The Unbreakable W.E.B. pt. 2

III

I still have a scar from the cut I made that day in church, as did Abbie. It's a constant reminder of better times; times we thought would never end. And when I was at the funeral home, desperately trying to keep my composure for Abbie's sake, saying a fond adieu to my brother of eleven years, I could see Mike's hands clasped together (as he lay in his open coffin for all to see) just as they had been many times before in church. And on his left hand, I could see the scar right below his second knuckle. It had faded a little, but I knew it was there, and so did Abbie. More than anything, that's what broke her down and forced her to walk out of the wake early.
After that day when we became brothers to each other and Abbie became our sister, our friendship and love for one another grew stronger by the minute. Each day provided new gifts and adventures for us to wallow in and we ate them up heartily. We spent our days and nights together and never tired of the company we provided each other. And, I guess I should mention that, for the longest time I thought Michael was gay. Not because he carried himself in a certain manner, but because how he rarely ever spoke of girls. I knew that he liked Abbie at one point, but ever since, there had never been any mention or utter of another crush. I figured he turned to the other side; that he was playing for the other team and maybe he didn't have the nerve or courage to tell us. At least, maybe not in front of Abbie. So it was on a day where Abbie was out with her parents, that I brought up the subject while Mike and I were watching the credits to The Simpsons flash on the TV screen. I can still hear his laugh as I asked him flat out if he was gay.
"It's ok if you are," I said, as he laughed harder. "Remember, 'I will never judge you'." That's when I gained further insight into the workings of Michael Bruno and his thoughts on love.
"I like girls, Rick," he started. "But I don't allow myself to fall too deeply for anything or anybody. We've known each other for almost seven years now and you never caught on to that? Even Abbie has seen it. But, then you never were swift in that department. You always needed things to be crystal clear in order to get them. It's ok, though. I see where you're coming from." He laughed and continued. "I guess I just never thought you'd think that." I asked him why he didn't allow himself the simple pleasure of falling in love.
"Because that feeling you have at the beginning fades and you never feel that again for that one person. I would rather feel that every time. That strong infatuation. You never want it to end, but it does. And it's replaced by a much fainter feeling of caring. Lust is a much stronger and passionate feeling than love and even though it may not last as long, it's more enjoyable. Don't get me wrong here, because I can see what you're thinking: 'But what about the love you have for me and Abbie?' Yes, I love you guys both. But that is a different kind of love. It's beyond friendship, it's beyond family and it's much stronger than a love between boyfriend and girlfriend or husband and wife. It's a lust I feel for you guys...and not in that way," he says emphatically with a smile. "The lust I feel is for the bond we have. I lust for that bond and in lusting for it, I know it will never end. Does that make any sense?" And it did. It made perfect sense in the eyes of Mike Bruno and unless you viewed it through those eyes, it wouldn't make sense to you.
"So what about that crush you had on Abbie years ago?" I asked him, endeavoring to look serious but failing miserably.
"You knew about that?"
"Com' on, Mike. I know you. Even back then, I knew you."
"Yeah, I suppose you did."
"Besides, I saw your face drop a little when you saw the way Abbie smiled at me that day on the playground."
"Really? It did?"
"Yup, and I'm sure if you think back, you'll remember why it did."
"Uh huh...yeah. I know."
"So? What about her? She and I are no longer together that way."
"True, but it's different now."
"Don't feel like you have to save me from any heartache by not pursuing her. I would be nothing short of happy for you, Mike."
"No, I know and it's not that at all. I mean, I appreciate you telling me that, but..." His pudgy little face wrinkled in all the same places whenever he was thinking of what to say next. "I don't know, it's different now." And even though he didn't come up with anything concrete enough after his deep, face-wrinkling thought, I understood just what he meant. But, oddly enough, life would surprise him, as it often has a nasty way of doing to us all. Two months later, the conversation we had just had would become nothing but a silly memory; something to reminisce about while you're eating strained peas through a straw one day in the old folk's home, saying in a scratchy, hoarse voice (mouth half full of mashed peas), "Remember when I thought you were gay. And remember when you said that you could never...and Abbie was...and then you said...different, and..."
