Mike and I hated each other in 8th grade. My family had just moved back from Germany, and while we moved back into the same house and I returned to the same school system, things were different. The best friends I left behind as an 8 year old had found new best friends in the past 4 years, as had I. This was before the age of e-mail and Facebook, so the only way we kept in touch was through hand-written letters, which as you can imagine, is hard to keep up with. I was the new girl all over again and had to rebuild all of the old friendships from 3rd grade.
Mike was a skinny, red haired, freckled face kid with rubberbands stretching from the metal braces on his teeth. Since I had been gone, he became good friends with all of my girlfriends after all of the elementary schools in our neighborhood graduated into the one middle school. And he hated me from that very first day of 8th grade. He hated that I, an equally awkward, skinny kid, came seemingly out of nowhere (Germany? who lives in Germany?) and infiltrated his gang of girls, his friends.
We argued and there were snubs and the mutual hatred continued on into 9th grade. Since writing, and not math, was always each of our fortes, we were both enrolled in the "average" Algebra class while the rest of our friends were in the "above average" Geometry class. As chance would have it, we were seated directly next to each other, and still, the only time we spoke to the other was to make a snarky comment or rude remark. Then one seemingly innocuous day, Mike said something, something that escapes my mind now, 13 years later, which apparently infuriated me. I, all 95 pounds of me, got out of my seat, ready to fight him. I have always been a sparkplug, but I know my mother would have sparkplugged my ass if I got into a fight at school! The fight never happened for a reason long forgotten and unimportant now, but surely either he retracted his statement or I sat down. I do know that after that moment, our disdain for each other slowly evolved into a friendship that I still count as one of my best today.
Mike is the brother I never had, my comic relief, the one I turn to when I really need the honest answer to the question, "Do I look ridiculous in this?" He's a fabulously talented writer and out of all my friends, I think he has the most potential to be a household name. He's ambitious and loyal and still snarky to this day, and oh, how I love him for it. Mike is also gay. He came out to me after puking in the bathroom of Bill Bateman's on his 21st birthday in true Mikey fashion. I believe his exact words were, "Katie, I'm a big, ol' homo!". I always knew, of course, even when he dated my friend in high school and even when he vehemently denied the rumors.
He was the victim of a hate crime our senior year. He was called out of our Peer Counselor holiday party when his car was discovered with a squirrel impaled on the antenna. A squirrel impaled on his antenna, anus to mouth. I'll let you imagine that horrifying scene for a second. I went with him and stood by him as he endured ridiculous questioning by the police who were more concerned with why his car was parked facing the wrong direction than with who would commit such a heinous, hateful act. I'm not even sure if they ever caught who did it, but I do remember hugging him that day as he cried and asking myself who could ever do such a hurtful thing to another person, my friend.
Mike was Dermot Mulroney to my Julia Roberts, a la a "My Best Friend's Wedding" pact we made to each other if we weren't married by age 28. It didn't come to that, as I married at 24 with Mike standing by me on my wedding day as an honor attendant (my fancy term for a male bridesmaid) as Jon and I exchanged our vows to love and cherish each other until death do us part. It upsets me that he doesn't have the same right to marry the love of his life in the majority of these United States. He and his live-in boyfriend (a doll, I must add) have been dating for as long as Jon and I did before we married, but they aren't allowed to marry in the city they love, New York City. It's simply not fair.
We visited the two of them this weekend and I asked Mike if there were any wedding bells in his future. He said yes and breathlessly told me about his dream ceremony location in NYC. It sounds gorgeous and perfect and I would love nothing more than to return the favor and stand by his side at his dream wedding, but as of now, I can't. It is my hope that this new presidency will bring change to America so that my friend's dream can become a reality. He deserves that right and he deserves every happiness afforded to the rest of us. And selfishly? I know he'll throw a fabulous reception!
The two of us dancing at my wedding reception:
All of us at Columbus Circle this past weekend (my camera died so all I have is this crappy photo from my iPhone, and sorry Mike, your eyes were closed in this one!):
