Michael

Michael

         Perkin`s Café and Shoppe had not been so busy since the Fourth of July Carnival and Parade. The crowd tonight came for a different reason. A cold front had come through town late in the afternoon, and everyone was in search of the perfect hot drink to warm themselves up with. All agreed that the best coffee, latte, chai, espresso, cocoa and mulled cider could be found only here. Despite the bright lights that surrounded the room, the café had the appearance of a dim and cozy place due to Karyn's insistence that everything in her 'Shoppe' be made of walnut and darkly stained. No one minded the higher costs that such 'hand-crafted' décor, or so Karyn claimed, inflicted on the prices of the drinks. Every penny spent was well worth it.
         Darren finally managed to find an open table with two chairs in the back corner of the coffee shop. When he had set his cider on the table he began to take his coat off, leaving one hand in a sleeve long enough to unscrew two of the nearby light bulbs - leaving them in the socket, but no longer lighting the area. He wanted it darker just now - and to be alone. His philosophy for being alone stated that 'one should get lost in a crowd.' Perkin`s was just such a place tonight. However, no sooner was he finished putting his coat on the back of the chair, sitting down and blowing on the hot mulled cider then he heard above the noise of the crowd, "KARYN! Two more lights just went out. Oh, never mind, Derrière is here. I'm taking five."
         "Pardon me, people, mah-velous barrista coming through! Excuse me! Pardon...oh, honey I'm so sorry about that. You didn't get burned, did you? No? Good. Then go back to the counter and get yourself a free refill. Tell 'em 'Sugah' said so. You're welcome, sweets. Coming through, people!" Squeezing through one last couple standing and talking near Darren's table, Michael Huffmann stepped out. Dressed all in black - slacks, mock turtleneck and non-skid shoes - he looked like a living shadow. The key word being 'living.'
         "Ugh! Darren. Has anyone told you that you look like death warmed over? 'Cause, child, you do. Why all the 'gloom and doom' tonight?" Michael always could read Darren's mood no matter how well he acted to cover it.
         They had met in college at SUNY-Binghamton, and bonded immediately. He had graduated with a degree in accounting and business a year before Darren, but stuck around to be Darren's roommate and help with expenses. After Darren graduated they went their separate ways for a couple of years. Then, a decade ago, Michael showed up at Darren's brownstone with what looked like everything he owned and asked if there were any houses for immediate rent around the neighborhood.
         "Michael, please, don't start with me tonight," Darren sighed and waved Michael to take the other seat then went on swirling his cider around in the cup without drinking it. "I've just had a strange day is all."
         "Oh. Ooohh." Michael pulled out the chair and sat down, never taking his eyes from his friend's face trying to discern what was really going on. When he could no longer take the silence from Darren he said, "How's Mama True doin'? Is she okay?"
         Darren froze, unable to answer.
         Dropping his flamboyant act, Michael said, "Darren, I don't like it when you're this quiet and you know it. Now talk." He reached out and removed the cup Darren was holding, setting it off to the side to get him to look up. When Darren did, he was not looking at Michael in the eye, but rather focused on the earring Michael wore.
         "Do you believe in ghosts?" Darren finally looked right at Michael when he had gotten the question out.
         "Eh, why do you ask?" A puzzled expression crossed Michael's face before turning to one of horror. "Mama True didn't die...." A few of the customers around them stopped talking and turned toward the two men, concern and confusion showing on their faces.
         "No! No. Nothing like that," Darren waved the sudden spectators off, "but close. Look, I'd rather not talk about it just now. When do you get off tonight?"
         "You know I close up the Shoppe. And with tonight's crowd," Michael swept his hand around indicating the people, "that may be later than usual."
         "Is there any way you could get out early?"
         "No, sorry. Just a minute." Michael stood up then climbed onto the chair. "KARYN!"
         "WHAT?" yelled back a woman's voice.
         "Is Anne or Roger here yet?"
         "Yeah, both. Why?"
         "I'm taking my dinner break now. Just making sure you got things covered."
         "Not a prob! Just don't be late getting back."
         "Gotcha, girlfriend. One hour exactly!"
         "Starting as of when you took five, Sugah. Now get goin'."