It was a day like any other for us. Summer was in full bloom. The sun was beating down on our necks, burning our arms and legs. The smell in the air was that of barbecues, ice cream, over-chlorinated pools and cold lemonade. Except, on this day, The Unbreakable W.E.B. decided to take a walk into town where the street blocks were littered with shops and cafes. We had stopped in front of an electronics shop, where Mr. Higgums worked. Nobody in the neighborhood liked the man. His reputation for rudeness and racism, was only succeeded by his foul mouth. It's a wonder his store remained opened. But, I guess in a town the size of ours, you took what you could get. Especially, when the only other electronics store was in the next town over, a good half hour drive away. Abbie was asking me if I was excited to be starting our senior year, when I saw a look on Mike's face that always spelled trouble with a big, fat capital "T". It was the look that said, I'm about to start something here. Get ready to run faster than sound itself. Abbie looked over at him and saw it, too. We smiled at him and waited. Mike turned around towards the big window that displayed all the newest gadgets and where the Yes, We're Open! sign hung on the other side from a string attached to a large suction cup that was barely stuck to the window. Suddenly, he banged on it with open hands. The sound was a mix of small slapping sounds and a low boom as his hands came down repeatedly on the window. It shook, and the hanging open sign bounced off the glass on the other side over and over again, until the suction cup finally gave up and broke free from its glass companion with a pop. The sign bounced one last time against the window, landed on a Sony Discman, and knocked it off its display holder. The CD player came crashing down on top of a small lamp that had been proudly lighting the displays around it. The bulb in the lamp shattered, spraying small sparks up from itself in what seemed like a miniature fireworks display. A small puff of smoke followed the sparks and white, smokey tendrils floated upwards, like ghost fingers.
"What the fuck is going on out here?" screamed Mr. Higgums, as he threw open the front door. "Is it those fucking niggers again? I swear I'll send you back to the trees like the monkeys you are, you fucking coons!" Mike's eyes caught Higgums' and I saw the disgust traded between them. No, Mike wasn't black. But he wasn't American and that was enough for Higgums. "You mother fucking Dago! Get your filthy Italian mobster hands off my store window." Mike stared him down. "Your fucking father is probably head of the mob, right you cocksucking Ginny?"
"And if he was, you'd be dead right now, you racist pig!" Then, without warning, Mr. Higgums darted forward, reaching for him. Mike took off in a blur, Higgums right behind with outstretched arms, clawing at him and screaming for him to get his "calzone eating ass over here". Abbie took off next and I followed. Somewhere along the way, we caught up with Mike and the three of us rounded a corner and stopped to catch our breath. My chest ached with exhaustion. We knew Mike had gone too far this time, but what was done was done. I don't know why she didn't run (like Mike and I did) as soon as Higgums turned the corner, but Abbie's ponytail was now in the clutches of a racist shop owner.
"Come here, you bagel dog Jewish cunt." He pulled her violently by her hair and her neck snapped back. She screamed in pain. I came to an abrupt stop and started to run towards her and I was almost there, when my foot caught a crack in the sidewalk. I went down hard and shattered my kneecap. A white ball of agony took over my leg (and my sense of direction), as the broken bones of my kneecap shifted around under my skin. Just then, I looked up and saw Abbie looking at me in one last glance of desperation, as Higgums turned her around to face him, still clutching her ponytail. He raised his other hand above his head and was about to bring it down on her face, when Mike appeared (out of nowhere, it seemed) before him and grabbed his wrist, stopping it from making contact with Abbie's face. His hand held on to Higgums' wrist, as his other one broke free the grip on her hair. Abbie fell to the ground, sulking. This time, it was Mike's hand that was airborne. It landed right between Mr. Higgums' eyes, crushing the bridge of his nose. A small piece of bone broke through the skin between his eyes and blood poured out, eventually covering his nose and upper lip.
"How does it feel to get thrown down by a Dago?" Mike asked, as Mr. Higgums fell to his knees in pain. He was covering his nose with the hand that was meant for Abbie's face, when he spoke.
"You sunaba bichs. You brode by dose, you puhking sbaggedi slurper!"
