Welcome to Melrose Place

At one point in my life I lived in this little town along the Mississippi River. I was there for about a year and a half. It was an interesting little town. It had a reputation. And by reputation I mean fights, prostitutes, drugs, bikers, and the occasional murder. When I told my dad I was moving there he asked me how many prostitutes had been killed lately.

So, yes, a reputation. Some things had been cleaned up. They caught the guy who was taking random shots at people on the main drag from his apartment window. The prostitute killing had stopped. Things had calmed down... some. By the time I lived there it was just a place to get drunk and laid. It was five blocks of strip clubs and bars surrounded by 1900 people.

Why did I live there? It was cheap. Crazy cheap. I lived in a tiny apartment two blocks from the Mississippi with thirteen-foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a five minutes drive across the river to work. But it was also directly across from the railroad tracks (and at the end of a train tunnel so there was lots of whistle blowing), and I lived at the end of the street where all the bars were. And the area below my bedroom window is where the drunks went to pee. And throw up. And lord knows what else.

Despite all this, I loved living there.

Why?

Michael.

Michael was my hairdresser, and I lived above his salon. His shop was on one side of the downstairs and his apartment on the other. The second story of the building had four apartments. I was in one, Mel in the other, Diane, a woman who worked all the time, was in the third, and a very odd woman with a lot of problems and issues was in the fourth. She's a whole different story. I had no intention of moving there based on what I knew about the town, but the place was $175 a month. Yes, you read that correctly. Michael told me about it the first time he cut my hair. I have a feeling he told most of his clients. Prior to Mel, Diane, and I moving in, the residents had been prostitutes (the apartments had been cleaned and new carpet put in). He was looking for stable neighbors both for the sake of his business and his own sanity.

I had heard about Michael. I think everyone had. He was gay. Very gay. He had done hair and makeup for various celebrities, came back to the area where he grew up for reasons I never really understood and opened a shop. His shop was always packed. The first time I went to him, I had to wait two hours. I was not happy, but the cut was so spectacular I kept going back. And a few months later, I moved in.

When I walked in the front door of the building with a box full of crap, Michael came rushing to the door to welcome me, and I asked, "Why do I feel like I am moving to Melrose Place?"

He and Mel and I developed our own little community. We had this amazing backyard that was surrounded by a bluff. It was completely private and all ours. Michael put in an above-ground pool. Someone bought a grill. On summer nights we'd sit out there, grilling, drinking, and just enjoying ourselves. One night Michael broke out a bottle of Dom Perignon. He had done a catalog photo shoot (he was also a photographer) that had included a bottle of Dom Perignon. Screw the beer, we drank champagne that night.

The three of us talked about throwing we're-not-getting-married parties for each other (as opposed to bridal showers and whatnot) using cast-offs from where Mel worked. She worked in customer service for a place that made personalized napkins--you know the kind they have at weddings. So when there was a mistake or a wedding was cancelled, she'd bring home boxes of returned napkins and matchbooks. The plan was to have the party on the date listed on the napkin and just cross out the unhappy couple and write in our own names. It was a brilliant idea, but one we never got around to (I moved before we could do it).

Michael had a boat. It wasn't anything fancy, but it had a galley and it was cool. We'd take it out on the river, eat cheese, drink wine, watch the sun set and the fog settle on the water. It was amazingly peaceful.

We were an odd pair. He was in his early-40s and I was in my mid-20s. But it worked. He never charged me for a haircut. I was barely breaking even at my very first grown-up job and he knew it. He sold me hair product at cost. When work began to get too stressful he kept telling me I needed a break. When I lost my job and did temp work for three months before moving on, he told me it was the most relaxed he had ever seen me. He was right.

I left a few months after I lost my job because I'd found a new job. I hadn't been happy where I was. Yet, I was. I was happy to be Michael's neighbor. We took care of each other. One morning, I talked him into knocking down the wasps nest over the front door of the building with a broom (in the middle of winter when the wasps were less active--kind of). I can still see him jumping around yelling, "I'm a hairdresser not an exterminator!" When he was sick I would check in on him when I'd get home from work. I was happy to leave my situation, but I was going to miss Michael.

He made Mel and I dinner a few nights before I left. We ate something rich and wonderful and watched movies. He bought my useless computer and my window AC unit, neither of which he needed, but he knew I needed the cash.

Michael was good people.

After I left I stopped by when I would pass through the area on the way to my brother's. The last time I saw him was in 2001. I was just about ready to move to Madison for grad school and looking forward to the next chapter of my life. He was happy for me. And he told me my hair looked good.

Michael was one of those passing figures in my life. I've moved a lot and made and left numerous friends because of it. Michael was definitely one of those. But unlike some friends, he wasn't someone I kept up with. I loved seeing him when I was in the area, but we didn't keep in touch.

Yesterday, I found out from an old friend that Michael died two weeks ago. I was shocked. He was 55 years old. I guess it was a heart attack. I found a notice of his death and a picture through a Google search. The picture was dark, dramatic, and very un-midwest. It was so Michael. And I got a little sad.

It's hard to be too upset about someone I haven't seen in eleven years and hasn't been a part of my life for even longer. But it makes me sad that he is no longer of this world. And since yesterday I've been thinking about that year and a half fondly. Just writing this post brought back things I hadn't thought about in years. Michael was unique. He was vibrant. He was just him, no apologies. That's what made him so very awesome.

Rest in Peace, Michael.