Getting by with a little help from my friends

One of the most difficult things for me to do is swallow my pride and face up to the fact that I’m in the process of getting my life back on track. A small aspect of that is reflected in that I’m re-taking some of the classes that I took last spring for the sake of a better grade. Two of these classes have the same instructors. Seeing them again, hearing their spiel on the syllabus I've seen before, hearing what the class is like etc—it’s all very surreal and very disheartening to me. Going to class feels more me atoning to past mistakes and less to me working towards a greater goal, although I suppose those two do go hand and hand. It is going to be a long 16 weeks.

I’m also in a strange place as far as my friends are concerned. Before I flunked out of the four year university I was at I forged really nice friendships with three other guys there. None of them are perfect, and I’m sure I’m not perfect to them either, but we get along great and in many ways compliment one another…

Our friend Chewie (whose away for the summer) has a cousin named Sarah. We all love sarah like a sister. Last weekend Sarah, invited her cousin into the city to have a good time—I go out to the city practically every weekend to get drunk and act my age and not give a shit about my circumstances for a day or two. The night was going pretty well. There we all were all getting drunk in my buddy Eric’s apartment; laughing, dancing, progressively getting more and more sloshed. Now, Sarah’s cousin, Claire, is very, very cute. If I were to draw a comparison, I’d say she looked a little like a Reese Witherspoon and Cameron Diaz, and she’s about 20. As the night was winding down I found that the stars had inexplicably aligned somehow and that we were getting along great in that wonderful superficial way that two drunken people in their twenties can. Amidst the very uncoordinated and unsavory (though very fun!) kisses we were planting on each other, she got the idea to wander into Eric’s room. Eric had turned in for the night, but who is he to throw a pretty girl out of his room…sitting on his bed…cooing/slurring something to the effect of “just wanna talk.”
Eric often manages to fall ass-backward into, well, ass. A drought for him is about two weeks. Mine are considerably longer (considerably.) I suppose he looks a little like an out of shape Hugh Jackman or Mark Ruffalo if I can pile on anymore celebrity comparisons. He carries himself with the same swagger as a guy from South Boston, Brooklyn NY or the Southside of Chicago, because in some ways he’s an amalgam of those kinds of guys. Like a character out of a Charles Bukowski or Raymond Carver story. Eric recently came out of a passive-aggressive long term relationship and is now just playing the field. Sometimes I get jealous and even envious of him because of the ease he seems to have with women.
These are about the same thoughts I had when I was standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom watching the fun loving blonde I was having such a great time with sitting there. I was pissed. Pissed at the world. Pissed at myself. Pissed at Eric. Pissed at the girl. Somehow, without making any advances towards her, Eric wound up exactly where I wanted to be. After saying, “We should leave Eric alone,” a couple of times I surrendered and decided to just pass out on the nearby couch. Or so I thought.
I woke up the next morning to find that Claire was back in the bed her cousin was crashing in that night. She must have moved during the night, I thought. Much later that day I found out through an angry text from Eric that I apparently told Sarah that she was in Eric’s room. That prompted a slightly pissed and very drunk older cousin to come into Eric’s room to get her. I want to make clear that this was definitely something I would never have done if I were sober. If I were sober I would have just let things be. During the night I must have drunkenly gotten up and acted on that wretched jealous impulse I had and told on Eric. Childish. I wish I hadn’t done it.
Another thing that tarnishes this debacle more is the events that transpired beforehand with my other friend, Jon. Jon is somewhat opposite of Eric: he’s introverted, not one to take huge social risks like flirting outright with a girl he doesn’t know, and he is very, very quick to judge people and situations. I think this speaks to his unwillingness to take risks like asking a girl out or chatting up a female stranger at a bar. He couches much of his inaction in his judgments of people that I think reinforce his trying not to take risks or get hurt. One argument he uses to drive his anti “fun with a girlI just met” sentiment is that he believes it to be an imitation of the sordid, unrespectable life that Eric leads. Jon has always made a point of saying he has “lost respect for Eric” whenever mention of him spending the night with a girl, or hearing of his past escapades. Me? I’m not going to judge Eric too harshly. He’s enjoying himself and a part of me wants in on that kind of thing too. Anyway, Jon has a habit of playing the naysayer and mother hen role if he sees fit. That sort of thing occurred a few months ago one night when he and I were at a bar when I bumped into a pair of chatty (albeit slightly drunk) women who were joking around with the group they came with. Instead of us sticking around and Jon playing the role of wingman, he was more quasi-chaperones and said we should go meet Eric at a bar he was at. We left, but I still wish he’d have stayed because that night wasn’t any more exciting. It ended up with Eric getting some action from this really hot girl we all new, Jon “losing respect for Eric” and me wishing that things had turned out differently. Typical.
Fast forward to the night a week ago: Jon and I are standing on Eric’s back porch with Jon nice and sober and me fucking lit. Jon is telling me its time to go. I didn’t want to leave—for obvious reasons. Jon was being difficult. Where most guys would have said something like “So you’re just going to just crash here?” and leaving it be, Jon was trying to save my immortal soul and keeping me from having fun with Claire. “I’ll lose a lot of respect for you,” he threatened. I was too drunk to engage him. Too drunk to argue coherently. The best I could do is say “I’m in no condition to have this conversation with you. Just leave my car keys here so I can leave in the morning.” The argument ping-ponged between us for five mintutes never really departing from “just leave I’ll be fine” “no you won’t” points. Jon gave in and got ready to go but said that he’d hide the keys and text me their whereabouts in the morning. Whatever.

The problem is that when I look back on the events that transpired last week I can’t help but think that, on some level, Jon was right in his attempts to get me home. It stings.

When I got the text from Eric I called his phone and left some apologetic voicemails and said that I value our friendship too much for something like this to end it and we should talk things out. He texted me back a day later saying he wasn’t mad anymore but I was still a cocksucker (his words). And now, no more than just a minute ago I recieved a text from Sarah on Eric's behalf asking for a formal letter of apology and a twelve pack of heineken or better. Done. Done and done. I'll start the letter once this post is published. and I'll be in town tomorrow for the hand off and the inevitable smoothing over of things.

I haven’t heard from Jon yet. I may see him tomorrow. I wonder if I crossed some kind of respect Rubicon with him, though. We'll see.