"Yeah, how about that? And don't you ever forget that I did. Never forget this moment in your life and how easily you were halted by a 'spaghetti slurper'." Higgums rose clumsily, turned and walked away, but not without turning around and spitting out another "fuck you" to Mike. He turned the corner and was gone. Mike walked over to Abbie, picked her up in his arms and hugged her. He stroked her hair with his hand and whispered shhhh in her ear. I was trying to stand on my good leg, when I saw something I will never forget. There seemed to be a bright, red aura surrounding them; it seemed to be caressing them. As I stood up and hopped over to them, the color faded. But I knew it had been there. I knew that the light was coming from Mike and as best as I can describe it, it was his love for her being released from him and washing over both of them. I put my hand on Abbie's head and told her how sorry I was that I wasn't there for her, and I started to cry. She pulled her face off of Michael's shoulder, wiped her tears and said, "Yes you were, Rick. You were there. You sent Mike to me. I could hear you calling him after you fell."
"Abbie, I never called his name."
"Yes you did. I heard you inside and so did he. So did he." I looked over at Mike. He smiled at me and told me that he did hear me. That if it weren't for my voice he heard pleading for him to come back, he would have kept on running, thinking we were keeping speed behind him the whole time.
"Remember?" he asked, with raised eyebrows. "I will always need you. I will never abandon you and I will always be here." I started crying again, and he held me. Abbie joined us, before we walked her back home.
The next day, Abbie and Mike were going steady. Two years later, they were engaged. And during the first year of their engagement, I'll never forget Mike telling me how I have to "Try this. Nothing compares, Rick. I was wrong...so wrong. What I said years ago was just the ramblings of a younger, stupid kid. One who was afraid of letting go and opening up his mind and heart to something new and longer lasting. I couldn't stay in one place in my heart for too long and that was safe for me because, that way, it could never be broken and hurt. If I constantly moved it around, it never had the chance to be scarred. But it also never had the chance to love. And that day in front of Mr. Higgums window, I think I was pounding out my frustrations more for what I was depriving myself of and less out of anger over some racist snot. I saw, in Abbie, what I wanted since the day I gave up on her when she smiled at you on the playground. I wanted it and I needed it. And now I am so glad I let myself go and left myself open to the risk of pain. But, you know what? That pain never came, Rick. Never."
Shortly after high school graduation, I moved out of our small town and into an apartment only a few towns away. Mike and Abbie lived with her parents for a little over a year before moving into their own apartment only blocks away from where, wrapped in a red blanket, they shared their first hug as lovers that one hot summer day. I visited quite often, constantly being reassured by them that I was not intruding. Fortunate for me, they also got along and welcomed my current girlfriend. Her name was Samantha and I think in another lifetime, she was meant to be a part of our circle. She fit perfectly. She fit until Michael's passing, when we grew apart and Abbie and I grew back together as lovers for a brief moment in time.





IV

The first month that began the last year of Abbie and Michael's engagement, I had lost contact for the first time ever with both of them. Part of me figured it was right; to let them have their life. I wouldn't fade into obscurity, but I would pull back a bit. Besides, I had Samantha, now, also. But something inside me made me pick up the phone towards the end of that first month. It was a phone call that began a drastic change in my life from the person I was to the person I would become.
It was around mid afternoon, and I had just hung up the phone after trying Mike at his and Abbie's place. It was the fourth time throughout the day that I had been greeted by their machine, and I didn't feel like leaving a fourth message. I assumed three was enough. And it was during that last attempt that I became worried that possibly, they were both upset with me for losing contact. In my current nervous state, I picked up the phone and dialed a number I knew oh so well; a number that I had dialed hundreds of times before. I watched my hands fly over the touch tone pad, and felt a brief wave of relief when his mother answered the phone.
"Hello, Mrs. Bruno," I said, eagerly trying to sound calm. "It's Rick." There was a silence coming from the other end, now, and all at once, I felt nauseous. "Hello?"
"Uh huh, I know who it is, Ricky," she said in a sarcastic and defensive tone. My heart dropped when I heard her voice. She sounded angry with me. She had never been angry with me in the ten years I had known her. "So, now you decide to call? When the shit hits the fan and the clock has ticked one two many hours and days away, you finally get a conscience and decide to pick up your phone?" I didn't know what to say. I was completely in the dark as to what was happening and where her exasperation was coming from, and I felt a small pinch of anger towards her for not realizing this. But, I dared not raise my voice to her or throw that in her face.
"What do you mean?" was all I could muster. That's when I heard Mike's voice in the background. He was telling his mom to please be quiet and hand him the phone. I could hear her sigh, and the sound of the telephone cord smacking against the receiver clicked in my ear as she passed the phone to him. It occurred to me that I was shaking a little, as I braced myself. I heard the phone jostle in Mike's hand. He brought it up to his face, cleared his throat and spoke into the mouth piece.
