Chapter 5Summer 1996
The drive home in the old, tank-like Buick his father had deemed a safe-enough vehicle for his first born was spent holding a one-sided conversation with himself.
“Michael kissed Crystal. He never kissed me.
“Michael f****d Crystal. He never f****d me.
“Okay, Matheson, what does this tell you?
“f**k if I know.”
He sighed. He was too realistic; he knew lying to himself would only result in misery. “No, I do know. It tells me that Michael was only experimenting. He didn’t mean anything, and if you try to convince yourself otherwise, William Matheson, you’re a poor, pathetic dope. Among other things.
“That must be why Michael’s been so cool to me lately. He thinks I’ll read more into this than there really is.”
His friend had simply wanted a—not even a temporary f
