they'll take you into the past
pre-series; fic is based on things Michael's said in his talking-heads, probably all the way up to Phyllis' Wedding, but I'm not sure so. If you're spoilerphobe, read at your own risk.
notes: I don't really know where this came from. It was like I opened Word to work on an SGA fic and then... a story about/explaining Michael's childhood was suddenly sitting there. o.O;
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With a brand new Dudley Do-Right lunch pal resting against his leg, and a too big sweater vest hanging just a little bit loose on his shoulders, a very excited Michael Scott stood on the middle cushion of the couch, hands against the window as he shifted from foot to foot in eager anticipation.
A large yellow bus rolled to a stop in front of the house.
"It's here!" Michael shrieked, pushing off the glass and jumping to the floor.
His mother intercepted him before he could make it to the front door, laughing and pulling him back. She reminded him to be polite to the teacher, have fun, and make lots of new friends as she handed him a brown bag, which held a shirt he could wear during painting. Then she double-knotted his sneakers. Michael still hadn't gotten a hang of the bunny ears yet.
Michael was scared when he first got to school, but after a while he didn't mind it anymore because there were lots of other kids to play with and in the mornings, Miss Kinsey always smoothed down his hair and said he looked nice.
All in all, Michael really liked kindergarten.
In first grade, Michael had two brown bags on his first day. One for his lunch (nobody at his school thought Dudley Do-Right was cool) and the other for colored pencils and glue and blue scissors made just for him. First grade wasn't as fun as kindergarten though because they didn't finger paint anymore and the teacher didn't really talk to Michael and she never, ever smoothed his hair.
In second grade, math and reading suddenly got a lot harder. In the last half of the year, Michael had to stay inside at recess. Even though he tried really hard to sound out the words and add the numbers, he just didn't catch on as well as the other kids.
Before third grade started, sometime in the middle of a hot Scranton summer, Michael's mom and dad started yelling at each other. About everything. Once, Michael needed a new bulb for his Flintstone's nightlight but instead, his dad decided he didn't need the nightlight anymore. Even though Michael cried, and his mom said she still wanted him to have it, a heartbroken Michael was sent to bed for the first time without the glow of Fred's orange dinosaur skin. His parents continued yelling at each other behind him.
That night, his room dark and full of shadows, Michael woke up hearing his mom saying "please please don't leave me" over and over.
It took a long time for Michael to fall asleep again.
When third grade finally came around, Michael didn't mind so much because it meant he could be away from his mom during the day. She wasn't happy very much. But then the math and reading got even harder and while he was in the back at the big table trying to read Ranches and Rainbows, the rest of the class was working on learning their cursive.
Michael was told to stay inside at recess again.
The other kids didn't really talk to him anymore and when he told his mom, she suggested he invite them to his birthday. He did. So when March finally rolled around, and he'd x'd out all the days on the calendar up until the fifteenth, Michael stood on the middle couch cushion with a blue party hat positioned straight and proud on his head, watching and waiting as the cars passed.
But none of them ever stopped.
Michael's mom wiped away his tears, let him have five pieces of cake, and helped him learn the magic tricks in the set she'd gotten him.
In fourth grade, a new teacher named Mr. Rewn enjoyed making an example out of Michael. He'd make him come up to the chalkboard and stare at math problems he didn't know how to solve. Other times he'd hold up two papers, comparing Michael's with the other, and always, always making everybody laugh.
While the other kids still didn't talk to Michael, they did start talking about him.
Before fourth grade ended, Michael became very good friends with the lunch lady. He'd show her his magic and she'd always laugh and ask how he did it. Other times she'd wink and slide a milk carton across the table and tell him stories about before. Michael always nodded along, swinging his legs and eating his peanut butter sandwich and drinking his free milk. But even though he really liked not eating alone anymore and he thought the lunch lady was really nice… he'd always watch the other kids. And he really liked to pretend he was sitting with them.
Fourth grade did come to an end though. And it wasn't long before his parent's marriage followed.
A month before school started again, Michael's mom signed him up for peewee hockey. He liked it. Skating with the other kids was a lot more fun then playing in the backyard all by himself. Jeff the hockey coach yelled at him a lot though, saying he wasn't a team-player and making him stay on the sidelines sometimes.
Summer ended. Fifth grade started. Seven months into another year where nobody talked to him, after a day where Michael failed a spelling test, found out the lunch lady was retiring, lost his jacket and missed the bus, his mom pulled up in the old, loud-engined GMC pacer. She sighed as he got in, reaching across to adjust his sweater vest.
She did that when she was nervous. Apprehensive, he said, "What it is?"
She shook her head, bit her lip. Then, watching his face carefully, his mom told him she was getting married to Jeff the hockey coach.
Michael turned away and stared out the window. He didn't say anything at all.