In The Dead of Night

It is perhaps understandable that Michael Chapman learned about love from the only teacher to ever read his mind, to touch his heart -- indeed, to reach his very soul. It was prescient that she did so only when the rest of his world was asleep, blanketed in the anonymity of each day's darkest hours. For it was during these times that he felt most alone, most vulnerable.

Michael, the sixth and youngest sibling of a suburban, lower middle-class family was by nature reclusive and introspective. His home-life was dominated by tension. Most every day was filled with an ambiance of enmity and antagonism, created by the competitiveness of his brothers and sisters all striving for attention, some small recognition of their place in the universe they shared.

Collectively, they made little compromise for someone like Michael whose emotions seldom soared above the routine chaos in an effort to impress upon others his personal insecurities and aspirations. Consequently his solution was to create a new reality for himself, one that would carry him forward into early adulthood and the beginnings of married life.

At 12 years of age Michael was already quite tall. He was also a little on the heavy side, the inevitable result he believed of too many fast-food meals served at the otherwise sparse dinner table. He enjoyed wearing his copper-toned hair at shoulder length to offset his gray-green eyes, fair skin, full lips and heavily freckled, rounded face.

His kept his large but finely sculptured hands generally at his sides where, he liked to think, they would be least likely to come to harm. He fancied that one day he would play piano concertos -- perhaps even be part of the New York Philharmonic orchestra. He had begun to compose his own musical scores, too, although no-one had yet heard a single note he had written; these were mostly archived in his mind with the exception of a handful of tunes that he had committed to music sheets, kept well hidden from prying eyes.

He carried himself with a certain aloofness which some mistook for snobbery. In truth, he had fashioned and internalized a self-image which, he hoped, fostered a public persona of someone exuding confidence and self-awareness. His three older brothers seemed content to accept him for who he was since he represented no threat to their self-prescribed ranking in the clan.

His two sisters were an entirely different story. At times they cajoled and teased him mercilessly just to get some kind of a reaction from their perceived rival. Having four boys to compete with, both Lizzy and Amanda were determined not to be the most easily ignored and least respected of the siblings. Lizzy was the kinder of the two but both reveled in every opportunity to "make Michael mad," as Amanda was inclined to refer to their unwelcome.

When Michael showered they flushed the toilet repeatedly so that he would be scalded. He asked them to stop hiding his school back-pack; instead they tore pages from from his text books, making it that much more difficult for him to follow the lessons.

Their antics were without end. On those rare mornings when breakfast was made he would be called to the table late. With half his rations missing and the balance already cold Michael would hurry through the poor meal and finish dressing, only to miss the school bus. On those occasions he would set out alone, walking the long wintery road on an almost empty stomach. His classmates gave him the monicker 'Michael come lately.'

One summer day Amanda, upset with her boyfriend's constantly changing allegiances, registered her disgust by refusing to do her prescribed household chores. Her explanation to her father, whom she was adept at manipulating, left Michael taking the blame. Father always knew best.

Darren Chapman, a single parent and head of this dysfunctional household, was by the kindest of definitions a traveling salesman. Employed by a subsidiary of a large oil company, he sold lubricants to gas stations and convenience stores in cities around the state. He was consequently not often around and left the task of childcare primarily to the older siblings.

When he did return home, most often on weekends, he sometimes brought with him a girlfriend. Over the past two years there had been a succession of matriarchal visitors parading through the home, none of whom exhibited the slightest interest in inheriting the trials and tribulations of an existing brood.

Most of Darren's offspring were well aware of the sexual antics that went on under the family roof. They could not long ignore the sound of well-worn bed springs straining under the combined weight of two carousing adults in the midst of passionate and unbridled love-making. Their muffled sounds filtered through paper-thin gypsum walls, followed inevitably by an explosion of pleasure-induced expletives. Grist for the mill as far as the older boys were concerned; a constant source of amusement for the rest of the siblings.

