When I get home Mike is sitting with grandpa. They are arguing about the number of gravestones that are visible in the cemetery. Grandpa spends most of his time looking through the leafless trees and counting. Mike has a bottle of Vodka in his hand. Our own little Christmas tree that Mike brought home has the twinkling white lights on. It's the only Christmas decorations we have, a plain tree with white lights. Under the tree are a few presents that Mike and grandpa have placed there. I haven't done my shopping yet.

Grandpa has silver hair that is always messed up into unruly tuffs. He has never yielded to baldness. I'm glad for this because I'm not likely to go bald either. His skin is now loose flesh around his chest and arms and neck. He wears old cardigans and occasionally gets arrested at the supermarket down the street for harassing the ladies who work there. He looks like a masculine Mr. Rodgers. Also more lively than Mr. Rodgers, of course, since Mr. Rodgers is now dead.

Hey Trevor, how were the roads tonight?

Fine.

How many graves you see? asks grandpa. He sounds like Mike has been sharing the bottle. This pisses me off. Mike knows grandpa is supposed to lay off the sauce.

I don't know?

Michael says he can count thirty-seven but I know that for a fact when it snows like this more than half get buried. It's cheating when you count the ones you have memorized.

You guys work it out. I'm going to bed and you both should too.

I go down to my room in the basement. I put on one of my dad's early Tom Waits records and crawl under the covers. After the first song Mike staggers into the room.

I put him to bed.

I don't answer. I close my eyes.

Don't fake sleep. If you were really asleep you would be snoring.

I don't snore!

Yes you do.

Great, another thing I have to worry about.

It's not that loud.

You know you shouldn't give grandpa anything to drink. He's too old.

Trevor, he's isn't afraid to die.

Yeah, but I'm afraid he'll die. He is the only family I have left.

What about me?

What about you?

I'm family.

Yeah.

Mike isn't really related to me. He has no family of his own. He ran away when he was ten. His family never found him. They didn't look too hard. I met Mike on the way home from school one day. He and grandpa hit it right off. Mike makes friends easily. If Mike likes someone it's a good chance they'll like him back. After a month of hanging around our house Mike was unofficially adopted. One day he came over and never left. It's been so long now it doesn't seem weird.

Mike takes his clothes off and uses the sleeping bag in the corner of the room as a bed. He likes sleeping on the floor. He turns the light off.

Good night, Trevor.

Night, Mike.

Then I fall asleep. I don't know how much time has passed when I wake. It doesn't seem that I have been asleep long. The record is no longer playing. I hear the needle in the run off. If Mike was the last one awake it's his job to turn off the turntable. I get up to lift the needle. I think Mike asked me a question.

Mike? You say something.

No.

His voice cracks like he is crying.

What is it, man?

Do you think Bonnie will ever love me?

I guess so.

Thanks, Trev.