Micky and I led Peter upstairs, half carrying him, half leading him. When we were upstairs, he was asleep. As I was tucking him in to bed, I noticed the phone ringing. I looked at Micky expectantly, but he was too surprised to even notice the phone ringing. So I left the room and ran downstairs. Then I picked up the phone.
"'Ello?" I asked, trying hard to control my temper.
"Davy?" I heard a voice on the other end. Mike, I recognized immediately.
"Mike?" I asked.
"I-I-I, is, is Peter there? Or Micky?" he asked, sounding rather sheepish.
"Um, yeah, hold on a second," I said. I turned and yelled up the stairs to Micky.
A moment later, Micky came down stairs. "Hello?" he asked. When he realized who it was, I watched his face immediately cloud to anger. "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TALKING TO ME!" he yelled loudly. I was jolted aback. I hadn't expected him to yell that loud. "DAVY'S FINE, NO THANKS TO YOU. BUT NOW........but now it's Peter," he said, and I wondered if Micky was not heading towards the same direction Peter was heading. He teetered close to sobs. I wanted to do something, but Micky waved me off. "Yeah," he said into the phone. "He just sort of collapsed and started crying." Then it was Micky's turn to hold the phone arm's length away from this ear. I couldn't understand what Mike was saying, but to Micky it was clear as a bell. He pulled the phone back to his ear. "Mike?" he asked. There was no response. Micky hung up the phone. I looked at him expectantly.
"He's coming home," Micky said uneventfully. I blinked.
"Home?"
"He feels really responsible, for you and Peter," Micky said, trying to avoid the subject.
"For me?" I asked, not getting it. "But why?" Micky shrugged. "Micky I know you're hiding something from me. What is it?" But Micky remained stubbornly silent. I decided I'd just have to ask Mike.
Mike came home the following day. Actually, the following morning. Micky and I were still asleep. Since we didn't want to disturb Peter, we slept in the living room. Mike burst in the front door at six-fifteen in the morning. Micky and I were so exhausted that we didn't even know that he was there. He came in the front door and looked around. Then he slammed the door behind him, loudly, so as to get our attention.
In the wake of the door slam, Micky and I were awakened with a start. Micky jumped out of bed and then pulled the blanket back over his head.
"It's a bomb. I knew it. They've started to bomb us," he wailed, overreacting as usual. I looked up and saw Mike standing in the doorway. I pulled on the leg of Micky's pajamas.
"Micky, it's not a bomb," I said. He looked down at me and pulled the blanket off his head part way.
"It's not?" he asked. I shook my head.
"No. Just Mike," I said, solemnly. Micky took the blanket off of his head and looked toward the door.
"Mike, huh?" he asked. "Well, you've got a lotta nerve, showing up around here after what you did to them!" he shouted, gesturing wildly at me and then at the stairs, towards, I supposed, Peter. He turned around and walked out the back door, slamming it just as loudly as Mike had slammed the front door. I winced, and Mike did the same. His face carefully neutral, he looked at the back door and then at me, wondering what to say.
"Peter's upstairs," I said simply, knowing he'd want to see him. "I'm going to go make breakfast." I stood up and went into the kitchen. Mike stood there for a second, thinking, and then started slowly climbing the spiral staircase up to the bedroom.
Despite it being so early, I went into the kitchen and started to make breakfast. I fried some eggs, sunny side up, since I wasn't very into putting forth any effort, and then went to look for Micky, leaving the eggs on the table. I went out the back door.
Micky was sitting in the sand a few feet away from the water. I looked at him for a few seconds, debating what to do, and then went over to him. "Micky?" I asked. He didn't respond. "I made breakfast."
"I'm not hungry," he mumbled. I looked at him in shock. These are three words that I'd never expected him to say. I sat down next to him. He must have really been upset if he wasn't hungry.
"Micky, what's the matter?" I asked, concerned. Micky stared at the ground and then at the ocean. Then he looked at me, squinting.
"I don't know," he said. "I guess I'm just a little annoyed."