         Michael jumped off the chair and said to Darren, "You heard the woman, I'm limited. How 'bout we hit Marcus's Deli. It should be quiet and less crowded there."
         Darren swallowed the last of his now lukewarm cider and stood up to put on his coat. Michael had already started through the crowd announcing his need for clearance by shouting above the noise. "Make way, everyone. Diva and his Ass are coming through." Turning back to Darren he said over the good natured laughter, "Come along, 'Derrière' I can't hold back this tide forever, you know." He grabbed his friend's hand and together they made their way through the crowd and out the door with Darren blushing furiously.


         Once outside, Darren and Michael walked briskly down the street in the cool, dark evening air then cut catty-corner to Marcus's. The deli had a fifties diner feel to it; all in black and white tile with Coca-Cola motifs everywhere you looked. The counter was the only thing that seemed out of place as it was made of a long oak butcher's block. Eight stools lined the right end of it with a space to order to-go foods and a cash register to the left and a flip top, swing door combination for access to the back of the store. Along the two picture windows to either side of the front door were six cramped booths, three to a side. True to Michael's prediction, there were only four other customers there; Craig and Mary Griffin occupied the first booth to the right of the door, and the Hatter brothers had taken the two stools closest to the wall.
         Michael pointed Darren to the end booth to the left and walked up to the counter ringing the little bell for service. When a man came out of the back wiping his hands on a white apron, he said, "Hey there, handsome. I need a veggie-burger all the way with fries and a Josephine. Make that two of each."
         Marcus chuckled. "You'll never stop it, will you? How many times do I have to tell you this is a meat store?" Marcus stood five foot six and appeared to be the same around, though he carried it well. In his late fifties and balding under the paper hat, he and his wife had taken over the deli from his father twenty years earlier and added the small diner portion of the business within five years.
         "And how many times do I have to tell you, you'd do better if it were a meat, ahem, 'market,'" Michael smiled in return. Resignedly he said, "Fine. Two Cheesies, dry, and fries with a Josephine and a Joe."
         "Coming right up," and Marcus headed back to the kitchen calling out the order to the short order cook.
         Darren laughed and shook his head. "You know that second burger is probably going home with you. I already ate tonight. Mwarree made her famous leftovers-and-veggie soup tonight."
         "And you didn't bother to think to bring me any? Darren, I'm hurt." He took the bench seat opposite his friend as Marcus came out the server's gate carrying two cups on saucers.
         "One coffee with creamer, " he said placing it in front of Darren, "and one with creamer and sugar. I'll never understand why you prefer coming here and getting this run of the mill stuff with all those choices over there where you work."
         "That's just it, Dahlin'," Michael replied. "I can't get this 'run of the mill' stuff over there. Sometimes the 'spice of life' is just black pepper and who wants black pepper all the time? That just makes you sneeze. Variety has its time and place. This is neither the place nor the time and that's just the way I like it. Thank you very much."
         They all laughed and Marcus went back to work.
         "Now then, what's all this about ghosts and Mama True almost dying?" Michael had lowered his voice so as to not be overheard by the others in the deli.
         Darren skimmed over the events of the morning: seeing the two women in his house and the conversation with Mwarree. He stopped briefly when Marcus came out with two plates loaded with shoestring fries and cheeseburgers on Kaiser rolls in one hand and packets of ketchup, mustard and mayo in the other. He picked at the fries nibbling on them like a bird as he continued, leaving the burger alone.
         Michael ate thoughtfully as he listened to the tale, but he didn't once interrupt. When Darren had finished and fallen quiet, Michael just stared at him thinking about his answer carefully. Finally, "Wow. That is a strange day. And Mama thinks her time is near?"
         "Yeah."
         "That's gotta be hard to take. I love her as my own Gammy. I can only imagine how you...." He didn't finish. Pushing his plate back, food only half eaten, he remained silent not knowing exactly what to say. Gertrude, he knew, wouldn't say something like that if she didn't believe it.
         Gertrude had taken to Michael and practically adopted him when he moved into town, even letting him move into the guest bedroom until he could find a place of his own. She was thrilled when he started calling her 'Mama True.' You are one honest and real lady, he had told her when she asked why he had chosen to call her that instead of 'Mother Trudy' as the rest of the neighborhood did.
