October 6, 2003 11:04 PM
3. Best Friends Forever!!!

So, this time things get personal. And I don’t mean complaining about my job or my nonexistent pets or anything else that is absolutely superficial in the meaning of life. This time, the only thing I have to rant about is friendship. Suffice it to say, the topic seems almost too big to handle for one so small as myself.

What is friendship? For those who don’t know, Oxford defines it as such: noun [MASS NOUN] the emotions or conduct of friends; the state of being friends. But what does being friends really mean? Closeness between people that strangers and acquaintances cannot share? Absolute faith and honesty and respect, mutually given? In my current emotional state I think I prefer Oxford’s last explanation, “a state of mutual trust and support between allied nations.” I really do like the ring of that. People are simply nothing more than their own countries, the brain is the political body of power and the heart is the voice of the people ultimately making the decisions. In a metaphorically utopian sense.

I am the nation of Rob and my borders were violently attacked Saturday night by a country I had thought to be an ally until the end of time. I was wrong, and I am totally uncertain of how to respond.

Last night and early this morning my core group of friends (and some stragglers who are definitely closer than acquaintances) were celebrating one of our best friends’ twenty-first birthday. Natalie, the friend, was also a former crush of mine, and thus I have a strong bond with her that is virtually unbreakable. And this remains true, even after the events I am about to relate. However, my bond, my tie, with my friend Matt has become frayed and loose. And I am unsure if it can be repaired. Frankly, this upsets me to a point beyond rage or sadness, a point that I cannot remember ever feeling before. To make matters worse, this unadorned and unknown emotional state confuses me, only heightening the intensity.

I suppose you’re wondering what happened. Hopefully the alcohol and sleep haven’t degraded too much of my memory. But, here we go. As I mentioned, our closest friends were there, plus a few extras to help round out the numbers. This put the guest list around twenty or twenty-five, which is perfectly suitable for a 21st birthday party in which the guests are to forego the good ole spankin’ for a roast of the birthday girl. We did the same on my birthday, and we’ll do it at the next one, too.

Well, at some point between 11:00 p.m. and midnight about fifty more people showed up. Now, I didn’t know but a few of these souls and my compatriots knew even less. As is happening recently, Matt and his girlfriend, Jennie, even Natalie, have been enjoying the strangers and strangest of the strange coming out to parties and having a good time with us. I, and a few others, however, hate these newbies. Why? Because they drink our alcohol, take up our space, force upon us bad music, bad conversation, bad hygiene (emo kids, you know), and disallow any chance for my friends and I to entertain each other on any decent level. And nobody knows them. They’re friends of friends of friends of friends of friends of friends and if you ask any one of them where they are or who they are with or why they are there, they have no concrete answer.

Do you know whose house this is? Uh, no?

Do you know anybody here? Uh, I know Johnny Rebhorn? Who? Johnny...? Well, I don’t fucking know Johnny.

Do you know what this party is for, who it’s for, why we’re all here? Uh, no?

Oh, and the best: Do you know whose alcohol that is you’re drinking, who paid for it? Uh, no? You know why you don’t know? Uh... Because I paid for it and it’s my alcohol and you don’t know me and you shouldn’t even fucking be here!

This happens all the time, more or less. Well, less. But it happened, almost verbatim, Saturday between me and two fucks I’ve never seen before in my life. How did this happen? Was it the mixture of alcohol and anger and frustration that caused me to confront these kids in my friend’s home and kick them out? Perhaps. Perhaps I’m highly territorial and completely cheap with my money? Perhaps I’m an elitist and dislike new people in general? All of those have some validity, but then why did I choose last night to finally act when it’s been going on for weeks? What made last night so special?

Did I not mention that it was Natalie’s 21st birthday party? Did I not mention the incredibly tight bond we share? I believe I did, but I did not mention that a little after midnight, after all these fuckheads have shown up and started doing all these things that cause me to hate, I decide to go look for the birthday girl. I find her on the front porch, completely irritated and ready to cry because of all this. Her party was going down the toilet and 2000 Flushes couldn’t save it. And, I hate to say it, but the look on her face, the desperation in her eyes, hit my ignition switch and I couldn’t turn my back on her. She pleaded with me to help get these people out, all the ones we didn’t know. How could I say no, and how could I not feel the rage beginning to boil?

First things first, I shouted at the top of my lungs that the cops were coming. And it was a movie moment, I swear. If a record had been playing the soundtrack would have stopped with that scratched, needle-cutting-across-the-grooves squeal. Everyone stopped what they were doing -- their conversations, their idiotic dancing, whatever it was -- and looked directly at me. And I just looked back, having no proof to back up my lie. Seconds later the whole thing started again without missing a beat. I tried it two more times:

HOLY SHIT IT’S THE POLICE!

At which point two friends joined in and we yelled the ultimate taboo: IT’S THE POLICE AND THERE’S A FIRE!

