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July 2, 2007

I remember the night when she made her first big revelation to us. Her best friend and the guy she was interested in. Arguably the most classic of betrayals imaginable; a devastating one-two punch. And to add insult to injury, they neglected to speak a word of it to her for several days thereafter. It sounded like an awful thing to do a person, and an awful thing for a person to have to go through. And it was.



And yet when I took a look at the all-revealing conversation between the two offenders, I noticed something. They were lost. They knew full well the extent of their actions, and they wanted to tell her, they truly did. But they just didn’t know how. They were at a loss for what they should do next. What they could do next.



It wasn’t long before he spoke my thoughts aloud. This was a crime of passion in the most literal sense of the term possible, and grievous as it was indeed, it was not unforgivable. Especially for a friendship unlike any other she’d ever had.



But if forgiveness had ever been on the table, it was certainly no longer there now. It was too late for any reconciliation; she had not the slightest desire to ever have any contact with her friend again. She was practically dead to her.



We left that night feeling as if we’d just finished reading a great tragedy, but without any of the catharsis that is supposed to emerge out of the gratefulness that we and all that we care about are not destined for such a fate. After an appropriate silence, he asked me if I understood now. I inescapably did. And that was the point, perhaps two weeks after I met her, that I knew I could never be in a relationship with her.



Not that I had ever been in a relationship with anyone at that point, but I knew enough. I needed to trust her for that. And that was something I could never do completely. Because eventually, I knew, inevitably, something would happen, something that I wouldn’t know how to correct.



And though I never went back on my own advice, this is the situation that looms before me now. There’s nothing I can do to change what I said. All I can really do is make an apology, which seems hopelessly inadequate—but it is the best I can do. I am sorry. There can be no excuse for what I did, but I do owe it to you to tell you what happened. Do not take it as a defense, but merely an explanation.



I had just finished watching a movie that morning and I was logging on to MSN when Mike called me to see if I wanted to go to the skating rink with him and several others who were already on their way to Tony’s, where we would meet. I told him I had a TV premiere thing to go to that night in the area of the rink, and it looked like I would have to go straight there from wherever we would have dinner—there would be no time to come back. So I said I’d go, then sent you a message, but you weren’t responding. Meanwhile, I was rushing to get everything ready to go, and Mike kept calling me literally every four or five minutes to discreetly let me know that I was holding everyone up and that we have to leave NOW…and I was faced with a choice. I could either tell them to just go without me so I could stay home and wait around just to tell you I have no idea how to answer these questions (and really, I thought you knew me well enough to know that just because I am “smart” doesn’t mean I understand even the slightest thing about computers or technology in general, and as far as I could translate you and Andy were speaking gibberish for half an hour the previous night), or I could just tell you that I had to go and leave it at that. Of course, I didn’t feel like you’d see it that way—I figured no matter what I said, I’d be screwed. That, in combination with Mike breathing down my neck, brought me to a point of frustration, and what I said to you came out of that frustration. I simply felt out of options.



And again, I am not making excuses, because there is no possible excuse, but I have to tell you that I feel this way with you an awful lot. It seems like you resent me for trying to be upbeat when I talk to you, to the point where I wonder if I’m supposed to be cold to you instead, but I know perfectly well I’d be wrong there too—this instance proved that once and for all. And now, I read through these posts (and on that note, I think it’s very unfair and, yes, hurtful to me for you to say I don’t “give a shit” anymore), and god, what am I supposed to say to all this? I don’t even know if you want to rip my guts straight out of my stomach or what, and that’s fucking scary to me. Not because I feel like you’ll actually do it, but because I feel like after what I did, you might never want anything to do with me ever again.



And maybe you would be justified in that. But you can justify an awful lot of things (case in point: I “justified” my own actions two paragraphs ago), and it doesn’t mean anything, because a justification is no excuse.



Whatever happens, I will always consider you a friend, no matter what. That’s what a friend is to me.  And yes, you can take that one as a promise.

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4 Comments
  1. lolz but that’s my favorite!

  2. not cool chris, I totally thought this was an update.

  3. haha I wish! Nahh, I’m reading “Lord Jim” for class at the same time that I’m reading “Ender’s game” for fun, that’s all 🙂 Nice try, though!

  4. Hey Chris, you should TOTALLY update this shizz.

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