24&29

Mikey and I were already safely in our room, sprawled on our beds, resting. We were stumbling around St. Dom’s like lost bastards – which, in retrospect, we were – the whole day. My legs were tied and sore. I let the comfort and softness of my bed suck me into a much-wanted deep slumber.

Which was rudely interrupted by some ass who thought that it would be smart to try to pound a hole on the door.

I groaned and rolled over. “Mikey,” I mumbled, eyes still closed. “M-Miikey,” I said louder.

“Hmmf?” he responded. He buried his head under his pillow.

“Doooor,” I garbled, refusing to open my eyes.

“You do it,” he mumbled, rolling over to the other side of the bed.

Incoherent syllables of protest fought its way out of my mouth.

Mikey seemed to understand what my gibberish meant. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, stumbling out of bed. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes. “Uh, how may I help you?” I heard him mumble, yawning.

There was a young man on the other side of the door. He was rather muscular. He had blue eyes and tousled brown hair. “Hi. I’m Kenny. I manage Ledger Block,” he said, smiling widely.

“Okay,” Mikey said flatly. “Goodbye, Kenny.” Mikey was about to close the door, but Kenny held it open.

“I just wanted both of you to know that there’s a section in the student handbook about proper decorum in the dormitory facilities,” Kenny informed Mikey.

“I, uh… okay.” Mikey gave Kenny a tight-lipped smile and closed the door. That boy had a problem with words.

I was awake already and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I stared at the ceiling. “Mikey?”

He was back on his bed now. He grumbled.

I stayed silent. I didn’t want to bother him.

“Yeah?” he said softly.

“Hey, you’re awake!” I said, rolling over and facing him.

He yawned. “Half.”

“Okay. I won’t bother you then.” I looked up at the ceiling again.

“It’s alright,” he lied. He yawned again. “What’s keeping you up?” he asked sleepily. He propped himself up.

“I – nothing. I just can’t sleep. For some reason.”

“You sure nothing’s bothering you?” he asked.

“I’m certain.”

It was silent for a moment, and then Mikey broke it. “Hey, Frank, there’s still a lot I don’t know about you,” he said.

“Well, you can’t expect to know everything about me on the first day.”

Mikey smiled a little. “No, but I can get pretty close.”

I tore my eyes from the ceiling and looked at him and smiled. “Alright, Michael Way.” (I had learned his whole name when he told me a story about how there were three kids in his old school who shared his name.) “What do you want to know about me?”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

I cringed. “I never actually watched a lot. We never had a TV and we didn’t have any money set aside for movies. What’s yours?”

Mikey seemed to think about that for a minute. “I have a lot.”

I nodded. “What’s your favorite color?”

Mikey smiled. “Blue. What’s your favorite book?”

“Anything by Stephen King and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Gotta be Chocolate Cream Chip. What’s your favorite animal?”

“Dogs!” I squealed. “What’s your favorite sport?”

He cringed. “I’m not big on athletics. What’s your favorite cereal?”

“Lucky Charms! I tasted it once when I went to my friend’s house. That was a long time ago, but I can still taste it at the back of my throat.”

He stayed silent and then he chuckled. “You forgot to ask a question, dumbass.”

“Oh yeah.” I laughed. I tried to make my face look thoughtful. “What was your first-ever favorite song?”

Mikey hid his face on the pillow. “You’re going to laugh.”

I giggled. “I won’t.”

“You know that song in Sesame Street…?”

“Oh my God, Mikey.”

“Well, I was a kid! I didn’t know better…”

“And here I was, thinking you were the most awesome person I ever met.”

“Shut up, Frankie. I… I-I was young. I didn’t know better.”

I just chuckled, shaking my head.

“And I am the most awesome person you’ve ever met, fucker,” he said confidently.

I laughed, and then he started with the questions again. “When’s your birthday?”

“Halloween,” I answered with pride.

His eyebrows flew up. “Really?”

“Yeah. When’s yours?”

“Tenth of September. Tenth day of the ninth month.” He smiled at me. “What has been the best place you went to in your entire life?”

I thought about that. “I don’t know. I’m pretty content with New Jersey. What’s your favorite painting?”

He shot me a weird look. “Painting?” he asked.

I nodded. What, he didn’t appreciate art?

He thought about that for a while. “Well, I, uh – hm.” He looked at me apologetically. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen many paintings in my sixteen years of life, and, quite frankly, I don’t think there’s anything that’s so fucking special about Mona Lisa, but my brother – he paints very well.”

The rest of the night – and most of the early morning – was spent asking questions and answering questions, talking and listening, talking and listening.

“What’s your favorite fast food restaurant?” I asked.

The response I got from Mikey was a snore.

“Mikey?” I called softly, just in case he was asleep. I rolled over so I could see him. He was fast asleep: eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. I smiled a little to myself. He reminded me a lot of Jenna sometimes. I let my gaze direct itself to the ceiling again.

“Goodnight, Mikey.”