Michael's Story

My first true love was violently snatched away but even death wasn't enough to keep him away.

Because this story involves other people, I’ve changed the names and mentioned locations out of courtesy to those involved. This story is rather personal. Even now, so many years later, my eyes still get a little misty when I think back on all this sometimes. The backstory is critical to fully understanding the meaning of the events so please bear with me. Here goes...

When I was 14, I met a boy named Michael. He was my first love almost instantly. We really didn't get to spend much time together as he went to a different school than I and had only met through connections. At home, I was pretty much kept prisoner from the outside world by an extremely overprotective father, and as such, my interactions with Michael were mostly over the phone or the rare encounter at a friend's house. I had to go through the third degree just to spend the night at my best friend’s house (that I’d known since I was 7 and whose father was a police officer), so I knew there was no way in hell my dad was going to let me have a boyfriend or even do simple things like go to a movie. I wasn’t even allowed to keep the door to my bedroom closed- loosely enforced sometimes but often enough my door would be opened with a stern look on the other side.

Michael and I, at this point, had never confessed our feelings let alone shared a kiss. I was happy enough to admire him silently from afar and blossom with excitement when we were able to actually talk to one another. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, every negative in my world melted away and I felt happy. I felt relief. I could be myself and breathe. Things being the way they were with my home life, we had been carrying on this way for quite sometime when it finally came to light that we had feelings for each other. Apparently, our friends were good intentioned blabber mouths. I was told when he found out, he jumped around the room, arms to the ceiling, yelling, "My ship's come in! My ship's come in!" That part still makes me smile and chuckle...I mean really, who says that? Anyway, for me, it gave back some of the warmth my life had been missing for so long.

One of the few times we spent alone together, he wanted me to teach him how to play Better Man by Pearl Jam on the guitar. It was his favorite song. Happily I obliged and relished the shared interest in music and playing songs we loved. We played, sang, laughed, and talked about the possible meanings of the song. He always sang the wrong lyrics near the end, changing ‘She feeds him’ to ‘She needs him’, insisting it was a sweet love song, and wouldn’t have it any other way. We joked about this often in later conversations, calling it our first fight (even though it was just a lot of kidding and laughing), and always smiled at each other as we sang along together. -Lyrics posted at the end of story-

A few weeks after that, with no progression in our relationship other than increased talking mind you, he and our mutual friend, Jason, were going on an extended weekend trip with Jason's parents to Florida. Michael was British and was always wanting to see more of the USA after moving here about 4 years before. So, he called me before they were going to chit chat and had just for the first time said he loved me. Before I had the chance to reply, Jason showed up at his house and Michael had to go. He just said it, we were interrupted, and then he said "I will call you after we get there, but I have to go. Ta."

I hadn’t heard from them yet, but they got there at some point. After settling in, he and Jason walked to the convenience store from the hotel room. Michael had bought me a souvenir cup with my name on it. I am sure he was looking forward to giving it to me and was having a good time. As they were walking back, a man stepped in front of them from a side street. They were being mugged. The gun was pointed and discharged at Jason but Michael had jumped in front of him at just the right- or wrong- moment. Michael took a bullet to the chest in Jason’s place. The man ran off without taking anything other than Michael’s life. Maybe he was shocked at what he had done and panicked. I don’t know. But it took a long time for Jason to emotionally recover...and I fell even more in love with Michael for his selfless act. How could I not?

As you can imagine I was absolutely devastated. I never got the chance to tell him how strongly I felt about him, or what he meant to me, the joy he brought to my life... Just a few more seconds on the phone would've been long enough to say those three words back, to at least say that much. It tormented me. He was the brightest of only a few breaks in the clouds that was my life at that time. It was as if the sun was stolen and there was no light left in the heavens. I sank into a deep depression lasting over two years. Making it worse, I had to keep all of it a secret from my Dad and my seriously wicked stepmother as exposure would only lead to ridicule, rejection, and an ultimate dismissal of the worthiness of my grief. I couldn’t take that. I would’ve broken. Only in the darkness of my room at night could I weep and had to pull every ounce of strength left within me to put a fake smile on my face everywhere else in my home. I couldn't find comfort with my friends because I was the one they counted on for strength. I was the one they cried to. I was so alone.

So where’s the ghost story in all this? I get it, I get it! :) Here goes...

Later that month, I was carrying a basket of laundry downstairs to wash, when I saw Michael, out of the corner of my eye, coming from the kitchen, rounding the couch and walking into the living room holding what looked like a sandwich. I dropped the basket in startled disbelief and ran upstairs to my room before anyone could see me. As I sat with my back against the door, crumbling into a crying, confused, teenage mess, I thought about how Michael had never been to my house. I didn’t understand. Why would he be walking into my living room with a sandwich? Why a sandwich?? It didn’t make any sense no matter which way I looked at it. The only drugs I had ever taken were ibuprofen and acetaminophen as directed, so that definitely wasn’t a factor. I thought perhaps I was having some kind of stress induced hallucination.

