Michael in my Mind

I first saw Michael—as did most people—at the show in September. What I loved about him most was probably how he carried himself. Neither word nor action was excessive, all of it seemed intentional. Of course, you knew that was impossible. No person could carry and spend enough energy to synchronize every facet of their image. It wasn’t a put-on. No, he simply was that way: flawless. 

Everyone at college seemed to thoughtlessly dote through their lives—even the smart ones. They aren’t really smart, you know? Just lucky to have been taught the right skills and things to say at a young enough age so that it stuck. They lack any depth. If you casually observe them for a week, you’ve seen everything. No one had done anything to give me pause. There was no action to which I could not assign motivation nor any introspection to cut through the bores of social performance and make me feel as though I were really before another conscious thing. Michael wasn’t thoughtless; he gave me pause. 

Naturally, after the show ended, the band members went to receive congratulations from their friends. I wanted the flowering of me and Michael to feel organic. Trying to hold his attention after a show where I would be fighting others for the same pleasure seemed one-sided since—following a late-night performance—he’d likely want nothing more than to go to sleep, and our introduction wouldn’t be high on the list of notable things to happen to him that day. Instead, I went to speak with the singer, Ashley. We waltzed through the usual routine—major, year, origin, how do you like it here? —but I couldn’t find any excuse to keep talking to her. Ashley is pretty, she has a deadpan, sarcastic sense of humor that I quickly picked up on and reciprocated in that first interaction, and we were both juniors, so I was a little reckless and asked her out. We’ve been dating for 9 months now. 

It took until November to get a conversation from Michael. The biggest obstacle was his girlfriend, Lauren, an international student from Europe. Ashley told me that they met after being put together for a biology lab their first semester, and they wasted little time moving the bounds of their lab partner affiliation. The problem for me was that they were both so busy—due to Michael’s band and Lauren doing an internship—that their leftover time was often spent together. After I learned the location of Michael’s dorm from Ashley, I took classes off for a week and kept tabs on Michael in order to document his schedule. Our schedules largely overlapped, though I found opportunities to run into him. Unfortunately, he was always talking to someone—be it a student, faculty, or professor. We only exchanged hellos when I met Ashley after band rehearsals. The most satisfying experiences I had were asking Ashley about him, but she became irritated and started a fight with me one night, becoming distant if I mentioned him from then on. The conversation came at a post-show dinner with the band. Ashley and I arrived late. Kenny—the drummer—saw us and, waving his hands and shaking his head, he mouthed: 

“STOP. DON’T. DON’T COME.” 

I glanced at Ashley confused, but she just shrugged and pulled my arm to keep walking. 

“What?” she asked Kenny. 

“We’re fucking with Ethan. Just sit down and be quiet.” They were all squeezed together in a booth too big to fit them all. Michael and Lauren were sat across from each other on the inside. Next to Michael was the bass player, Vincent, with his girlfriend, and then Kenny on the outside with his girlfriend sitting on his lap, though the two of them were mostly in the aisle. On Lauren’s side, there was just Ethan’s girlfriend, who stood up once she saw Ashley and me walking over. Lauren was peering over the top of the booth and watching across the restaurant intently, not breaking her focus even as I slid into the seat next to her. She continued watching while Ashley briefly reintroduced me to everyone, but interrupted Ashley to whisper with excitement: 

“He’s coming!” she fell into her seat and then rose again slowly so as not to be seen, this time with her phone in hand to record, “He’s walking towards it! He’s about to turn the corner!” then, she held up a corner of her coat to stifle laughter, “He’s so confused! He’s looking around!” Only Michael, Ashley, and I were not laughing. “Oh, he sees me! He’s coming! He’s coming over!” Once he turned down our aisle, Ethan snapped at everyone: 

“You’re all fucking assholes.” The booth erupted in laughter. Ethan sat on the outside of the booth and shunned us. They were trying to get Ethan’s attention, but he only responded with the finger. 

“Hey, at least do us a favor since you’re on the end and grab the waitress if you see her walk by. She doesn’t know we’re over here now,” said Vincent. 

“I'll talk to the waitress when everyone agrees to quit fucking with me every fucking day.” It wasn’t a superbly interesting conversation but pleasant, nonetheless. I told Michael that Ashley had mentioned he was majoring in biology. 

“Yup,” he responded, “and so are you.” I asked him what classes he was taking with the intent of finding some way to propose we take a class together next semester, but—to my surprise—he made the suggestion himself almost immediately. We took out our phones to compare schedules and found we could take evolution together. He insisted we take the professor who was his academic advisor and head of the department. We chatted more about school until I was begrudgingly pulled into an argument between Vincent and Kenny about 1000 lions versus a team of Pokémon. Michael’s eyes were glued to his phone for the rest of the night, and—glancing over my shoulder at one point—I discovered he was talking to Lauren.  