I assure you, it was comical. This, sadly, probably caused the effect of our plea to go completely by the wayside. The train derailed because there was a penny on the tracks, and it was placed by the conductor. I turned back to Natalie, shrugged, and said I’ll take care of it. At the time only one thought crossed my mind: “They don’t believe the cops are coming? I’ll get the cops out here for real.” That’s right, I was desperate. I was going to call 911. Judge me if you want, laugh at me, call me an idiot, but it seemed a viable option. Surely, even these assholes would scatter at the sound of sirens?

Needless to say, I didn’t get that far. I go inside the house to get my phone, I’m even ready to dial the number, but that’s when I look up and see one of the damnedest things my eyes have ever seen. My bottle of Jack Daniels, the one I had purchased specifically for the party, the one that I had only had two drinks from, was at the lips of some seventeen-year-old dipshit that I had never seen before in my life. And I couldn’t control myself. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “HEY YOU! WITH THE JACK DANIELS!” And again, everything stopped. The record scratched. The party was at a halt as I approached him, the questions frothing and shooting out of my mouth. I barely waited for him to answer, rat-a-tat-tatting my accusations and interrogations.

And that’s when it happened. As I was kicking this kid and his buddies out (who tried to save him by saying he was with them, but who the fuck were they?), my friend Matt steps between us. He starts pushing me back, yelling at me to stop. The entire time I was relatively cool. I was pissed, angrier than I’ve allowed myself to get in a long time, but I wasn’t approaching physicality. I wasn’t going to swing. But Matt was pushing me away. So, I pushed back, not hard, just hard enough to get his hand off my chest. Perhaps that was my mistake. But the repercussions seemed a tad harsh.

Matt attacks. Literally. His arm stretches out and he grabs me by the throat, seemingly as tight as his fingers can grasp, and he starts to choke me. Now, I’ve been in a few fights in my life. I hate fights. The last time I was in one I vowed never to get into a real brawl again. As it happened the kid I was beating was in the special ed classes. Hey, I didn’t know, I thought he was just stupid. I say this to make a point. When Matt started to choke me, the only thing I tried to do was get his hand off my neck. I didn’t throw a punch; I didn’t kick him in the balls. Luckily, I didn’t need to. But the point stands. I don’t fight, I won’t fight, especially not against my friends.

Like I said, luckily, every one of our other friends who was present stepped in, forced him off of me, and formed a wall between us. Meanwhile, he’s been howling at me: this isn’t your house, it’s more my house than yours, you’re too fucking elitist, you don’t belong here anymore. Meanwhile, I’m trying to catch my breath. And now I’m really livid. I want to break something, to smash something, to kill something. And it makes me sick that all those somethings had Matt’s face on them. They still do, in some fashion. I’ve never been attacked so violently before in my entire life. And I can’t believe it was by someone I thought was a friend.

But that’s only one of the many things that have been rattling around inside my brain. The last thing he said to me before he left the party, after we had cooled down a bit and went outside to talk about what had happened. . . . I explained to him the step by step process of my actions and emotions, A led to B led to C led to Z. Naturally, I was angry, so I yelled. I think I’m allowed that. I repeated myself just to make sure everything in our heads was clear. Then, I waited. All he could say was that this had been bottled up for a while now, that he’d been holding it in. I asked what the hell that could possibly be. I argued against his elitist comment by stating that I had never actually done anything to any of these people before. I had never tried to kick anyone out before. All I had ever done was express my disgust for the situations, in confidence, to my friends. And the only reason I had acted that night was because it was Natalie’s party, it was her night, and they were drinking my alcohol. Those two things culminated and I don’t apologize for it. His response? He brings up the Crown Royal we had shared the week before, which he had paid for but of which I had drunk the most. Clearly, that isn’t the same thing. Clearly, a friend offering another friend liquor is utterly different from a stranger drinking another stranger’s liquor without bothering to ask and the culprit not seeing a problem with it. I tell him that. And then he leaves, saying only, “We’re done here.”

He left, that was that. And ever since I’m left wondering what he could possibly be holding inside. How bad could that be, bad enough that his drunken reaction is violence? An action I have never, ever, seen from Matt before in our friendship. How strong is our friendship to begin with, if he considers me an elitist who needs to be choked? How strong is our friendship if I can’t forgive him for that? Do I want to? And if do, how can I ever feel comfortable with him again?

I don’t have the answers. And that, my readers, is almost the worst part of all, for me. I never thought I wouldn’t have any of the answers. I’m not egotistical enough to believe I’d always have all the answers. But, to not have any? To have no life or mental experience to guide me in any way? The whole thing makes me sick. I haven’t felt like doing anything but vomiting for the last thirty-six hours.

Were I the president of this country, I wouldn’t declare war. But I’d certainly declare the alliance finished.

Being the sole occupant of my own country, though, I can’t make that decision. I don’t want to have to.

But, if we were dating, wouldn’t that relationship be over by now?

What’s the difference?

I don’t know. I really don’t. I hope there is one.

Posted at 11:04 PM | Comments? (422)