Darren's current partner was Nicole, a 20-something waif (Lizzie called her 'tart') whom he had met at the nearby railway ticket office. She had short black hair, wide-set dark brown eyes and the thinnest lips imaginable, painted in Gothic fashion. Her anorexic frame and disheveled appearance only served to draw attention away from what might otherwise have been quite a beautiful butterfly tattoo on the back of her right shoulder. By contrast, a gargoyle-like apparition on her chest drew one's eyes inexorably to her almost non-existent breasts.

Her punctilious manner left no doubt that she was here for a good time, and then only for as long as the booze and smokes lasted. She felt in no way responsible for meal preparations and certainly would never stoop to doing any manner of housework.

The large tenement row house where the Chapmans lived was situated on a dead-end, unlit street with cracked pavements lined on both sides with old block buildings and overgrown lawns. Residential development in the area dated back to the 1950s and most of the homes and apartments had not seen much upkeep since those heady economic boom days when the auto industry built boats on wheels and everybody wanted one.

The Chapman residence, in particular, had seen much better days. Four rickety wooden steps led up to a small front porch, only part of which remained surrounded by what was once a decorative iron hand-railing. The windows and front door might have been a battleship gray in color at one time, although it was hard to say for certain since the paint had long ago blended away into the cracked wood frames that had the appearance on closer inspection of parched earth.

Inside, the cramped and poorly lit foyer revealed an entrance-way strewn with clothes and other discarded paraphernalia that defied description, including a large assortment of Ralph's chew toys. Ralph, the family's chocolate lab, had exhibited uncommon intelligence the previous summer by freeing himself of his tether in the back yard and choosing to leave home. With the exception of Michael, nobody missed having the dog around. Only remnants of things he had cherished still paid testimony to the fact that Ralph once played and performed for love and affection, which were rarely returned.

Along the left wall was a roughly hewn stairway, stained dark cherry red in color, leading up to the second floor of the house with it's six space-challenged bedrooms and one communal bathroom. The sisters slept together, but Darren and each of the boys had their own quarters, sometimes only separated by a room divider or curtain.

Michael's room was fashioned out of a space under an attic overhang at the top of the stairs. When entering, he needed to duck and remain in that position at all times except when lying on his too-short bed. Nor was he likely to be upgraded to better lodgings any time soon. The older male siblings were now in their early 20s and without well paying jobs, they showed every reluctance to accept the responsibilities that came with total independence.

Back on the main floor, a dingy passageway led past the foot of the stairs directly into the kitchen area with its dilapidated farmhouse-style cupboards, fridge and stove, washer and dryer and a handful of other decades-old small appliances, one or two of which occasionally still worked.

Off to the right, a double-doorway opened into the combined living and dining room area. Also sparsely appointed with hand-me-down furniture and thread-bare throw rugs, it was the only place large enough to accommodate the entire family at one time. So it was here that they gathered, enjoying the wood-burning fireplace on chilly winter nights or the relative cool of the open-space design on muggy, humid summer evenings.

Perched randomly on the backs of two worn couches were variously two or three, and sometimes more, feral neighborhood cats who knew enough to move in after Ralph had left for greener pastures. Table scraps met most of their nutritional needs and the accommodations were otherwise comfortable enough.

Across the room stood a floor model grandfather clock whose solid, base chimes sounded through the house every 30 minutes and again every hour on the hour, counting out the time in beats. The uninvited but tolerated felines apparently found the chimes comforting, in a strange sort of way, but it was also a sound that would live in Michael's mind throughout his adolescent years. It brought him feelings of hope, anticipation and belonging in a life otherwise devoid of positive emotion.

Complementing the heavy dark oak cabinetry of the clock was a very old, poorly restored Steinway piano that stood alongside. It had not been played since Michael's lessons stopped more than two years before.

****

Michael had no real school friends until his second semester in Grade 7 when a new boy joined the class. Kai was an only child and of Scandinavian lineage; his parents had recently immigrated and settled nearby. His father, a structural engineer by trade, had no difficulty finding work and the Moller family were soon able to move into a modest but upscale home within a twenty-minute walk of the Chapman residence.