A few weeks went by and I hadn't seen him again. I was carrying on with school, homework, household chores, and the continuous facade that life was grand when in the presence of my family. I wasn't sleeping much and when I did, it was tortured- eventually getting to the point where I was afraid to fall asleep. One weekend morning, I awoke...my sleepy eyes going to the little pieces of dust floating through the morning sun streaming from the mini blinds. It was beautiful. I felt better than I had been feeling. I smiled a little for the first time in a good while, watching the lazily dancing dust and I remember thinking, ‘wow, I’m smiling’. It was then I noticed someone at the foot of my bed. There sat Michael, smiling at me in the soft filtered sunlight. I watched the warm bands of dust peppered light mingling through him. It was as if he were part of them. He slowly vanished over the next few moments and the room returned to the gentle morning stillness and quietness my pounding heart had chased away. I wasn’t afraid but in awe of what had just been before me. Yet again, wondering if it was a hallucination. Nothing happened again for quite some time.

It was December 20-something and school was out for the Christmas break. Late in the evening, I was upstairs at my desk drawing like usual, when I realized I was thirsty. My family was all in the living room downstairs watching David Letterman, my dad nodding off like he did all the time. Descending the stairs, I quickly and quietly walked past them to the kitchen (as it was always a hassle if they ever spoke to me) and got a glass of water. ‘Retreat and retreat as covertly as possible’, I thought. Making it to the foot of the stairs unscathed, I paused for a moment as I heard music. I was confused as I didn't have a radio on. It was definitely music and not David Letterman on the TV ten feet to my left. There was music coming from the stairway ahead of me. I had just walked past all of my family members and was only gone from my room for maybe 2 minutes. I glanced back at my family, knowing that the kitchen has full view of the living room. I knew no one got up. More confused, I started up the stairs. Reaching the hallway at the top, I discovered the music was definitely coming from the room at the end. Mine. My confusion was turning into nervousness.

I went down the hall and upon opening the door to my room, I was greeted by a song I’ve heard hundreds of times. I recognized what my alarm clock was playing instantly. It was Better Man by Pearl Jam, being played on the rock station’s year end countdown. He used to sing it often. We used to sing it often. Sinking to the edge of my bed, I sat there and listened:

‘Tell him, take no more, she practices her speech…’

As I listened, I thought about how I had wanted to defy my father, how unfair I felt it was when I was such a good girl, how I searched for the courage to one day stand up to him to see Michael anyway, and how I had practiced telling Michael I loved him too in hopes of saying it back when he called.

‘As he opens the door, she rolls over...

Pretends to sleep as he looks her over…’

Thought about how I just wanted to be able to close my door without fear, about all the nights I couldn’t sleep- ‘pretending’ to be- just lying there quiet so I wouldn’t get in trouble for being up... the image of Michael sitting at the foot of my bed smiling, watching me sleep and wake up that one morning.

‘She dreams in color, she dreams in red…’

I thought about my nightmares and how the violence of them would rip away what little peace I ought to be able to have.

‘Talkin' to herself, there's no one else who needs to know...

She tells herself, oh...

Memories back when she was bold and strong

And waiting for the world to come along…’

I thought about how I had to keep everything a secret and lie about being ok, about how many times I had called out his name with swollen eyes and a tear stained face alone in my room, about how I wondered when I would ever get my strength back and be myself again.

‘Swears she knew it, now she swears he's gone’

How I would wish the sadness would end, about the loss of such a wonderful person, and how I had felt overwhelming despair at same moment he was pronounced dead. 11:14. I already knew when the phone rang....

‘She loved him, yeah... she don't want to leave this way

She feeds him, yeah... that's why she'll be back again’

I remembered teaching him how to play it on the guitar, thinking back to our first fight. “She loved him...” ‘That’s right’, I thought, ‘I did’...

It was an unrelenting barrage of lyric induced flashbacks of everything I had gone through.

When it finished and with bleary eyes, I tried everything imaginable to figure out why my alarm clock suddenly started playing. And that song of all songs. A rational explanation. I wanted a rational explanation. The alternative was still too painful to bear and I wanted it to be a malfunction. It had a simple switch on top with 3 positions- Alarm/Off/On. With shaking hands, I picked it up. The switch was all the way over in the 'On' position. The alarm was set for 7:05 AM, which was when I used to get up for school. It hadn’t gone off in over a week; in fact, I hadn’t touched the thing at all since we were on holiday vacation. I used my stereo for listening to music. For a test, I set it to go off at the turn of next minute to see if the switch would jump over from 'Alarm' to 'On'. I held my breath and waited those very long seconds. When it went off, I jumped; it didn't.

That was the last time anything ever happened in relation to Michael. Sometimes I wonder if it really was him saying goodbye, that he had seen what I had been going through... letting me know he understood and that I wasn’t alone in my suffering. Or maybe he was trying to tell me he knew I loved him. The many years have gone by and I don’t think about it as much as I used to. Honestly, I still don’t know what to make of all of it. I guess it’s true that time helps heal wounds... I do, however, still buy a rose every year, let it bask in the morning sun on a windowsill, and honor the the day he died a hero.

Betterman by Pearl Jam

Waitin', watchin' the clock, it's four o'clock, it's got to stop

Tell him, take no more, she practices her speech

As he opens the door, she rolls over...

Pretends to sleep as he looks her over

She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man...

She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can't find a better man...

Can't find a better man

Ohh...

Talkin' to herself, there's no one else who needs to know...

She tells herself, oh...

Memories back when she was bold and strong