         Michael looked up at Darren to see his own reflection in his friend's eyes. They were both obviously choked up and trying not to cry. "I can talk to Karyn when we get back, if you want, and get the night off. She'd understand. Anne knows how to close up so it wouldn't be a problem."
         "No," Darren barked. "Don't tell her. I don't want the whole neighborhood in an uproar. You know how this place is a rumor mill. By tomorrow morning there'd be funeral wreaths showing up at the front door." He shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just-"
         "Hey, bro, no problem. I'll stay on if you say so. You want me to come over when I get off? I get the feeling you haven't told me everything and I think you need to tell all of it."
         "Yeah. That'd be great. Use the spare key. You remember where it is?"
         "Still under the stoop railing where the missing brick is?"
         "Just be quiet when you come in. Mwarree will probably be asleep then. And you can use your old room if you just want to stay over."
         "Works for me." Michael looked at his watch and saw he only had a couple of minutes before he had to be back. "Holy! I gotta cut out. You mind covering this? I'll get you next time."
         "Sure. And the burgers will be in the fridge when you get there."
         "Darren. Take care of yourself tonight, all right? Try a bath and candlelight if you need to relax. I'll see you around 11:30." He reached across the table and gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze, then got up and left.
         A few minutes later, Marcus came back out and cleared the table. He brought the food back in two Styrofoam containers in a bag. The bill paid and bag in hand, Darren left. He decided to take Michael's advice about the bath and candlelight Perhaps he would even have a glass of White Zinfandel to go with it.


Author's note: A brief description of Gertrude's house may eventually go here. The house is darkened so there's not much to see. Please rate and review with strong concrit and suggestions.
A grandfather clock chimes its half song when Michael comes in indicating the time is exactly 11:30PM that night. A quick visit to the kitchen and.…

~~~11:30 that night

         Glass, bottle and wine opener in hand, Michael began climbing the carpeted wooden stairs to the second floor that was principally set-aside for Darren. One, two, three.... He counted the steps as he went up making sure he did not step on the eighth and eleventh as they might creak too loudly and wake up Mama True. When he reached the landing he looked down the hallway to the left, Darren's rooms. His bedroom door was open and the lights were out. Yet Michael could see some light flickering. "Darren couldn't still be in the tub, could he?" he whispered to himself as he moved down the hall.
         He peered into the bedroom. The four-post bed was still neatly made. The clothes Darren had worn that day were tossed carelessly on the foot of it. The glow of a flickering light came from the bathroom door to the right. Michael moved towards it.
There, in a claw foot tub, Darren still sat with his head tilted back and arms resting on the sides. One hand held a half empty wine glass loosely and an empty bottle lay on the floor. On a cabinet next to the pedestal sink, a portable stereo softly played an Enya CD. A dozen cinnamon scented votive candles scattered around the room, all half burned down, provided the only light.
         Michael sat the glass, wine and opener he brought up on the floor near the empty bottle. He then kneeled at the end of the tub behind Darren and began massaging his shoulders.
         A slight smile began forming on Darren's lips. "I told yo-ou to be quiet coming in. You sounded like a herd of elephants," he said with a slight slur.
         "And the Pope is Jewish, too," Michael retorted. "I'll bet you didn't even know I was here until you heard the glass just now."
         "You know me too well."
         "I wonder about that sometimes." He stopped the massage. Grabbing his glass and bottle, he moved over to sit by the wall opposite the tub so he could look at Darren. "I mean, I was hoping to share a glass or two of this with you when I got in, but it looks as if you've had enough for the both of us already. What's going on?"
         Darren glanced over at his friend, the smile fading. He tried sitting up a bit straighter in the tub without success though he did not go under. "I'm not sure, Mi-i-ke. I didn't think it would affect me so wrong-ly." He looked confused as he considered his word choice briefly, then shrugged and continued. "You were right earlier when you sa-aid I hadn' told you everything about thish morning. Mwarree-ee also said my brother has alwayz been by my side ever since he... he... died. How can that be, Mike, how? I don't want to be hau...haunted."
