Friend of Mine (Circa 10/2010 - Unfinished)
It was mid December and I had just gotten the hang of being a decent human being. I told this to Jack.
“No. No, you’re not even close,” he said.
“Fuck you. I’m there. Finally. I’m finally there with the rest of you.”
“Ha!” a gurgle, and then he said, “What makes you think the quote, unquote, ‘rest of us’, are there?”
I thought for a moment. He was right. Was he? So I told him my reasoning. “Well, you’re all closer than I am, or probably ever will be.”
Jack shrugged, drank, and offered, “Friend-o, none of us are decent. Some just know how to fake it better than others.”
I took a drink from my bottle and considered his assessment. “Some just know how to fake it better than others”. Somehow it made sense, in that weird “Jack” sort-of way and ultimately I found myself back at square one.
“Jesus you’re a downer. You know that?” I said to him.
He stretched every part of himself, answering, “Yeah. I know. And thank you. It’s something I pride myself on.”
“On being a downer?”
“On killing the mood. I’m an asshole, you see? It’s my gift, my responsibility, if you will. I’ve stopped trying to fake it. This, this is what I am.”
I took one last drink, tired of the bullshit, and said, “Well, than you’re the master, if there ever was one.” As I turned to leave, pulling the keys from my pocket Jack yelled, “I appreciate and fully accept your appraisal. Hey where are you going?”
I answered only with, “Home.”
“But there’s beer still to be drank!”
“I think I’ve had enough, thanks.”
“That’s not a thing, Dan, just a myth.”
“This from the self-proclaimed asshole.” I stood there by the door for a moment and waited for his response.
“I’m only saying I know who I am. One of the few.”
“If you say so, Jack.” And with that I left.
My keys were still in my hand when I left but for no good reason. I walked to Jack’s and only remembered this fact when I didn’t see my car in the front of his house. I thought, Shit, I really don’t feel like walking. Jack could give me a ride but he was buzzed and frankly I was irritated with him, enough so that I’d stomach the few blocks back to my apartment. It was then that I made a mistake, one a decent human being probably wouldn’t.
My cell phone rang several times before a click and, “Hello?”
My chest tightened, my hands shook. “Alison. Hey, it’s Dave.” Obviously it was me.
“What’s up?” The hesitance in her voice couldn’t be more apparent.
“I’m walking back from Jack’s. I don’t know. I thought I’d call.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I said. I just, it seems like it’s been a while.”
“Not long enough’s more like it.” That was rough, but she had a point and one I would choose to ignore.
“Kind of unnecessary, isn’t it?”
“Why do you even bother? Every time you call it’s like another step backward.”
“Who’s taking the steps though? Not me.”
“No, you’re pushing yourself forward at my expense.”
“That hurts, Al.”
“You mean you’re not used to it yet?”
This was going nowhere and fast.
“This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, Dave.” I think she could tell I was a bit sauced. The shit people do when they’re not thinking straight.
“Okay. Alright. See ya, Al.” But before I finished saying goodbye she had already gone. I wanted to throw the phone, farther than anything I could imagine. I wanted to smash it against a curb, hurl it into a lake, into space. Any place where I couldn’t find it again. Attachment it a bitch, just like life, and I’ve fucked the whole family.
I made it home sometime around two. Jack had called.
“Did you make it back, man?” He slurred.
“Yeah, I just got in.” I had put my keys on the table and poured some water from a pitcher.
“No abductions this time?” He said.
“What?” I had barely gotten that answer out before he continued with, “Nevermind, it’s not true alignment just yet.”
“What the Hell are you talking about? No, don’t answer that. I’m going to bed.”
I could hear the yawn in his voice. “Alright, Kimosabe,” he said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Sure, man. Goodnight.” I hung up the phone and went to my bedroom. I had left my windows open which resulted in stacks of unopened envelopes being scattered across my floor. God dammit, I thought, fuck this shit. I closed the windows and, leaving the paper to sit on the carpet, I went to get a bottle of Whiskey in my cabinet.
(The following footnote has been inserted at the request of the author who, at the time of writing, had actually been making a “mad dash” towards black out drunk though had been recording a rambling of word vomit onto his cellular device.)
*When you drink alone you tend to think too much and, up until the point of black out, your capacity for increasingly stupid things grow with every glass or shot. In this case my goal was to make a mad dash towards black out drunk before anything bad could possibly happen. It’s a fun game and maybe you should try it sometime. That’s actually bad advice but, seeing as how I’m at full sprint, the good ideas quickly become few and far between. Truth be told I’m over this story. I just thought the dialogue was decent enough. Grab the whiskey, we’re moving on…*
