think I even had my pants on.
Mikey and my sister wound up going out that night, afterall. He had her home early. He was very respectable. Responsible. He was...a gentleman. The complete opposite of myself.
I remember going back to bed later on that night and crying myself to sleep. All I could think about was that scared shitless boy/man sitting at my kitchen table trying desperately to defend himself. Mikey was wearing khakis and a short- sleeved, white, oxford shirt, tucked in. His hair was perfectly combed and he was clean shaven. He was the epitome of everything I hated in a human being. Still, I kept crying. It was that look, that look in his eyes that bothered me most of all.
My head felt several sizes too big the next morning. That cold sensation in my stomach shortly followed. I stumbled out of bed and got ready for another 12-14 hour day at work.
I had forgotten about what had transpired only hours before. However, I hadn't forgotten completely.
About two weeks later I went to a show at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. It was the "Fiend Fest." One of my favorite bands, The Misfits, were headlining. It was an all-day event.
When the Misfits finally took the stage, the whole place went ape-shit, including myself.
I was pushing and shoving, screaming the lyrics, and crowd surfing.
Then, the wierdest thing happened. I saw a very familiar face amongst the crowd of punkers.
It looked like the guy who took my sister out just a few weeks before.
"No fucken way," I thought to myself.
But, it was him. He still had on his khakis and oxford shirt even. Still, he was pushing and shoving and screaming just like the rest of us.
I don't know what exactly came over me then, but I began shoving my way through the crowd in order to get near this guy. When I finally got to him I grabbed him hard by his shirt. Mikey turned his head toward me and those eyes of his became as big as saucers. I grabbed him from behind his head and pulled him closer to me to where our foreheads were touching. Mikey grabbed the back of my head and we began screaming the lyrics into one another's faces.
We broke apart and resumed jumping up and down, sreaming at the top of our lungs, and throwing kicks and punches until the show finally ended.
Ever since that night at The Fiend Fest, Mikey and I have been the best of friends. It's so wierd, though. We're night and day. Mikey's straight as an arrow, smart as hell, and he knows just what it is he wants to do on his tour of this earth. I'm lost. I'm running scared.