I turn my head

from the sight of the pain

that's twisted Mickey's memory

and broken his soul.

I did this to him.

"He knows that's not true," I tell Krista.

"He knows I would've lied.

I always lied

to keep from pissing him off."

He gives a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, or to keep from pissing off

Dad."

Then Mickey freezes,

his eyes creasing harder than ever.

"Oh God."

He clutches his elbows,

bends forward like he'll be sick.

"He was afraid of me."

Krista raises her hand.

"He still is."

"Why? When?

I thought . . .

I thought we were friends."

I try to remember

when Mickey and I were friends.

Before we were

the Keeley Brothers

with a capital B?

Maybe when he was George Clooney

and I was Brad Pitt.

"So what do you want?"

I realize Krista's talking to me.

"Huh?"

"What do you want?" she repeats.

"You brought us together