Fine Flu Journal Fine Flu Journal- june 2014 | Page 12

not see a tongue. The flashlight held steady as Michael, deeply asleep, moved
his hands over his lips, his teeth, touching his mouth in a way that suggested a
deep self-interest—a deep fascination with his own body—that made me
uncomfortable.
After a few minutes the yellow beam swept across the room to shine under
Joe’s face, like people hold it when they tell scary stories.
“And that, my boys, is what you call an oral fixation,” Joe said in a deep voice,
then clicked the flashlight off.
The next morning Steve pulled me aside on the way to breakfast
“That was super weird last night,” he said, looking around to make sure no
one else could hear us.
“For sure,” I said. “I can’t believe Michael does that.”
Steve gave me a look.
“No, I mean, it was weird that Joe showed us.”
“It was just a joke.”
“I don’t think it was very cool of him. I mean, it’s that guy’s job to protect us,
right?”
“It was just Michael. That kid’s so weird—who cares about him anyway?”
“You don’t have to be friends with him to see that it’s not cool what Joe did,”
Steve said. He stepped back, shaking his head, and ran on ahead to breakfast
without me.
After that Steve and I drifted apart. We’d been fast friends, but then, just as
fast—faster even—we weren’t friends any more. And that was that.
That’s how it happened. How I remember it, anyway. For a long time I forgot
all about that night. It was just a small incident from my childhood, after all.
But ever since I turned fifty I’ve started having these nightmares that feature
Michael’s mouth, that small, black hole with silver glinting inside it. My ex12