Michael is about eight years old. He is neither fat nor skinny, and has blue eyes and wiry blond hair. His hair is cut with bangs and down to the bottom of his ears. On his cheek is a perfectly round scar which gives me the urge to reach out and wipe his face.
He wears a pair of blue dress pants and a flowered shirt which has been neatly mended on the front. His shoes are not the usual sneakers of the eight-year-old. They are black oxfords.
He never stops moving for an instant. His eyes are darting here and there and his feet and hands follow closely behind. Seldom have I seen anyone so accident-prone. He walks past a clock on the wall and bangs his head. He passes a vase of flowers and they fall to the floor. He sits in front of a glass of milk and it spills on the table. He stoops to pet the cat, and ends up pulling its tail.
When Michael talks, it is with a thick German accent. He tells me that he doesn't like girls, but Kathy and Marianne are okay because "they are David's sisters." He describes David as his "first-best friend."
On wondering what makes Michael tick, I take a closer look. His fingernails are chewed down to the quick, and his hands shake noticeably.
He takes the canned coke I offer and drains it quickly. Then he attacks the can with his bare hand, and tries to destroy it. For five minutes he smashes it and crunches it and tears it. When he is finished, he has a flat wrinkled piece of metal, and a bleeding hand. He wipes his hand on his shirt and says, "It's nothing. It doesn't hurt." Refusing a bandage, he runs outside laughing and yelling for David to join him.
After the two boys have gone to bed and I'm sure they are asleep, I go in to check on them. What a striking contrast! On one side of the bed, David sprawls contentedly, obviously without a care in the world. On the other side, Michael has curled himself around the pillow into an uncomfortable-looking position. He has twisted the corner of the sheet into a tight knot and his hand still plays with it restlessly. His face is a study in torment. I try to imagine what kind of demons coulds be chasing one so young.