Mikey leaves in the middle of the night a week later, the end of June, parking the band van outside my building at two a.m.
He knocks softly on my door, calling my name. When I open the door, he says, âWe have to leave early. Itâs crazy, weâre on a weird schedule to make the first show tomorrow.â Heâs jittery, excited. I can feel the nervous energy coming off him.
He puts a piece of paper on top of the card table. Itâs got his cell phone number, Bunnyâs and Arielâs numbers, and his tour schedule. âI know you donât have a phone, but maybe you can use Leonardâs or the phone at work if you have an emergency, okay? And you can email me from the library.â
Mikey bends his head close to me, so that I can almost feel his cheek against mine.
âThis is really going to be something, I think,â he chatters. âI think weâve got a line on doing a record at a studio up in Northern California, too. I mean, that would be fucking awesome, right, C?â
I duck my face, but he catches me in his arms. I count to twenty, very slowly, in my head. He kisses my forehead.
Keep your shit together and stay strong, he whispers in my ear.