The first shots of the war had been fired. I had stupidly
made a joke about it not being rape if you say surprise. Personally, I did not
think that much of it and if anything, it was offensive because of its lack of
humor. Zach thought it was not funny for another reason though. He viewed it as
malicious joke aimed directly at him and took personal offense to it; as he did
anytime the word was mentioned in conversation. I know most people do not have
regular conversations about the subject, but anytime the word ever came up Zach
would get pissy. That was not the problem though, or at least my problem with
him. I was mad at Zach because he had admitted to saying the same joke, and
then alleged that I had been mean to Carson when I had been nice to him all
semester. Zach was once a good moral person, but he had changed so much in the
last few months that he was no longer the person I once knew. I never wanted it
to come to this, but he left me no choice.
Call it foresight if you want, but in the days following
the joke incident I was glad that a small bar now resided in my closet. I made
good use of the copious amount of liquor I had returned with from my brother’s
house. I went on a weeklong binge of drunkenness, to numb the pain and calm my
nerves to avoid further aggravating the situation by going off on Zach or
Carson. I would have liked nothing more than to yell at one of them, especially
Zach. In my mind, I played repeatedly what I would say, but never did. I had
chosen to take the high road, the best road for my other friends. If I was to
initiate conversation, it could pan out either two ways. First, everything
could go back to the way things were before, a one-lane road with me always
pulling off to the side to let every time Zach and I met head-on. Alternatively,
neither of us could get over and we have a major head-on collision possibly
resulting in many fatalities, least of all our friendship. Instead, I opted for
the other option, I was going to wait him out, make him come to me. Surely, he
would see the wrongs of his ways, especially with me self-destructing. My drinking
binge was not only a form of self-medication, but it had an ulterior motive. If
there were even a slight bit of my old friend left, he would take pity in my
downward spiral and try to help me; otherwise, if I were wrong he would leave
me to self-destruct. It seemed perfect in my mind, but reality is often far
from ideal.