Since English was not his first language, Kai had been held back a year by the school authorities with the intention of giving him some time to master the vocabulary and grammar of the world's most spoken language outside of Mandarin. For Michael he became the slightly older brother he did not have, the brother he always wanted to 'hang out with' and 'do things with'.

Kai, on the other hand, chose Michael to befriend because he was the only classmate who extended a hand of friendship on his first day at Mount Hampton Junior. From Michael he could quickly learn to speak 'good' and, just as importantly if he was ever to fit in, effect the vernacular used by his American peers.

Kai was of a similar disposition to Michael, having a kind and understanding nature. In physical appearance the two boys were much alike in size although Kai had an unruly mop of white hair, bushy eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. Ostentatiously, he wore on his large proboscis a pair of spectacles with bottle-thick lenses, giving him an air of intellectual reserve.

It was this combination of poor language skills and a homely appearance that made Kai as much an outsider amongst his classmates as was Michael. The two boys quickly formed a friendship that would bond and sustain them throughout their formative years. They were inseparable during recesses and late afternoons after school when they often walked to the Moller home. Their topics of conversation were typical for young boys, ranging from sports, video games and homework to less ethereal subjects such as what movies to see, hobbies, who said what to whom, and... girls.

"I like," said Kai as an aside one day, watching a group of girls clustered in the playground.

"Girls?" asked Michael.

"Ja. Much all of them. Og Sheila." Green-eyed and gangly with short, black curly hair, Sheila was the tomboy in the class. Her favorite pastime was egging a boy on, then challenging him to a wrestling match. She almost always won.

"Not me," rejoined Michael. "They're all... like um... I dunno. Like kinda weird, actually. Sheila's okay though. At least she's, like, more real. I guess."

"You say hallo for me?" asked Kai.

"You want me to introduce you? Yeah, I guess I could. But, like, I don't talk to her much. Why don't you say 'hi' yourself?"

"She say something I not begripe... umm, understand, ja?" opined Kai, his voice trailing off. "You tell her. English no so good yet."

So Michael made the introductions. But nothing could come of it. Kai pinned Sheila to the ground at the very first invitation and she stormed off in a huff. It was a very long time before she acknowledged his presence again and then it was only to call into question the fairness of his tactics.

"I laere...ehm, learn, ja? I think learn. Father. He learn me. How you say... fighting," explained Kai. On hearing this, Sheila was not amused and she let him know in no uncertain terms. They hardly spoke again for the balance of the school year. Nothing lost, counseled Michael. Girls. Like, go figure!

As their relationship matured Michael and Kai spent more and more time together, often going to the bowling alley on Sunday afternoons or simply hanging out at the local swimming pool, drinking pop and eating candy courtesy of Kai's allowance. At other times they would read aloud from a book, taking turns so that gradually Kai's range of vocabulary and his ability to express himself improved.

One Friday, close to the end of the school year, Kai invited Michael over for 'chilling'.

"You mean to chill," corrected Michael.

"Ja, chill," replied Kai. "I have something... you see."

Michael was familiar with computers, of course. Every school had them. But Kai was one of the first in the class to have his very own at home. Seated side by side behind a desk overlooking the garden through a large picture window, Kai's fingers deftly flew over the keyboard. Once the home page had loaded he went under 'favorites' and in a practiced manner, scanned down the menu. He then highlighted where he wanted to be and sat back so that Michael could have an unimpaired view of the monitor.

Kai had logged on to a website offering free trial video games which, of course, the boys were intent on trying. Fascinated by what they were discovering, it became a regular routine of theirs to surf the Internet in the late afternoons before Kai's parents came home from work.

The boys talked in depth about what they were seeing, the movie critiques they read and the numerous reviews available on up-and-coming automobile models. Their imaginations answered all the questions they had.

