Michigan was a girl from, well Michigan. I won’t be coy in admitting the name didn’t require much thought. But it certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to the name “Diana” in any way at all. I suppose a slick enough sleuth could have potentially found her, solely based on the alias. I mean, how many students from the University of Boston are actually from Michigan? I honestly have no idea, nor do I even care in the slightest. I once heard Wheezer call her “Dee,” but that could have been short for anything. She didn’t strike me as a “Diana,” though Michigan definitely thought herself a goddess. It was one of the things that I liked about her. Now that I’d seen her eviscerated corpse, I realized it was probably one of the reasons she was dead.
She was Wheezer’s cousin. A busty young twenty-one year old, she was certainly popular with the boys. Unfortunately, for them however, she was a straight-up lesbian who could have knocked out any one of the dozens of potential suitors I had seen trying to court her with a single punch. This, I thought, was hilarious because she really couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-five pounds soaking wet- most of that mass being in her chest.
But Michigan was a girly-girl. Even though I knew she had the physical capability to decimate the male species, she was hands-down a lover, not a fighter. It was also this aspect of her strange and enigmatic persona that I found intriguing. For a short period of time, Michigan and I had grown rather close, because, much as it pained me to say it, I had also gotten closer to Wheezer.
I know. What the fuck is wrong with me? But, in all honesty, are you actually just starting to ask yourself that question now?