Micheal Emerson

Since the move from Arizona to Santa Carla (not to mention the grueling 12 hour car ride with his nagging brother) Micheal was miserable. He didn’t feel like himself. He could sense his mother casting worried glances out of the corner of his eye when she thought he wasn’t looking.

His Walkman was glued to his ears. Blasting with the aggressive notes of Led Zeppelin and The Doors. Shades stapled to his face to hide from meeting anyone’s gaze. When his parents confessed to the divorce (there was already a tense cloud hovering over the Emerson family for some time, it shouldn’t have came as much as a shock as it did) it didn’t affect Micheal much. Maybe because he found his new role as the man of the house rather daunting more than depressing. Not to mention having to console his brother before first trying to sort out his own feelings.

Yet now, here they were. In California. With the dozens of beaches and blazing sun. The state buzzing with activity and life. Pulsating with excitement outside the solemness of the car. He was honestly relieved to reach his estranged grandfathers house. He wasn’t sure how much car karaoke he could stand from his brothers prepubescent voice cracks.

But that might have been a mistake to wish so eagerly for. Turns out, his grandpa was a real…freak. Taxidermy crowded the tiny, junk filled house. He was a real hoarder. Stuffed rabbits standing erect, deer heads. Hell…he swore Sam discovered an alligator one! An alligator.

The stuffy smell of moth balls and clutter was something Micheal could find some sorta will to ignore. Maybe not so much the dead animals but especially not the absence of cable or TV. His grandpa had everything but channel five. How the hell was he suppose to watch Miami Vice now?

It only took a few hours before Micheal couldn’t stand the boredom. He had to get out of the house before he snapped. His mothers pitiful smiles and awkward banter to lighten the tension was driving him insane. The glassy eyes of the deer heads watching him. The silence without the TV.

(On request of his mom) Micheal dragged Sam out onto his motorcycle and drove their asses to the Santa Carla boardwalk. The smell of marijuana and beer reminiscent of parties back in Arizona. Little shops lined the walk, the beach off into the distance.

Dazzling lights brilliantly bounced in multicolor. There was a large ferris wheel, a few shacks that made up carnie games. As Sam buzzed off to some comic store, Micheal idly strolled. Watching the people crowd around some live band. Pretty Cali girls smiling as they passed.

Since they were dead broke and Micheal had to quit his shitty job at the bowling rink, he had cobwebs in his wallet. What little money he did have, he donated to his little brother to splurge on comic books. (Sam was very heartbroken about the no TV rule.)

Hands in his pockets, Micheal’s eyes surveyed the walk. Pausing on the carousel again. Seeing a pretty girl straddling one of the chipped horses, giggling.

The perfect distraction.

Sneaking past the line, he jumped on the moving ride. Hand gripping poles as he pushed through the narrow isle. He stumbled, grasping the horse behind the girl as he leaned his head forward. Brown curls falling across his face. “Hey, enjoying the ride?” He called out over the loud music and laughter.