The title is complete bullshit. Well, maybe not complete bullshit. But the content that follows is the true story of my life.
I started to see a lot more of Michael. Once, he drove my mom and I to the Golden Gate Park in his sister’s Maroon Toyota Camry. We threw a Frisbee there. It was a very 1986 situation. But I had a sore throat. And that was also very 1986. I used to get a lot of those back then. So later Michael made me this hot tea drink with copious amounts of honey and lemon in it. It tasted great, but it was hot. I hated hot drinks. So I waited for it to reach room temperature, and then drank it.
Sometimes Michael would play checkers with me. I could never beat him. It was horrible.
I saw less of my dad, even though we lived together. He would get home late, and when he was home he spent a lot of time in the garage painting, or teaching, or thinking. But ultimately, it was him who told me the news of what was to happen. He was crying.
“Alright, Son. I don’t know if you realize this but your mom and I will be getting divorced. And you will both move in with that guy, Michael.”
Michael lived in the suburbs of Benicia. The plan was that we would live with him at the beginning of April. But instead, on March 13th my mom and dad got in a major argument. So, Michael came over and helped us move out early. It was a Thursday. And it was a school night.
Up in the hills at our new house, Michael showed me where my room was.
And the next day my alarm clock woke me up at 6:30 in the morning. My mom and Michael were both at work. It was just me there.
I walked downstairs. Everything was so clean and quiet. I poured myself a bowl of mango granola that was sitting on the table. My mom had left it there for me. I can still remember the taste. It was cold and sweet.
Then the doorbell rang and a woman I barely recognized was standing outside. It was one of Michael’s sisters, and she beckoned me to follow. Down the street, she showed me where to take the bus to school.
And on that bus was one of my former classmates from first grade, Gary Deadwiley. He used to live downtown. Maybe his parents got divorced, too. And he still called me “In.”
“Hey, In! What are you doin’ here man?”
“Oh. Hey Gary. Actually, I don’t know.”
“Well here, sit next to my sister! And check this out.”
He covered his ears and screamed in a loud, high-pitched wail.
“Try it, In! Try it!” he said.
I covered my ears and yelled. If I did it loudly enough, I couldn’t hear anything else.
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