Peter and I crossed the threshold of an old run-down house on Frank Street. We did not know it at the time, but we were entering onto the stage of what would be a tragic spectacle. Neither of us had seen John in years and we both had jumped at the opportunity for a reunion. We wanted things to be as they were in our romanticized memories of youth. Days that were spent together on vacant lots of construction sites, derelict homes rented by punks and degenerates, and basements of our family homes. Uneasiness and excitement became danced in my belly and the overwhelming optimism I felt about us once again coming together dulled my senses to the tension that was already starting to build. These two men had once been as close as brothers, but now they appeared as distant as planets, both following the gravity of their own separate moons. I felt uncomfortable in my skin as soon as I saw John. I had imagined us meeting again many times, I imagined the way he might look at me, and what the look might tell me about just how far we had likely grown apart. John hugged me and dark nights of the soul I had spent wondering about our friendship melted away. Years of hurt and tension and guilt flowed out of my body like ice in the spring. Optimism filled my heart and guided me through introductions to his new friends that, before coming here, I had been so nervous to meet. Peter and I had promised each other in the bar before leaving that, if the evening were to sour or uncomfortable, we would just leave quickly and continue catching up without John. Oh, how I wish that we had kept this promise to each other!
John’s friends were nice. We played card games and teased each other like old friends instead of strangers. I confided in a girl, with a shaved head and a Monroe piercing, that I had been nervous about seeing John. I explained to her that we were estranged high-school sweethearts. She smiled and nodded and then continued her conversation with her other friend, a shorter woman with kind eyes and a soft build. I became hot in the face and I could feel shame ooze into my body like a toxic spill from the tar sands. Shortly after this she left, and I wondered if perhaps she and John were sleeping together. I hoped that I had not intruded, but reasoned with myself that, if they were, he probably would have prepared her for the situation, or perhaps she would not have cared either way. Still, the situation had set something in motion inside me that I chose to ignore for the sake of maintaining the buzz of a rekindled friendship. In the background of my thoughts, the idea that I had confided this in her precisely BECAUSE I suspected that her and John were sleeping together buzzed around in my brain like a gnat. This shadow-thought lurked in my mind and I remembered myself as the person I once was, so scared and damaged, so young and reckless. My blood became ice for a brief moment, and I hated myself. I sat with this feeling for a moment and then waved goodbye to it. I reminded myself of all the work I have put in, since being a teenager, to minimize the damage I cause others. A therapist once told me that hurt people can be like injured animals in the wild. When you approach them to try and assist, they lash out in fear and hurt their helpers. I am more healed now and I can recognize people’s kindness for what it is. This thought gave lightness to my heavy mood.
Around this time, Peter began to become surly. This trait often surfaced with his consumption of alcohol. We all went outside for a cigarette and I asked John about his job. Peter was becoming increasingly defensive. He had assumptions about John’s career that were rooted in insecurity. I could not hold this against him. Peter has always been somewhat of a lost soul; in some ways I am too. Whether it be from a complicated up-bringing, or a certain astrological proclivity, we have always connected over pain and discomfort with reality. John was much more neurotypical than us. He had the perfect balance capitalist ambition and artistic talent that neither Peter, nor I, have ever seemed to master. For better or worse. I think that, when Peter left Ottawa after caring for his parents and breaking up with Mary, he needed to get away from himself almost as much as he needed to get away from this government shithole. Seeing John again put him too close to that person that he had been trying to run away from. He began to take verbal jabs at John. I tried my best to quell the tension with quiet reminders to Peter under my breath like, “think clearly” and “let go”, he seemed to not have heard me as we went inside.
Peter and I sat on the couch in the living room in silence together. He was leaned back into the cushions, with pursed lips and his gamblers poker face fully intact. He was watching John as if from far away, observing him like a wolf might observe a distant caribou calf what was straying behind the herd. It seemed he was resisting the urge to pounce and he suggested we leave. I felt relief as I moved to the door and got my coat. Pulling my phone from the left pocket, and searching for my uber app, I ordered a car and approached John to say goodbye. He seemed for a moment to not want us to leave and then invited us into the basement to look at his new drum kit. Peter agreed and I cancelled the uber. Descending into the basement would be the final act of the evening.The smell of stale beer, sweat and mould overpowered my nostrils and made me feel nostalgic. John was talking but I could barely understand what he was saying. Something to do with the specification of the instruments that he was showing off to Peter. I sat at the drums and banged aimlessly on the skins. I never had any real talent for music, unlike the other two men in the room with me. Peter picked up a guitar and strummed a single note. A chugging reverberation made the stale air in the room electric. I watch his gaze meet John’s eyes. It struck me that I had not seen these two men make eye contact all evening All at once words spilled out of Peter.