"Hello?" He sounded tired. I did my best not to sound like the nervous wreck that I was. I tried to sound calm, but confused; confusion with a little humorous tone thrown in for good measure. I don't think I fooled even myself when my voice came out of my mouth.
"Hey, It's me. What was that all about?" I asked, with a forced, useless smile.
"Hey Rick. Oh, I don't...don't worry about it. Forget it."
"Ok, well...," I hesitated, thinking I'll let it go for now and ask at a later date. Little did I know, I would soon get my answer. "So, you sound tired. You just wake up?" He chuckled lightly at the question.
"No, no." He coughed.
"Oh, ok. You sick or something?" There was a long silence; so long, that I thought we had lost our connection. And in a way, I guess we had, and I thought, How symbolic. Just like we had lost our connection in the past month, now the phone company was making sure it stayed that way. I was just about to ask if he was still there, when he spoke.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am." There was something in the way he emphasized the word "yeah" and although somewhere inside me I knew something wasn't right, I guess I foolishly dismissed it on purpose, and asked another question.
"What is it, a cold? Hmff, you are forever getting 'em. You'd think you'd be immune by now, after all-"
"No. It's not a cold," he interrupted. A disgusting silence came, again.
"Oh, what, a flu or some sorta stomach virus?"
"No, Rick. I have cancer." And just like that, everything around me seemed to fade out and I found myself in a room, somewhere in my mind; a room where there was nothing but the chair I was sitting in, and a man standing behind me. He was tall (too tall for this room) and he had empty eye sockets, except for one where his eyeball dangled and swung out of, back and forth like a pendulum inside an ancient clock. There seemed to be something in his hand holding his interest. He tossed it inches above his hand and caught it; again, he tossed it and caught it. As he played catch with whatever was in his hand, he walked over...no, floated over to me. As he got closer, the thing in his hand was making a wet, sticky sound every time he caught it, and I became aware of what it was. Hurts, don't it? he asked in a voice that had mixed tones. From where his voice was coming from, I can't say. There appeared to be no mouth on his face. It wasn't until he was directly behind me, hovering over me, that I saw his teeth. He had stopped playing catch with my heart, when he pointed to my chest. I looked and saw nothing but an empty hole. No blood, no bones, no organs...nothing. Wait, Ricky. This is nothing compare to what's in store for you. Wait...wait...wait. His voice trailed off somewhere far away. All this took place in my mind in the split second after Michael delivered his words to me. I came back to him from where I had just been.
"Oh...right! Com' on, Mike. Seriously. What's wrong?" Although I knew he wasn't joking (he had never sounded so serious in his life), I foolishly didn't want to accept it. And I think we have all been there before. He repeated exactly what he had already said.
"I have cancer. Pancreatic cancer, to be precise." His tone was dogmatic, now. I wasn't sure what to return with, but I wasn't going to ask anymore foolish question. I took the truth in. And when I did, I almost retreated back to that empty room, as I would do many times to come. I'm also confident that it was these retreats and my new angry outlook on life, that slowly drove Samantha away. A month later, we were no more.
"Shit, Mike. I am so sorry. H-how? Why? I-I mean, w-when?" My heart was racing fast enough to explode out of my chest.
"How, they don't know. When? About three weeks ago. Actually, about a year ago, I guess. Although I didn't know it then. Remember when I had gone to the doctor's complaining of stomach pains?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Well, they told me it was ulcers and had prescribed nothing but Mylanta and plenty of milk to coat my stomach. That, and to find ways to de-stress my life."
"I've never seen you stressed, Mike."
"Yeah, I know. And that's exactly what I told them. But, I was still sent home with a pamphlet entitled 'A Life Without Stress'."
"Ok?"
"Well, I never bothered with that pamphlet, but I did try the milk and the Mylanta. I figured I should give it a shot. You know, try anything to get better for my sake and for Abbie's." Oh God, I thought. Abbie. I'm going to have to call her. I hope she's dealing with this better than I am.
"I remember you mentioning this a while ago. But what happened?"