Michael was the front man, an unofficial position in their band. He was responsible for organizing the whole group in the beginning, scheduling rehearsals, picking music, and writing arrangements. You could largely attribute the success of the band to him. Ashley used her connections in the residence hall association to get the group gigs and acted as a kind of vice president to Michael, who often consulted her when he was struggling to make decisions. One evening, Ashley was recovering from a cold, and we were watching a movie together in bed when Michael called her and asked her to come to his room. I feigned jealousy asking Ashley if I could come with her. 

“You don’t trust me?” 

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that— what if I get bored, or lonely, or scared...” She tilted her head and looked unamused. 

“I’ll be back in less than five minutes.” She left the room. I waited a couple of seconds before getting out of bed to follow her. By this point, I had already made a habit of checking in on Michael at night when it was easiest to see through his window. Michael’s room was almost ascetic for a college student. Besides the furniture that came with the room, there was only one set of plastic drawers for extra storage, a laundry bin, two guitars on stands, a keyboard, a saxophone, no TV, no computer, and no fridge. 

I saw Michael leaning against his bed staring up at the ceiling when he was startled suddenly and walked to the door to let Ashley in. They began well enough, but Ashley became irritated, probably in part because she was recovering from her cold. Then, even a ways out from the window, I could hear that she was yelling. Michael’s demeanor changed. He appeared to have closed her off entirely. Ashley left, slamming the door behind her. I could see Michael sigh and take a seat at his desk. 

I watched him like that for a while before deciding I should get back to Ashley. Knocking on the door, Ashley answered. 

“Where have you been?” There was frustration in her voice. 

“I went to the bathroom. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“What did Michael want?” 

“Jesus Christ! Are you serious? I don’t know, can I trust you? Because—apparently—you don’t trust me! And it’s always about Michael! If you think something is going on, just say it!” 

“What? Are you being serious?” 

“What reason have I ever given you to not trust me?” 

“Ashley, I do trust you. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression before. I was joking.” 

“Really? Have you been joking the past couple months every time you ask me about Michael? Because if it’s a joke it’s not very funny! I can’t fathom why you could possibly be so interested in what Michael and I are doing when you’re not around.” 

“I don’t only ask about what you and Michael do.” She stared at me frozen for a couple moments and then replied: 

“I think we need a break.” 

“Ashley—please—I swear I love you; I trust you; I’ve been honest with you. I’m being genuine, I swear. I really don’t want to break up.” 

“Why are you always asking about Michael?” I opened my mouth, but I could only hold up my arms to prepare an answer that never came. She scoffed, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and with those words shut the door. There were only three days to midterms, and Ashley had none, so she left early. I texted her every day until the end of winter break. I knew Michael and I were inevitable, but I felt disgusting having to lower myself for such a vapid, ordinary loser simply because she was my closest link to Michael. If we broke up, it had to be as friends otherwise I’d almost certainly have to find some way to pull Michael away from the band. 

I spent much of that break watching Michael through Lauren’s Instagram. I thought about Lauren a lot. For a long time, I cursed her because I viewed her solely as an obstacle until a realization hit me. Lauren was proof that Michael was real. Not the stuff of Michael, but the conscious thing, the Michael I had elucidated from his physicality. If Lauren loved the same Michael as me, then how could I fault her? She selected Michael for his unique character as would I. We were kindred spirits, not rivals. I loved Michael, but—just as you can’t appreciate the good without the bad—Lauren made it possible. 

The first time I saw Michael in-person following break was in our evolution lecture. There was far less opportunity to speak with him than I expected. He had a lecture in a neighboring classroom immediately following evolution and spent the time in between those classes chatting with the professor. I tried showing up early to lecture, but every day of the week he showed up somewhere between one and three minutes late. As my desire for a deeper connection grew, it seemed that the quality of the interactions I received only fell.  

Ashley moved past our fight towards the end of break and from then on, we were steady. The first show the band put on was at the beginning of February. Ethan was replaced by another drummer without comment from the band. He seemed to take it well initially, but after that show, Ashley said he asked to be allowed back. When Michael denied the request, Ethan threatened blackmail. I knew better than to ask Ashley, so I caught Michael by waiting in the hall outside evolution to ask him. 

“Does he really have anything on you?” 