         Michael flinched inwardly at the nickname. He had never liked the sound of it. He overlooked Darren's use of the hated name for the sake of his friend's drunken state. Instead, he focused on the new subject of conversation. He had known Darren had a twin who died at birth and on occasion he had a sense of being incomplete. But those times were few and far between. If anything, Darren rarely ever gave a second thought to his twin… at least to Michael’s knowledge. This was something new altogether.
         The silence between them started to grow uncomfortable. “Let me ask you something. Do you recall Mama ever saying what his name was? “
         Darren’s eyes crossed slightly as he stopped to think about that. “Davis? I think it was Davis. Yeah, that sounds right.”
         “Well that’s something at any rate. Do you think… do you mind if I refer to him by that, by Davis?”
         “I suppoze sso.”
         “Will you remember who it is I’m talking about?” It was more of a statement than a question. Darren nodded slowly. “Okay, then. What did you not tell me about what happened this morning? And this time I want it all.”
         Darren raised the glass he was holding, looked at the contents then finished it off in one swallow. Re-examining the glass to confirm it really was empty, he set it on the floor. He moved into a forward position with his arms wrapped around his knees. “Az I said, Mwarree first told me about her own twin sister’z death and how she wanted to be her guardian angel - would be her guardian angel, whether God allowed it or not, when she died. Aunt Gwendolynn had ended up doing just that. Mwarree claimed that she - Aunt Gwen - had been her heart and eyez all these years and that was how she always knew when I was around… no matter how quiet I was.
         "Then she went on to s-say that when they weren't around, like at college and such-ch, Davis haz always been around as my...." He couldn't finish the thought. A sudden expression of sheer terror claimed Darren's face. With a lot of splashing and slipping, he turned to confront Michael with a new fear, his speech no longer slurred. "What if... do you think... Michael, if that's true, if Davis was around at college, he would have seen - us! He knows about that night. He-"
         "Do you regret that night?" Michael interrupted with a worried smile and raised eyebrow for Darren.
         "No, I told you that." Darren did not sound too sure of himself at the moment, but Michael just took that to be the wine talking. They had talked about it, rather extensively, over the month following their one-night stand and come to an understanding. One Michael was not entirely thrilled with, but that they both could live with. One that was only part of the reason they could easily be naked around each other and Darren not be worried that anything else would happen. One that had, over the years since, proved the implicit trust the two of them shared.
         "No. I don't regret it," Darren repeated. His slur returned as he continued. "But what if Davis... don't laugh at me, I can already shee it in your eyez.... What if Davis told Aunt Gwen and she told Mwarree?"
         “So what about it? That was, what, fifteen years ago? I think Mama True has had enough time to say something to you about it if it really bothered her. Don't you?" Michael's calm reply, and the humorous smile he flashed Darren, seemed to calm Darren down.
         "Yeah, I guessh you're right."
         "Besides, how many time have we been in," Michael raised two fingers on each hand and bent them in rapid succession, "'a compromising situation' in this house where your Aunt Gwen and Davis both would have seen us. Plus -" Michael stressed as Darren looked as if he might interrupt, "-Mama True ain't no fool. Even though we've never said anything, I'm sure she knows some of the things that we do up here. And more importantly, at the moment, what we don't do. Eh?" Michael had not touched the glass of wine he poured earlier until now. He raised the glass in a silent toast to the lady now asleep on the main floor below, and took a sip.
         Darren reached over the side of the tub and knocked over his own empty glass. "Shi-it," he hiccupped, sending Michael into a fit of hushed giggles. Darren continued to hang there looking like a Raggedy Andy doll carelessly tossed aside, trying desperately to grab his glass to set it upright.
         When Michael finally suppressed the laughter somewhat he said, "It's a good thing you're cut off, Derrière. I don't think you have anything to worry about. As I understand it, guardian angels are not about 'haunting' people, they're about helping." He paused a moment in thought, then, "And while I've not seen Davis, I think I may have seen his hand in your life a time or two at college."
         Darren looked up at his friend with a puzzled expression that slowly changed to one of trying to look through the fog of alcohol and time.