"Well, wouldn't you know it, the shit worked. The pain went away and I guess I assumed that the fucking quack was right after all. 'Give him another medal or award for a perfect diagnosis and treatment', you know?" He chuckled. I tried to join him, but couldn't. "But about two months ago, the pains came back and this time, his prescription wasn't doing the trick. I went back to him, and he completely overhauled me; the way, I guess, that he should've the first time I came in bitching about the pain in my stomach. And there it was, Rick. Clear as day, even to someone who can't read a scan. Black spots all over my pancreas. Cancer in its late stage. Cancer that had been having a grand ol' time developing in me for over a year."
"So, you mean to tell me that if a year ago, that fucking doctor had taken the extra step and-"
"Yes, yes. Most likely, I wouldn't be sitting here in my old room telling my blood brother about the disease that festers in me."
"Ok, so when do you go to court? When do you get his medical license taken away? I mean, you are going to sue, right?"
"No, Rick. I'd rather spend my time trying to get better. Wouldn't you?" His question stopped me in my tracks of revenge.
"Well, yeah. I mean, of course, but you can't just-"
"Yeah, I can. It's not worth consuming whatever time I may have left, trying to nail some fucked up quack."
"I know, but-"
"Let it go, Ricky. Just forget it. I need to move on from here. Prepare for whatever comes next."
"Ok. Ok. I know. You're right." I hesitated for a second. "But don't you think that maybe we can-"
"Jesus H. Christ, Rick. You have never been able to leave well enough alone," he said with another chuckle. "But, you know, that's what I love about you, man. Your stubbornness. Your determination. That's something I don't see in me, and I admire you for that. But, this is one thing I need you to forget for the moment and help me get through whatever comes next." I suddenly felt a small weight lifted, as I forgot about the doctor and asked Mike what is next.
"Well," he started. "Chemo. Aggressive treatments. I have my first one scheduled for this Saturday."
"So soon? Well, I guess the sooner the better."
"You bet."
"Mike, how's Abbie taking all this?" He sighed deeply.
"Not well at all. I moved back with my parents for her sake. So she doesn't have to see me like this. She was never one to deal with traumatic experiences with a strong heart. You know that."
"Yeah, I sure do."
"Rick, do me a small favor and give her a call for me. I have to get some rest right now. I'll call you during the coming week after my first treatment, I promise. I'm sorry it won't be sooner, but I know I won't be up for it physically. Just, please, call her. Talk to her. And when you do, tell her I miss her." As I hung up the phone and promised to call and check in on Abbie, those words "my first treatment" echoed in my ears. I couldn't come to terms with it. I felt like I was stuck in some kind of sad story where the main character suffers a great loss or some dramatic passing. Only, this was as real as it was ever going to get. And as I picked up the phone to call Abbie, hands trembling, I cried for my brother...and I cried for me.





V

I never got a hold of Abbie that day (she never returned my calls) and it wasn't until the end of the week, following Mike's first chemo session, that we spoke. She was all apologies for not calling me back sooner and for the way she had been acting and shutting herself out. She informed me that Mike had made it through his first session with only minor bouts of vomiting. She was there during the session and had gone back with him to his parent's house (Abbie had also moved back in with her parents. She said the apartment was just too empty without Michael), where he had agreed to stay from now on so his mom and dad could watch over him; something I don't think he minded at all. As we spoke, we played a quick game of "catch up"; a game that was played with little or no passion; where the players were just going through the motions, unconcerned about the outcome and who the winner would be. She mentioned how she and Mike wanted to come out to visit me during the coming weekend. My heart sunk (the way it does when you're nervous to meet someone after years of being apart, have whisked by or the way it does in sudden apprehension from having to do something you're not looking forward to at all), but I wanted to see them as well.
Michael called me an hour before leaving his parent's house.
"Abbie will be driving, so it may take a little longer to get there, as soon as she finds the gas pedal." We laughed, for the first time, the way we did when we were kids. The downstairs buzzer rang almost an hour after I hung up the phone with Mike. Whatever I had been watching on TV was a blur. My mind was occupied with nervous thoughts. I wasn't sure what to expect and when the buzzer rang, I jumped up from my couch, not knowing what that sound was at first. I pressed the talk button and said "hello?" into the intercom on the kitchen wall. Abbie's voice informed me that they were downstairs. I pressed the button marked door and as I did, I noticed, for the first time that the last letters were faded and it actually read as "do". Do what?, I thought. What am I supposed to do here? What? I was on the verge of breaking down, when the doorbell rang. I took my hand off the button, walked out of the kitchen and into the small hallway that separates the front door from the living room. I fixed my shirt, breathed in deep through my nose and opened the door. Abbie was standing there, with Mike's right arm slung around her neck and over her shoulder.
