Michael

After I wrote about The Girls, I was going to go ahead and write about Human Sexual Response, but I find myself needing to go even further back. I've been thinking so much about Michael, my friend who came up with the idea of going to the 1270 on Boylston Street in the first place. If you knew me, you would have known Michael too. But none of you do know him, because he died in a car accident on Labor Day in 1976. It feels strange to be missing him so acutely lately, after all this time.

No matter how I try, I can't remember how we met. Probably at the bar in Tyngsboro or maybe at a Dignity meeting at The Christian Formation Center. It wasn't as awful a place as it sounds, it was home to a group of Franciscans and a really fun place to hang out. And they let me serve the wine at communion sometimes, even though I'm not Catholic. Michael was dating a guy named Hobart, and they'd come over to my house a lot and on a night like tonight, we'd goof around in the yard at dusk playing frisbee, spinning in place until we became dizzy and fell down, or just screeching and generally acting like fools until it was time to go out. Or head over to The Center and hang out in the murky and luridly decorated grotto or follow a path through the fields and woods to the bank of the Merrimack River. Still doing kid stuff but adding in elements that, at the time, we thought were very adult. It didn't hurt that the drinking age was 18 either. Just having loads of fun all the time acting all dorky and wild.

Hobart and Michael were a great couple. We went to the drive-in to see a double bill of The Exorcist and Jaws one summer night. My first time seeing both of those movies. The Exorcist I've never seen again, thank you. Jaws became a lifelong obsession. We had such a good time that night, screaming and carrying on. Michael had seen both movies before so he knew all the scary parts and made sure to use that knowledge to great advantage in frightening the bejesus out of me. Michael and Hobart were always so happy together and it was a good time just being around them.

This was back in an era where being gay was just not done. Parents were always looking for 'a reason' to explain why their child was gay. Most often, friends were held responsible, and Michael's parents were no different. He had decided to be honest and come out to his mother and father and things at home became very strained after that, since they were not able to deny or ignore what was 'wrong' with their son. They knew where he was and what he was doing on those nights when he got home in the wee hours of the morning, and one night, after Hobart had dropped him off, the fighting was too much and they kicked him out of the house. Michael tossed his record collection and stereo into the trunk of his car, took a few clothes and headed in the direction of Hobart's house. He never made it that far. While listening to Dark Side of the Moon and driving a little too fast he lost control on a winding road, became airborne and slammed into a house. All that love, all that promise, that beautiful boy, my precious friend, lost in an instant.

It was really rough trying to come to terms with his death. I'd never lost a close friend, Hobart was inconsolable for days. He'd hugged me so hard at the calling hours that it left my torso strapped with bruises, he slept on the grave for the first night. Our hearts were so thoroughly broken we didn't know what to do, but we figured out quickly that we must celebrate Michael and who he had been. His birthday fell nearly one month to the day of his death. Hobart and I planned a party and brought a birthday cake covered in pastel roses and some champagne to the cemetery. We threw confetti and blew noisemakers, held our glasses high for a toast and played the car radio. We sat on the grass, sang Happy Birthday and we lit the candles and waited until the wind blew them out before we cut a big wedge of cake and left it for him. When we came back the next day, the cake had all been eaten away, but the frosting was untouched. It looked like a Dali painting, the colored frosting twisted and drooping on the plate.

Michael and I would have been inseparable in the Rock scene. After all, we liked dancing and we looked divine. I thought of him often at shows and how much he would have loved the bands. It hit especially close when The Humans would cover Rebel Rebel. That was one of our favorite Bowie songs to dance to. We agreed almost to a song which Bowie stuff sucked and which didn't. Dini took the lead vocal on Rebel Rebel and he sang the fuck out of it. Windle, Casey and La made noises that were utterly inhuman, no joke, rising in the background sounding like a marauding hoard of baboons from a parallel universe. Waving their fists and screaming "Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" Michael would have loved it as much as I did. And he would have totally dug that it blew the Bowie version out of the water too and I'm sure we would have laughed as we did a wild, frenzied dance.

Usually, it doesn't make me sad to think about him, but lately I think I've been grieving a lot about what he missed. All the great things I've seen, all the fantastic music I've heard that he would have loved too. Especially the crazy ass bastards who were fool enough to be my friends, he would have loved you too. And I would have so dearly loved having him there and you all would have loved him too. Maybe that's why I always had such a great time being part of it all. I was out there watching and having fun for two.

Hobart finally retired and now has time to fix things around the house for me. We were talking about those old times and he told me how Michael would always get so giddy whenever he saw me. When he said that, I felt something in my heart click together. A few days later I swung by the cemetery and stopped at Michael's grave. "To know him was to love him" is engraved on his oval granite marker and that always cues up a variation by Marc Bolan in my head, so it's impossible not to smile. As I headed away I noticed the name of the path as if I had never seen it before. Robert B Gay Avenue. Now my Michael is staying on Gay Avenue. How he would have loved that. Still making me laugh after 32 years. If you happen to see us in whatever place there is that passes for heaven, stand back. We are gonna have a lot of catching up to do. And some serious rocking out to take care of.