         Without explaining what he meant, Michael stood up and changed the topic. "First things first, though. I'm getting you out of there - for your own safety if nothing else - and into bed." He opened the lower door of the cabinet, pulled out a towel and set it on the corner of the sink. Coming around to where he had first knelt, he reached under Darren's arms and hoisted him into a semi-standing position. He moved to the side of the tub forcing Darren to step over and out of it, then walked him to the toilet and sat him down. He grabbed the towel and tossed it onto Darren's lap with instructions to be thorough in drying himself off. After pulling the plug to drain the tub he stepped into the bedroom and grabbed Darren's robe and pajama bottoms. Darren still had not moved to obey, but sat with a memory-searching look on his face when Michael came back in.
         "Don't make me have to dry you off too. Trust me, you won't like it. I might, but you won't. You'll have to wait until morning to get over the drunk, but you need to stop being so morose now. When I get back you had better be dressed and on the bed, if not in it." He reached down to gather the glasses and wine bottles then turned and walked out of the bathroom.
         "Yesh, papa," Darren said to the empty air.
         Michael went down the hall to the guest room he frequently used and set the glasses and bottles on the bedside table, then turned on the lamp. Soft grays and blues filled the room from the bedding to the wallpaper. It was all just a bit too 'matchy-matchy' for him. Gertrude had told him several times to go ahead and change it to his liking, but he never had. Despite how he felt about the decor, he had always felt comfortable in the room. He walked over to the secretary, pulled out the stool and sat down. On the desk was a statuette of a Celtic cross. Looking at it he gave up a small, silent prayer. "God, I don't know what's going through his head right now. Just help him through the alcohol right now, without throwing up. And let me be able to help him with... whatever he's goin' through. Amen." He sat there for a few more minutes before standing up and walking back to Darren's room.
         When he got there he saw Darren lying on the bed, still nude, but dry, and sound asleep. Michael lightly stepped over to the antique steamer trunk situated between two tall windows. He opened it and pulled out two quilts. Carefully unfolding them, he draped them over the body of his friend. He bent over Darren's head and he kissed him on the forehead whispering, "Sleep well, my prince. May your dreams be quiet." He went back into Darren's bathroom, shut off the stereo and extinguished all but one of the candles, which he used to guide his way back to his own bed for the night.

~~~The next morning
         "You've lost...that lovin' feelin'...Whoa-oo-oa that lovin' feelin'. You've lost that lovin' feelin'. Now it's gone, gone, gone. Whoa-oo-oa-oo-oa…." CRASH!
Michael bolted upright in bed when he heard the music begin blaring. At the sound of something breaking, he threw back the covers and ran naked down the hall to Darren's room. Darren was sitting up in bed with his head cradled onto bent knees, his left arm over the back of his head in a vain attempt to stop the throbbing. The quilts Michael had so carefully placed over him were now just discards barely hanging to the bed, one to either side. Michael glanced around the rest of the room and saw the offending clock radio laying at the foot of the antique steamer trunk, a crack down the plastic facing where the time had once shown; it's cord trailing behind, unplugged from the wall, like a trail of black blood. Michael did all he could to keep from busting out laughing.
         "Mornin', sleepy-head. Rough night?"
         Darren just groaned and raising his left hand, shot his friend the bird. Without lifting his head from its precarious perch he said, "What time did you get in?"
         "Eleven-thirty, just like I said I would."
         "Darren? Is that you? Is everything okay up there?" Gertrude called from the foot of the steps.
         Michael backed into the hallway, the smell of hot, cinnamon apples wafting up the stairs to meet him. He had forgotten to grab the robe hanging on the back of his door so modesty kept him from getting too near the landing of the steps even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see him even if she wasn't blind. He called back down to her, "It's Michael, Mama True. Everything up here is all right. But I think Derrière is just beginning to realize how much of an ass he made of himself last night. He had just a bit too much wine. I'll have him down in a little while."
         "Don't take too long, Sugah. Breakfast is just about ready, pancakes and grits. Oh, and Karyn called. She's coming over to eat with us."
         "Not a problem, Mama. See ya in a couple." Then he heard her step away and head back to the kitchen. As he moved back into Darren's room, he commented, "Gee, I must have sounded like a herd of elephants last night."
