In the summers of 1982 and 1984, I spent some significant time with my sister Laurie (I have 3, this one would once share my surname, as she's from my dad's first marriage), her husband Mike, and their children. I remember the summers quite vividly as I really looked up to my brother-in-law Mike a great deal. After all, he introduced me to much of the METAL I still listen to today. Keel, Fastway, Dokken, and the early (and far superior) AC/DC. (My sister, Pee Wee would be responsible for the rest of the metal. April Wine forever!)
He had the Australian AC/DC discs known as High Voltage (there's a huge diff between the American one and the one released in OZ.) and TNT. Eternally jealous.
Anyhoo, thanks to Mike, the scent of diesel, when it hangs in the air particularly in the summer, reminds me of the man. It rigidly imprinted itself into my neuro-sensors as Mike was a truck driver, and on one of his inner-state runs he took me along for a week. Diesel only makes guest appearances in my life when it floats by off of a passing big rig today, but when you're in a semi, it imbeds itself. And when it was in that powerful state in 1982, I was seated to the right of Mike. We laughed, listened to music, and yelled at each other, because with the volume of the semi, speaking at regular volume made communication impossible.
Of course, being that rig was without AC it had to be one of Wisconsin's hotter summers. We had to stop for drinks quite frequently, and 1982 was the Summer of Dew. When I'm lucky enough to come across a 12 pack of Mountain Dew Real Sugar, (or Throwback, as some call it) much like diesel, it takes me back to that summer and My Man Mike. If anyone wants to tell you that there's not a practical difference between High Fructose Corn Syrup and Real Sugar in a soda, particularly Dew, they're nuts.
Certifiably.
Mike and I grew tight during those summers, and he'd often drop by home in Kenosha periodically year-round, when his route took him that way. He'd enjoy a meal prepared by my mom, and crash out on a spare bed sometimes when the timing was right, as the bunk in the back was a cramped, claustrophobic box of discomfort. I know, I had to split it with him for that week, and with Mike's long frame, it had to be the shits for him as well, sharing it with me.
In January of 1986, it was a Friday afternoon, just after school in Waco, Texas. A friend of mine and I were planning to head down to the Richland Mall to hang out for the evening when the phone rang. News was received that Mike had been in a truck crash in Oklahoma. There was an explosion involved. I was being reassured of the quality of the burn center they had in Oklahoma City.
At 14 years old, I was still kicking death around like a spiked soccer ball. I had lost my father five years earlier as readers would know, and had a few other too close losses along the line as well. I was mulling over what happened, not fully getting the true nature of the specifics, which I won't go into now.
A couple days later, Mike passed away. He was 32.
I still fight with this sometimes. The unfairness and suddenness of it all. Sometimes, you hear "Bad things happen to good people" from folks.
Eat shit.
There are terrible and uber-wealthy people walking the earth, living forever as they wreck everything around them, or because of their money they are given resources to fight and win battles most of us can't even engage in. I've never been able to, nor can I still abide that. Mike was a great person that meant a lot to me, taught me a few things in our brief time together, and the memory of him makes me smile.
At least I have that.
One time in 2008, I was at a Piggly Wiggly store in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin in the check out aisle. I swear to god I saw him about 6 or 7 aisles over. My heart began to beat. Seriously pound. I had 4 or 5 people ahead of me, so there was time to ponder, to wait. No matter how many minutes went by, the appearance of the person I was looking at did not change.
I thought about it. I really did.
I actually took the first step to walking over to this person to talk to them.
About what?
I have no fucking idea. I mean, it obviously couldn't have been Mike, could it? I've read about doppelgangers, but what are the chances Mike's would live in the same state as he did? Eventually, I left well enough alone, purchased my items, and went out to my car.
And cried like a baby, really mourning him for the first time.
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