The Confrontation that was Bound to Happen ...

I ran into him on the street last night. I saw him walking towards me and I know he saw me, but quickly looked away. It has been an entire week since he broke the news that he was leaving town (which turned out to be a lie--at least at that time). I walked past and said "Hi...See ya!" He turned around and said "Chris? I didn't even see you." Then he started motioning me to come back to his place. I told him no, I had to get up for work. And I walked away.

I didn't get more than 100 yards before I started kicking myself. This was what I wanted: answers. So why was I running? I quickly dialed his cell phone and said: "I changed my mind. We have to talk. I'm waiting outside your apartment."

As we walked up to his apartment door, he pointed to an empty spot in the hall where he usually kept his bike. "Just one more dilemma going on in my life." He said.

"It's not really important right now." I replied, knowing full well that he gave the bike away. It wasn't stolen, but I knew he figured, since I had already identified the bike as mine that was stolen a few years before (no he wasn't even in town when it was stolen, but it was given to him a few months ago), he didn't have the balls to say he'd given it away or sold it.

"It may not be important to you, but..." He let the sentence drop as he unlocked the door and I walked past him into the apartment.

The place was a mess to say the least. Piles of clothes and all sorts of other crap heaped on every piece of furniture and the floor. I've seen it in this condition before, but quite frankly, there didn't appear to be any real packing going on (last I heard, his moving day was set for this Sunday). I told him I needed to use the bathroom and while I was in there he made his way into the bedroom, where I found him sitting silently in the chair at the computer desk. I plopped down in the chair opposite him and said: "I just want to know why... Why, after all I've done for you, after all I've gone through for you and with you, why did you feel a need to fuck with my emotions like you did?"

He stared back at me with big brown eyes; eyes that resembled the startled look of a deer caught in a set of headlights; eyes that were unblinking; eyes that were dilated from an entire day of smoking crystal meth. I knew this conversation wasn't going to go well. Little did I know how bad it was actually going to get.

"H-how did I fuck with your emotions?"

"Well, first you call me up at 10:00 at night with the announcement that you were leaving town for good, that your sister was on her way down from New England to pick you up as we speak. You then invite me over to talk and three minutes later, when I arrive, you've got a little mini-party going on. You barely acknowlege me even being there and you're all laughing and drinking beers. Then you get pissed at me on the phone for leaving and then you don't call me for a week. I wanna know why?"

Deer caught in headlights...no reply...

"I have been there through thick and thin for you and what do I get in return? What did I say or do to you to make me rank so far down on your priority list of people to talk to?"

"I have alot going on..."

I can see the unfocus in his eyes. He didn't know where to look. He didn't know how to respond. He was trapped. Usually confrontations between him and anyone else generally happens on the phone and he can hang up. But now, he's stuck here trying (very badly) to defend his actions.

"You have alot going on, but you can set some time aside for 'R'. You can set some time aside for 'T'. You can set some time aside for your drug buying friends. But you were never going to say anything to me! I know that, when you get out of here, you're never coming back to this city. There's nothing that keeps you here. So you were just going to go without saying anything to me? I know people have told you that you needed to call me. I know people have told you that you needed to talk to me. So why the silent treatment?"

Deer caught in headlights, hands shaking (either drug-induced or nervousness). He nods. I don't know if it was just something for him to do or if he was in agreement with what I had said.

His front door opens and his neighbor comes in. He's told to go back upstairs. He's hoping that I would keep my mouth quiet until his neighbor leaves, but I didn't care. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. My voice grew louder.

"Is this how you treat your friends? You use them for whatever purpose suits you and then throw them out with yesterday's trash?"

"You're right. I'm an asshole. It's all my fault. And you'll never have to worry about me again."

Typical cop-out. Avoid confrontation by overaccepting responsibility. I wasn't going to fall for it.

"Why? Why did you use me? I knew about you and 'T' dating, yet when I asked you point blank about it, you deny it. Yet the entire bar knows about the two of you? So why lie to me? I've been completely honest with you and have never lied to you. I never judged you or told you what you should or shouldn't do. I never came down on you about your drugs. I was there for you when you needed me. So why the game playing?"

"I never asked you for anything, so your worries concerning me are your own problem, not mine."

His comment was a kick in the balls. The anger boiled over. How fuckin' dare him to twist a friendship around to make it look lie an act of pity to be thrown back in my face.

"You don't even know what a fucking friend is do you?" I knew there was no getting through to him. Not in his state of mind. He was too fucking wired out on drugs. "You don't even give a shit about me being here talking to you, do you? You don't give a shit about what I'm saying, do you?"

Deer caught in headlights.

I stood up. I had enough. I didn't want to stoop to his cold-hearted level, but something inside me snapped. I stopped and stared down at him, still sitting in the chair, still wearing that same wired bug-eyed expression.

"I really hope you are serious about cleaning yourself up. Maybe after you're straight, you'd realize what friendships mean. If not, you're going to use everyone around you until they've had their fill of your lies and games. Then you'll find yourself completely alone and probably hanging out of a six-story window ready to kill yourself again." I walked out of the bedroom and out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

~~~~

I was thinking about all of this this morning and I really wouldn't be surprised if this is just another one of his games. Things just don't make sense. He told 'R' last week that he needed to get out of town in order to clean himself up. He was petrified that someone would talk him into staying. First of all, it's not like he doesn't have a place to go. He has his sister up in New England who apparently is ready to take him in. If he's afraid of someone talking him out of moving and was so hell bent on cleaning up his act, shouldn't he have packed a suitcase and gone to see his sister for a week or two, to get his act together? Then he could've returned for more of his belongings or better yet, have someone pack them up and ship them. Instead he's already put off his departure twice and made absolutely no attempt to clean himself up.

Secondly, his place shows no signs of packing. Sure, there are piles of clothes strewn about, but not a single box to be found.

Third (and the scariest). His sister has 2 little kids. I've seem him when drugs have gotten control of his temper. Is this drug addict willing to put his withdrawal and all of its ugly and potentially violent symptoms out infront of small children who look up to him?

I really don't think he's leaving the city. I hope I'm wrong because I really don't want to run into him. But I think he's going to be hiding himself in one of 3 places that I can think of. This guy is not ready to give up drugs, which means he's not ready to part company with his source.