“What the fuck is wrong with you man?”
“What are you talking about, man.” replied John, stunned, although he probably shouldn’t have been.
I froze and wildly tried to force Peter to look at me. I called to him with my mind and begged him not to continue.
“Where have you been? Here you are with all new friends, and all you’ll talk about is your shitty new job!”
John then suddenly seemed to once again find his voice.
“My job isn’t shitty, I love my new job. What the fuck are you even doing these days anyways?”
Peter flushed with anger as more, and more potent, venom began to shoot from his mouth. He had always struggled to find a career path that suited him. He had tried for years to live up to his incredibly successful family’s expectations of him.
“You’re a fucking bastard John. You talk all night about this stupid job, and it’s like, you have totally forgot who you are! You haven’t kept in contact with anyone. Where the fuck is Greg, man? Do you even fucking care?”
I looked down at the floor and began to feel dizzy. In the corners of my vision a hot-red glow began, and I looked at Peter with the fury of the culmination of this catastrophe.
“That’s not fucking fair, Peter” I said, though no one heard.
Greg had been a friend during youth. I was never particularly close to him but knew him to be a faithful and honest person who had difficulty feeling confident or expressing himself. No one had heard from him in a very long time and rumours that he had fallen into darkness and depression we rampant. I knew that Peter unfairly blamed John for not keeping close enough in contact with Greg, as if this could have somehow helped the young man out of his spiral, it was a ridiculous and cruel thing to say.
“I don’t know, shit. Why the fuck would you even bring that up, Peter? You know what, dude, you’re a fucking ass hole and you’ve always been a fucking ass hole. You’re a selfish piece of shit and I’m glad I’ve moved on with my life.” John barked.
I felt tears well up in my eyes and I began pleading with them to stop. I begged both of them to not end the evening in such an ugly manner, but all my pleas went unheard and ignored as my two old friends tore each other to pieces in front of me. John told us to get out of his house and I selfishly hated Peter for starting this fight that would ensure that my friendship with John was certainly over. Peter began to cry and ask John if he meant what he said, to which John replied that he did. That’s when Peter lost control and with one loud crack knocked John across the face with a blow that landed accurately and brought him to the floor. Men from the living room now began to thunder downstairs in steel-toed combat boots. They dragged Peter upstairs and threw him from the house. I bent over and touched John’s face. He looked up at me and asked me in a voice that I recognized from him; a voice of fear and heartache.
I began to cry and told him that I didn’t know, I then apologized and told him that it was nice to see him. His eyes became dark and he looked away from me. I knew in that moment that it was all over. All of my hopes of reconciliation were dead and there was nothing to do now but leave.
I ordered another uber outside and my phone died. I sobbed uncontrollably on the way home. My misery was mirrored as Peter joined me and collectively our broken hearts expressed themselves in a symphony of tears. I told him that his ego was a fucking problem and that, when he drinks, he can be a jackass. He told me he knew that that he was sorry. We went back to my house and curled together on my couch, holding hands, we licked our wounds over tea, and he apologized profusely. I forgave him as he left and promised to call him in the morning.
Peter and I still call each other to catch up every once in a while. He has since completed his red seal and is working as a carpenter. I am very proud of him. John, on the other hand, has only sent me a message once since that evening. It was the day that a close friend of ours died. He asked me if I was okay, to which I replied that I was even though I was terribly sad. He said the same. I no longer think about a reconciliation, all of my past attempts have been met with little to no enthusiasm. It’s funny because, when we broke up, he made me promise him that we would still be friends. For my part, I will always keep that promise and will silently wish him peace and happiness for the rest of my days on earth.
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