****

Michael usually went to bed at 10:30 p.m. and often sat for ages writing in his diary before going to sleep. He had begun to faithfully record his feelings about what websites they were visiting on the Internet. Some of these ramblings he would share with Kai the following day, then return that evening to further develop his musings before returning the diary to its hiding place under his mattress.

But among its many pages quickly filling to capacity were other secrets he would never share with anyone. Not even Kai. Experiences of such a highly personal and private nature that he lived in constant fear that he would one day be found out.

He knew her only as Bobette and her almost nightly visits had begun about two years ago. To him she was a vision of beauty, love and compassion. Although she was many years older than him her blue-gray eyes, high cheek bones and alabaster complexion made her appear quite young for her age.

Small in stature (she stood only 4-foot 11 inches tall), her finely chiseled facial features were complemented by a tightly corralled ponytail that she routinely wore. Whenever she visited him in his room, however, she was always comfortably dressed in her over-sized pajamas and her long auburn curls were invariably allowed to cascade freely over her shoulders.

When she nuzzled him, the herbal fragrance of her favorite shampoo filled his senses and temporarily shrouded him from the seemingly endless stresses of the world around him. He loved the smell of her and the warmth of her embraces, her sweet breath playing lightly on his neck as she whispered her sentiments.

Often she would surprise him, waking him from his slumber. On other nights, if he wasn't too tired, he would lie awake and listen for the sound of the grandfather clock as it struck midnight. It was always shortly after the final chime that he would first hear her light footsteps outside his bedroom. Somehow she would manage to open the door soundlessly and step lightly to his bedside, smiling all the while.

For a welcoming few minutes she would sit beside him, cooing gently and calling his name as she stroked his forehead and told him how much she loved him. Then she would hold his hand, ask him about his day and if he had bathed and done his homework after dinner. Then, as silently as she had come she would leave again, always glancing one more time over her shoulder to blow him a goodnight kiss.

"Michael, do you mind me coming to see you like this?" she asked him one night. "I hope not. I do so enjoy our times alone. It's the only sanity I have left in my life. Do you understand? She answered her own question. "Probably not. Not now anyway. But you might some day and then you'll remember how special it was, how special it is, between us. I will always be there for you, whenever you need me."

***

Bobette kept her promise and rarely failed to visit him at night in the coming months and years. Michael began again to play the piano, tentatively at first and then with renewed flare. While he no longer took lessons he taught himself to read music and would practice for hours on end, much to the chagrin of the feral cats.

His unskilled hands, coupled with the sound of a badly out-of-tune piano, made for some excruciatingly unfamiliar noises even to the untrained ear. Still, no-one complained and Michael lost himself in the repetition of simple chord combinations and, occasionally, writing poetic lyrics to scores he dreamed might one day be heard by others.

The years flew by and Bobette was with him always. She came to him ever more frequently, often catching him quite by surprise. He might be walking the corridors at school between classes. Or he might be with Kai at a concert, the movies or at a party. She would even be with him while he watched a high school football or basketball game. She would only stay long enough for him to acknowledge her. Then, he would wait at home for the clock to strike midnight and for her to appear once more at his bedside.

Michael did well at school but he showed no desire to go on to college. Perhaps, one day, he would study the arts and music he told Kai. Then he might become a teacher. But not until he was sure of what he wanted to do with his life. Until he felt himself ready to commit. In the meantime his interest in animals earned him part-time jobs at the local pet store and as a dog walker and pet-sitter for several neighbors.

In his last year of high school he participated in a Gilbert & Sullivan play, enjoying the anonymity of singing in the chorus while also contributing to the design and building of the stage props. Green-eyed and gangly Sheila was with him in the cast of Iolanthe and the two began to spend a great deal of time together.

Michael was perhaps the only classmate whom she had not yet wrestled but she made sure to change that soon after they started dating. She won most of their matches which, she explained away, by reminding him of how much she had learned from her one encounter with Kai.