“Well, kind of. It would just be ridiculous to tell everyone about it to hurt me since it harms the other person way more.” Weeks passed without any action taken by Ethan. In that time, Ashley asked me if I would be willing to do an undergraduate research program with Michael over the summer. We would design a research study. Then, with the help of a faculty mentor—Michael wanted to do it with our evolution professor—we would conduct the research and be given an opportunity to publish the results professionally. The program would require us to return to campus for the months of June and July. When I asked her why he didn’t choose anyone else, she said he didn’t want to do it with Lauren, and Ashley had suggested I’d be a good partner. Celebrating on the inside, I said I would think about it and get back to him. Michael was chattier with me from then on, but the conversation strictly pertained to research. I didn’t care. I had two months of just me and Michael to look forward to. 

One night, I went to Ashley’s room to find her in tears. She opened the door, then wrapped her arms around me and buried her head in my chest sobbing. 

“Whoa, you’re okay. What happened?” 

She could hardly answer me, “Everybody hates me!” 

“Why?” 

“Apparently, Michael slept with some girl, and now Lauren’s telling everyone he's in love with me!” 

“Why would he cheat on Lauren?” She became less emotional and pulled away from me. I wanted to gag at the sight of her snot on my shirt. 

“Well, I don’t know. But before the band—last year—Lauren was sleeping with Ethan. He forgave her though.” I was shocked. I thought they were a perfect couple. What was I supposed to make of this? Shock turned to anger. I felt like somebody was playing me. I didn’t know who, but I wanted clarity at any cost. 

“I’m going to talk to him.” She sensed my anger. 

“No, I don’t want you to do anything. It’ll just make it worse, please.” She grabbed my arm, but I pulled away and slammed the door. I could hear her sobbing resume as I stormed off. I knocked repeatedly and called out for Michael, but he didn’t answer. Light was coming from inside the room visible under the door. I left the hallway to check his room from the window, but on my way out I found people gathered in the lobby of the dorm, looking like they’d just seen a ghost. A couple of them told me Michael had just stumbled out of the building looking sick. 

“Did anyone see which way he went?” 

“I think he was going to the parking lot behind the science building.” I ran to the parking lot. As I rounded the corner of the building, I saw a car speed off with Michael making a lame effort to grab it. 

“Michael!” He was unresponsive, merely shifting his gaze from the back of the car to the pavement, then falling to his knees. I ran over to him. 

“Hey, Michael, are you alright?” 

“I’m an idiot.” I put my hand on his back. He wouldn’t look at me. I stood there for a moment thinking of what to say. He had been drinking. 

“No, she’s the idiot. You’re great Michael.” 

“Then why did she leave?” I paused. 

“Was that Lauren?” no response, “Nevermind that, you should really be asking yourself why she would cheat. She’s the idiot Michael.” I got on my knees next to him and grabbed his hand. “I’m confused too, Michael, but that’s because we think too much. Sometimes it’s right to stop thinking and just act.” I put my left hand on his right cheek and turned his head to me. I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Listen to me: fuck them. Fuck them all. They will never understand you. They’re not real. But you, I know you’re real, Michael.” I kissed him for a long time and when I stopped, he wasn’t looking at me. The rest of the world was shut out as I awaited some reply, but he quietly stood up and began to shuffle back towards the dorm. I got up and followed him to the dorm, but once we were inside, he stopped and finally looked at me. 

“It’s okay. I understand. Just leave me alone.” Michael walked away, and those were the last words he spoke to me. 

Over the last weeks of the school year, it was impossible to get Michael alone as he was always with Ethan. Eventually, he and Lauren were back together, Lauren cleared up the damage she’d done to Ashley, and everyone went about their lives as if nothing had happened. I felt blindsided, worthless, cast aside. I cared so much about him, and when I told him, he decided to care so little. More than anything, I felt indignant. I deserved better. I deserved more. 

Our professor went on sabbatical, which was strange for a department head, and the research opportunity left with her. Not that Michael would’ve wanted to do it with me anyway. He never told anyone what I had done, so I was able to continue dating Ashley. If I learned anything about Michael after the whole ordeal, it was involuntary. On one occasion, after school ended, Ashley brought Michael up on the phone. She said she asked Michael for clarity on everything since she felt she deserved to know—having been caught in the crossfire. He wouldn’t tell her who the girl was, but he said he was obsessed with her, and if Lauren found out how obsessed he was, she would in all likelihood leave him because Michael was going to leave Lauren for her, and when Michael told the girl of the extent of his feelings for her, she immediately cut things off with him. Only Ethan knew who it was, and Michael knew he could trust Ethan because Ethan—despite having every incentive—had not broken his confidence before.