You Got Caught!

9:00 PM

House is silent. My dad is asleep, I'm upstairs listening to music and talking to Ana, my mom is having a cigarette.

Phone rings.
It's Auntie Oppie.
Whispers. Secrets. My mother comes out of her room looking pissed.
I abandon ship and head back upstairs.

9:30 PM

Talking on the phone to Nook.
Phone downstairs rings.
It's Auntie Oopie.
There's shouting.
My mother looks more pissed.
I go back upstairs.

11:00 PM

Chatting away.
Phone rings again.
It's Auntie Oopie. Again.
More shouting.
My dad leaves. Slamming doors. More shouting.
Car pulls out of the driveway.

Silence.

12:00 AM

Everyone is back in the house.
Dad falls asleep.
House goes silent.

7:00 AM

I'm asleep.
Phone rings.
Phone rings again.
Phone rings a third time.
I run downstairs to pick it up.

Me: Hello?
Auntie Oopie: Moe?!
Me: No, Shelly.
AO: Ooooh! Where's your mother?
Me: Probably outside. You want to talk to her?
AO: Tell her Michael's court appearance is at 9, ok?
Silence. Trying not to laugh.
Me: What?
AO: Michael got arrested last night.
Me: ...heh...what?
AO: Just tell her it's at 9.

I hang up.
I tell her.

9:00 AM

Wait for the phone call.
Never comes.

Nearly 12:00 PM

Michael still isn't home.

Now, since no one knows who Michael is, a little history~
When we would come home, there was always this one guy who was obviously not family. Here is my mother's side. All black. All racist. And there's this white guy coming over to eat at my grandparent's house. My grandparents owned a few houses in the neighborhood and one day they let this guy move into one of them. We helped him move in (I had to be like...12) and we talked to him a bit. He definitely wasn't normal (I later came to the conclusion of: does normal even exist? And my answer was no).

Anyway! We called him Billy, and we were content and then we moved to England. (We only really visited Buffalo when I was little.) Lived in England for years without coming back to visit.

Moved to Buffalo in 2002. Billy was still here, talking to us and showing up at random family events.

One day, my grandfather called him Billy and there was a look on his face.

"That's not my name," he said sternly.

My grandfather, who is an abusive, insane, fucking scary ass asshole says, "What you say, mother fucker?!" (No...he really did say that.)

"That's not my name," he said again.

"Then what the fuck is your name?!"

"Michael."

Everyone was quiet.

"Then why the fuck did you have us calling you Billy all this time for?! What the fuck?!"

So then there was Michael. But he still seemed a bit off so I asked my dad what was up with Michael. Here is his story:

Michael lived a fairly normal life in, if I remember correctly, Amherst. Amherst is quite a ways away from here. Anyway, when he was at the ripe age of 25, Michael was driving a car and had a head on collision into a truck. He was placed into a hospital where his parents were told he had a TBI (traumatic brain injury) and wouldn't be able to live without the assistance of another human being. So what did his parents do?

They got together, put him in a car, and dumped him into our neighborhood, then drove away and never looked back. People here started to know who he was and soon Michael was welcome in the neighborhood without any hassle.

When my Auntie Oopie got older she took it upon herself to take care of him. Find him shelter, give him money, and make sure he got the care he needed.

Ok, enough of that. Michael's downfall is his sexual interest in crack heads. He gives them money for drugs in return he expects sex. Simple enough. The issue came when he started physically buying the drugs for the crackies. That's a no no.

Got caught last year, slap on the hand and a "Don't do it again" from the judge.

Got caught last night, spend some time in jail.

It's funny because no one gives him any credit. They act like he can't think for himself. When I watched Michael get $20 and heard him say "Now I can see my girlfriend four times!" I knew he was smarter than letting on.

Oh, Michael. You never cease to amaze me. Enjoy your stay in jail and maybe you'll stop buying Betty crack.