metaphysical nightcap: May 2009

When I was like 13 years old I had this cooler, more outgoing best friend (I'll call him Fred) who was this skater/graffiti kid. He carried around multiple sharpies and his tag was "suave." Here's my horrible rendition of it:

I followed with my own tag (debonair) and completely ripped him
off--both stylistically and thematically--check it out:

Fred never called me on it, surprisingly. I guess he was flattered--or maybe he just felt sorry for me. Anyhow, we were really close but also very competitive. We would have these heated three hour, one-on-one hoop sessions in the middle of the night. If there were no lights we'd just leave the car headlights on--we were grimey like that. We also had this history of doing fucked up things to each other. Like one time me and him and like five other mates were in his backyard sitting on this bench next to this plum tree. All of the plums were rotten and had fallen to the ground. And out of nowhere he just picks up a bunch of the plums and starts pelting me with them! He ruined my favorite shirt at the time which was this mauve, jersey-style Hawaii '85 shirt with 3/4 sleeves. Got a big laugh out of everybody. Then, one time we were at Colonial Donuts at like 3 in the morning (we'd all snuck out of our houses and met there). Fred was all ready to dive into this fresh and pristine maple bar which was sitting on the table between us. I looked at him and made this inverted peace sign gesture with my right hand and then brought both fingers down right into the middle of his donut. I felt I'd evened the score but looking back that was really tame. Then, I got a brand-new Diamond Back BMX bike for Christmas and rode down to Rainbow Records to buy the new Motley Crue album, Shout at the Devil I think it was. I had left my bike (unlocked) right in front of the store. When I leave the store, I notice my bike is gone! I start panicking, running down the street and yelling "Thief, thief! Someone stole my bike! Help me!" I think I might've even been crying. I turn the corner and there Fred is with my bike and two other friends. His accomplices were in stitches although I remember he seemed contrite after witnessing my very public emotional breakdown. Then one summer we went to Tahoe with a bunch of friends and stayed at his friend's mom's condo with her. She was one of those extremely permissive moms and she let us all drink. I think it was one of the first times I got really, really drunk. There was this girl, Tasha, who was staying in a condo across the way from us. She was hanging out and it was clear to everyone but me that she liked Fred and that I should give them some alone time. Never did. I continued to "salt his game" (popular slang of that time meaning "to cockblock") the entire weekend. He never got to make out with Tasha. He didn't hassle me about until like a year later when he said something like "Danny, you really blew it that weekend for me... that's cool though you were drunk. You're still my boy." He knew it wasn't intentional. Girls were new and exciting. I had a jumpy trigger finger and no self-control. I was eager to play but didn't know the rules of the game.

Years passed and we became less close but we still saw each other occasionally. He was living with his girlfriend who I'll call Jane. I'd hang out with them and couldn't ignore the chemistry I had with Jane. I think we all saw it coming. They broke up and within a month I was seeing Jane. Neither of us were looking to hurt him--we fell in love. All is fair in love and war (*), right? Yeah, right. I don't think my friend saw it like that. I stabbed him in the back and there's no gray area between betrayal and loyalty. I did know the rules at that point. Anyhow, ten years have passed and we've all moved on. I don't talk to either of them anymore. He hates me. Or actually, he pretends I don't exist, which is much weirder and worse in a way. I've run into him several times and he just looks right through me. The first time I ran into him was at the Rockridge Bart station. I was entering and he was exiting; he looked away after we locked eyes and mumbled some form of acknowledgement; I turned around to follow him but it was too late. He was gone. So I tried getting his new phone number from a mutual friend; I knew he had zero interest in talking to me or reconciling, I really just wanted to give him a chance to tell me to fuck off. So he calls and leaves a message for me precisely at midnight. He says, "Dan, I hear you were trying to get in touch with me and after what happened I don't really have anything to say to you. You can just go your way and I'll go my way." I don't even remember if he said bye or not. All these years later I'm still haunted by what happened. I still have these dreams where we're hanging out and he forgives me and it feels like old times again. What's sad is that aside from my wife, he's the only other person that I've been really close to my entire life. He once said when he got married that'd I'd for sure be his best man. Sorry I ruined that one, Fred. So if you're out there, just know that I not only hurt you, I hurt myself.

* When all of this was going down, I was an emotional basketcase. So much so that I went to see a therapist for the first time in my life. I explained to her how I had these feelings for this girl but didn't want to hurt my best friend; How do I talk to him about it, I wondered? I was looking for a practical, real-world solution and all she could offer me was a Stevie Wonder lyric; a worthless platitude: All is fair in love and war. Oh and she also wanted to put me on Prozac. Never saw her again--can someone recommend another therapist?