         Darren carefully swiveled his head with eyes closed and grinned. He started to laugh but that swiftly turned to moans of discomfort. "She's blind, not deaf, remember."
         "I know that, you silly boy." Michael bounced on the side of the bed as he sat down causing Darren to groan some more then lay back down with his hand trying to hold onto his stomach that suddenly seemed to want to revolt. Suddenly realizing he was fully exposed he reached around clumsily for something to cover himself with. He quit his search when he saw his friend's similar state of undress and instead covered his eyes with the crook of his bent arm.
         "Whatever possessed you to drink that whole bottle of wine last night? Alone? And not a very good one at that," he added under his breath recalling the label. "That is so not like you."
         "Is that what happened? I guess I didn't know what I was doing."
         "Well that's blatantly obvious, Sherlock. I find it hard to believe that your experience yesterday morning put you in such a funk that you had to drink yourself stupid."
         Darren just kept quiet.
         "Fine, be that way. You had better get up and put something on." He smacked Darren on the calf and gave his leg a shake.
         "Yeah, sure."
         Michael stood up and headed back to his room. He came back five minutes later dressed in faded blue jeans, an olive green t-shirt and pink fuzzy house slippers only to find that Darren still had not moved. "Get up, Darren. Mama's expecting us."
         Again Darren just groaned.
         "Do I bounce again, or do I open both curtains letting in the full radiance of the morning sun," Michael started in a sing-song voice then flatly finished, "to fall upon your not-so-brilliant hangover?"
         Darren sat up cautiously trying not to move his spinning head too fast. "Alright. I'm up. Now leave me alone."
         "Nuh-uh, mi amigo. I ain't movin' till you get dressed and we go downstairs."
         Slowly Darren moved to the side of the bed and sat there a moment as he gathered his wit and bearings. He did not move quick enough for Michael's liking, however. Michael strode with purpose across the room and threw open one set of curtains and stepped over the dead alarm clock threatening to do the same to those. Darren finally stood up and hobbled his way into the bathroom.
         When he came back to the bedroom he headed to the armoire. He opened the upper doors and grabbed a pair of ironed jeans, slipped them on. "Going commando?" Michael observed and got a backhanded bird thrown at him for his effort. Michael just grinned. Darren continued searching through all the shirts that were hanging up. After rejecting several possibilities he pulled out a gray sweatshirt that was thinned at the elbows and had the name BINGHAMTON UNIVERSITY emblazoned across the chest in two black, block lettered rows. He held it up for Michael to see. "Remember this?"
         Michael looked up from folding the quilts and exclaimed, "No way! You still have that?" He dropped the quilt he had been working on onto the bed and made his way around to Darren, laughing all the way. Grabbing the shirt from Darren he quickly flipped it inside out. There, in faded permanent marker, the words MICHAEL'S MAIN SQUEEZE directly opposite the college name. "I remember when you wore that into class. You had everyone in an uproar, especially Mr. Hackman. He was so ready to kick your ass out of class."
         "I know. I was so glad when Eric and Meredith and the rest of the crew came in all wearing the same thing and carrying that cake lit up with candles. I don't remember how long we had that planned. I'm just glad that you were such a teacher's pet, or Hackman might have thrown us out."
         "That's got to've been the best birthday surprise I've ever had." They laughed together at the memory.
         "Well, this isn't quite the same, but happy birthday. I'm gonna wear this all day just for you." He took the shirt back from Michael and put it on as it was. He spun around like a model showing off the shirt to the delight of Michael and ended up with his head tossed back, one arm across his chest pointing to the words and the other up in the air like a flamenco dancer. Just as quickly he hunched over holding his head, grinning ruefully. "Oh, I shouldn't have done that."
         Michael just snickered into his hand.
         The doorbell rang just then causing Darren to flinch again.
         "Come on, boys. Breakfast's getting cold and Karyn is here," Gertrude called up again as she went to open the door.
         Michael put his arm around Darren's shoulder and gave him a quick kiss on the temple. "Come along, child. You heard Mama," he said and together they started for the kitchen, recalling that memorable birthday of fourteen years ago.