"A little?" I asked, then stopped myself. "But why?"
"I'm just mad at Mike. I mean, he deserted us. He deserted you. And Peter." I looked at him, confused, but he didn't notice. He was still focused on the ground. "I mean, I know he felt guilty, but still I don't like it. He just left." He looked up at me again.
"Micky, don't go judging him so quickly. He's had troubles, same as us. And a lot of responsibility. Let him at least explain." He nodded, silently.
"What's for breakfast?" he asked.
"Um, okay," he said. He came into the kitchen and stood there, awkwardly. Micky had his face buried in the newspaper, and was avoiding having to look at Mike. He was still a little upset.
"Well, sit down," I said, gesturing to the table. He sat down across from Micky and I put a plate of eggs in front of him. I could sense the tension in the room; I could have cut it with a knife. So I decided to leave them alone. "Well, I ate already, so I'm gonna go take a shower and you two can talk about it." Micky shot me a glance which conveyed shock. I read it as 'oh, no, you can't do this to me.' I left the room and left them to talk about it.
Mike and Micky ate in total silence for a few minutes, when Mike, never one to keep quiet for long, put down his fork and demanded that Micky talk to him.
"Listen, Micky, I know you're upset..." he began. Micky snorted a 'hmph'. "And I understand that. And I'm sorry."
"Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it," Micky snapped.
"Look, man, I've got enough of my own guilt trip, alright, I don't need you layin' another on me," Mike snapped back.
"Yeah, you took that literally, didn't you," Micky said.
"Listen, Micky, I have a lot of responsibilities around here," Mike tried again.
"Yeah, well, when you left, you dumped all of them on Peter," Micky said. "That's why he snapped, okay? 'Cause all your problems got dumped on him." Micky stormed out of the room, leaving Mike to himself. As the words sunk in, he felt himself feeling guiltier and guiltier.
Micky went up the stairs to see if Peter was doing any better. He went into the bedroom. Peter was asleep in his bed. He watched Peter sleep. I came out of the shower then, just in time to see this sentimental scene. Micky was sitting over Peter's bed. I could tell he was trying hard not to cry. I went in.
"I suppose it didn't go too well with Mike, ey?" I asked. Micky nodded.
"I was sitting here, thinking, you know, and I realized that I've been blaming Mike for Peter's problems. Actually it's all my fault. Mike should be blaming me."
"Actually Micky, we all have something to feel guilty over. I felt guilty over ripping out your vocal cords and scaring you into submission. You can feel guilty about driving Mike through the same thing. And you and Mike feel guilty over Peter. Only Mike's got it double if he's guilty over me and Peter," I said, reasonably. "Speaking of which, I'm going to talk to him." I left the room, leaving Micky with Peter.
I went downstairs and looked for Mike. He was sitting in the kitchen, his head in his hands, looking upset. I went in and sat down next to him.
"Mike?" I asked. He looked up, surprised, and then looked away. "Mike, I know they're 'iding something from me. I can sense it. I want to know what it is. I want to know why you feel guilty. I know it's because you feel responsible for me. But why? I want to know what 'appened."
Mike sighed heavily. "You see, Davy, it's partially my fault," he began.
"You mean about me?" I asked. He nodded. Then he went on to recall how he had attacked me a few days ago, sending me into the same sort of mental trauma that Peter was now hurtling towards.
"I just had to leave. I couldn't stand the fact that I'd done such a thing to you, and now every time I look at you I feel guilty."
I nodded. "I know. I felt the same sort of guilt over Micky."
"Which is why you locked yourself in a closet," he said. "But I couldn't do that. I'd drive myself nuts. So I just figured I had to get away somehow. So I ran. I didn't know how it was gonna effect Peter. I didn't think about anything but myself and how horrible I felt." I nodded sympathetically.
I was about to say something when Micky appeared in the doorway and looked at me. I looked back. I could sense that he wanted me to leave them alone, so I backed slowly out of the room and went to find something else to do.
