His name was Mike Moyes. I can't remember exactly when Damian and his family moved into the neighborhood but I do remember the terrible and tragic repercussions that followed.
Mike, as luck would have it, was a natural born leader. Even at our young age, my friends and I realized and respected the fact that someday he would amount to something big. Perhaps a politician. Maybe an astronaut. He absolutely, positively flowed self-confidence and charisma. The world loved Mike and he loved it back. He was the kind of guy that you would give your last dime to...happily. In short, when Mike was happy, we were as well.
Any personal happiness, however, was short-lived as my circle of friends quickly became his circle of friends. The change in the neighborhood's friendship heirarchy was dramatic and it was not a good thing. When the gang got together to play Star Trek, Mike now was allowed to be the brash and daring Captain Kirk. My position on the Starship Enterprise was relegated to the role of crusty old Dr. McCoy or even worse, Fat Scotty. When we played Batman, Mike would be the Caped Crusader and I, if lucky, would get to be his faithful servant, Alfred. I hated him. I really hated him. Once, as Mike and I walked home from school, he confided to me that I was definitely his third best friend. How do you respond to that? What's the point of being someone's third best friend?
I secretly took delight when Mike did something that got him in trouble. I still remember the time Mike was caught throwing rocks at a bus. Hurling rocks at the slow moving dingy greenschool bus that passed by school each day was not an uncommon way for some of the more adventurous kids to pass time while waiting for our bright shiny yellow bus to arrive. Granted, it really was a terrible thing to do, but we really hadn't done much harm. You see, many a rock had been chucked, but rarely had the bus ever been hit. So it was surprising to everyone when Mike's stone did something no one else's ever had...it found its mark and shattered one of the small passenger windows.
As a result, Mike's parents made a very wise decision. Being the venerable sages they were, it was decided that Mike should be grounded for the rest of the month. While the rest of the guys were glum, I felt like doing somersaults! Why? Because I knew that with the son of Satan out of the picture for almost a complete month things would finally return to the way they should have always been. Once again, I would get to be the Lone Ranger when we played Cowboys and Indians! When we played stickball, I would get to pitch! No more Fat Scotty and most importantly, no more Alfred. Yes indeedy, things were definitely looking brighter.
The power that Mike wielded, however, was much stronger than I had ever realized. I had underestimated just what kind of effect a world without Mike would have on my friends. Just as a twinkie without the moist creamy filling isn't really much of treat, our after school adventures without Mike found us simply going through the motions. Soon, it became apparent that without
Mike, no one really wanted to voyage to the end of the universe, travel back through time to the old west or don the very capes which gave us super-powers and allowed us to vanquish the villainous and cast them out of the neighborhood. Life without Mike, I had to admit, was something of a bore.
As the month wound down, Mike's parents grew weary of their confined child's constant pleading and endless tears and soon he was pardoned and set loose to once again wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world. Children throughout the neighborhood cheered while parents shook their heads and wept.
We were playing street hockey when Mike triumphantly showed up and ever so seriously explained the terms of his probation. As he jabberred on about how he would have to mow the lawn for the next year and clear the table for twice that long, a collective sigh emanated from all.
Surprisingly, I discovered that I too was pleased that Mike had been set free. As Mike tore my hockey stick away from me and suggested I take a break, I resigned myself to the role of third best friend and decided that I would be the best damn Alfred I could.