"He's tired from the walk up the stairs." I thought to myself, It's only one flight, as I looked down the stairs, but I wasn't going to question it at all. It made sense. In his current state, it made sense. What I saw next was not the boy I had grown up with or even the man he had become. Rather, here was a guy whose clothes hung on him the way they hung on their hangers in his closet. Here was a guy who had dropped from two-hundred pounds of bulk to a pathetic one-hundred and forty pounds. Here was a guy who's Italian, olive colored skin had turned a sickly yellow hue; whose eyes had sunken into his skull and developed dark circles around them, like thick slugs; whose hair had all but left his head, save a few tufts in the front.
"It's taking its toll, Abbie," he said, as I directed them to the couch in my living room. I closed the door behind me and silently cursed myself for not helping him over to the couch myself.
As we sat in silence, for what seemed like an eternity, I tried desperately to see the boy I knew more than ten years ago; the boy I grew up with. I tried to see the football player's body somewhere inside this frail figure that sat on my couch (where a year ago, the cushion under him would have almost collapsed around him instead of only producing minor wrinkles in it, as it did now). I tried and I tried, but I couldn't see him. This wasn't Michael Bruno. This was some sort of joke and any minute, Abbie would excuse herself, saying she forgot something in her car, and come running back up to my apartment with Mike behind her; both laughing and screaming, "Gotcha!", and that would be payback for losing contact with them. But that never happened. And as I struggled to see my brother in front of me, I wiped a small tear from my face.
"Please, don't do that," Mike said, with a hollow smile. "I don't have the strength for it right now." Abbie looked up at me, the way Mike had so many years ago when my voice cracked during my introduction, as if to say, So what? You cried. It happens to all of us. Go on. But, I held back. Held it tight.
We talked for hours after that and conjured up old memories and what we were so many years ago. And as the time went by, I started to see Mike again, through his personality. Even in his present body, it flared out and never missed a beat. There he is, I thought. Finally...there he is. I didn't want that moment to ever end. It was like old times and I no longer saw a cancer ridden person in front of me. I saw Mike walking in our old neighborhood; sun beating down on his neck and arms. I saw Mike playing catch with me in the old school playground. I saw him winking at me; telling me it was ok to go on. And I saw him hugging Abbie on a hot summer day, surrounded in a warm, red blanket of a love he had finally released for her.
We saw each other from time to time. And from time to time, he got worse; weaker and more frail looking. He had lost another twenty pounds the second to last time I saw him. He was skinnier than Abbie, who had always somehow maintained an even one-hundred and twenty pounds. Then, there was the last time I saw him, where he looked better, was bumped up another eighty pounds, his skin had returned to its olive color and his hair was growing back. And I remember him saying with a smile the size of Florida, how he had beat it. We all thought he did. There was even a celebration party in honor of his "complete remission", as the doctor put it. It was a small party. Just the three of us. The Unbreakable W.E.B., back together again.
Samantha had called during the party to congratulate him. She and I spoke briefly and made a phone date for the next day. She had said to me that she heard my old self again when we spoke during the party and she missed me. And I knew that I missed her two. Things were falling neatly back into place, and that was fine by me.
It was almost two in the morning the next day, and Sam and I had been talking for hours. It was our turn to play the game of catch up. Only this time, the two players were extremely passionate about the game and its outcome. It was sweet music to my ears to hear her voice again. Life was good. No, it was great. Mike was healthy, he and Abbie were happy and resurrecting their wedding plans and I was about to get my girlfriend back. Life was great. But, as I said, life has a fucked up way of playing a sinister game with your head and turning everything around and upside down on you. And so it did, at exactly 2am, when the call waiting beep went off in my ear.
"You getting another call?" Sam had asked, and I knew what the call was as soon as the second beep came and I saw the time on the clock on my VCR. "Who would be calling you at this hour?"
"Um, Sam, let me call you back, ok?"
"Yeah, sure, I'll be here," she reassured me. "You ok?"
"I'll call you back." And with that, I clicked over to the other call. It was Mike's father. In the eleven years that I knew Mike, his father never called me. That's not to say we didn't talk. But if we did, it was only to ask if Mike was there, when he picked up the phone, and to dispense the usual courteous how-you-doings. His voice was low in my ear, and I knew what he was going to say even before I knew it was him on the phone.
"Please, Mr. Bruno. Please just tell me you're calling to say Mike's in the hospital again. Tell me that the worst news is that he's sick again." I began to cry. "I can handle that. I really can. But don't you tell me anything else, Mr. Bruno. Don't you dare. Don't you for a second tell me ANYTHING ELSE!" I was yelling.
"Ricky? I have to tell you. I need to tell you." I swallowed hard. "Michael passed away a few minutes ago." There was a difficult silence. I thought that right then and there I could easily hang up; dismiss what I heard, and be easier in my mind. The thought passed quickly.
"No. No, he didn't. He's ok. He's gonna be ok, Mr. Bruno. He has to be. Has to." And in that moment, I was standing in church again with Mike and Abbie at either side of me. We were holding hands and saying our own personal prayer. Only, this time, the words were much different and only Mike was speaking. I know you hurt. I don't need you where I'm going and I cannot comfort you from where I am. I have abandoned you and I won't be here anymore. When I looked up, he was gone and Abbie was loosening her grip on me and walking away, with her head down.
"I'm so sorry, Ricky. I know how close you were t-"
"No, I don't think you do, Mr. Bruno." I felt bad for snapping at him, but I don't think I could be blamed for doing so, and it seemed that he understood. There was silence again, broken only by my crying. Seconds later, I composed myself enough to ask him to tell me how it had happened. My mind pictured every sentence he spoke.
He had been watching television with Mrs. Bruno in their bedroom, when Michael had walked in and told his mother that something was wrong. The way he described it was as if something was slipping. That was actually what he had said to his mother when she asked him what was wrong. "Something is slipping, ma." He kneeled on the floor in front of the bed and Mr. Bruno had already run out of the room to grab his car keys. When he came back into the room, Michael and his mother were laying on the bed. She was holding him, running her fingers over the stubble of hair on his head. His breathing was erratic and he squinted, every now and then, in pain. When Mr. Bruno saw his wife look at the car keys in his hand and shake her head, he knew what she meant. There was no time. He joined his wife and son on the bed. Michael told him he loved them both. He had no strength to lift his head from his mother's bosom. They both kissed him and quietly said their goodbyes. And right before Michael Bruno passed away in his mother's arms, he spoke his final words; words I will never forget. "Dad, please call Ricky. Please tell him I will never forget my brother." And with that, he was gone.
I never called Sam back that morning. We spoke that evening, after I woke up from a drunken slumber. I told her what happened and I also told her that right now was not a good time to be in my company. The next time we saw each other was at Michael's funeral. I went with Abbie. The whole ride there, we never spoke a word. It seemed that she had her own empty room to where she had retreated. Seeing Mike laying in his open coffin was something I was not prepared for. And again, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see the boy I once knew. The only thing that was familiar was the scar on his left hand, just below the second knuckle. I later found myself unconsciously rubbing the scar on my own hand. After Abbie saw the scar and ran out the door, I followed her, never giving a thought to Sam (that would be the last time I saw her). We hugged on a sidewalk that strangely resembled the sidewalk where she and Mike had once hugged. However, there was no red glow around us that night. There was only sadness and pity. We went back to my apartment, and with no words exchanged, made love to each other, crying the whole time. When we woke up the next morning, we spoke little of Mike and more of what had happened in my bed. We knew it felt right, but at the same time, it wasn't love. We were not meant to be together this way. But seeing as our bond had been forever severed, we couldn't see ourselves together any other way. We remained close (sexually and, somewhat, mentally) for a few months after that night. And then came the day where she said she was moving far away. Another country, possibly. I can't say for sure. She didn't want to tell anyone. She didn't want anyone knowing where she was. She needed to start over again and put a lot of things behind her. And though I didn't want her to go, what she was doing felt right.
"But, remember, Abbie," I said, as she was preparing to vacate my presence . "Even though you are leaving, I will always need you. I will never abandon you and I will always-"
"No, Ricky. No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"Those were the ramblings of a more innocent time. We were young and foolish, just like the story goes. Nothing is as it was. You need to move on, like I am. Whether you relocate yourself and start fresh or just put it behind you, you need to move on." Those words cut through me like a hot blade slowly sinking into my heart. Then, like Michael, she was gone from my life. Two years later, she was decapitated in a car accident on her way to, apparently, visit me.