My Obsession

Most people will never know.

In fact, unless your brain works like mine, there is no way for you to relate. I know a few people who are like me, we are all around you, just pay attention to the people you see. We walk around work, pacing with our arms crossed. When you tap us on the shoulder, we jump. When you ask us a question, we kind of stare at you blankly and then say, ‘I’m sorry, did you say something?’

At times, it sounds as if we stop in the middle of our sentences and then start again. If you aren’t one of us, you will never understand. You will never know what it is like to have your brain run faster, and with more thoughts than it can handle. You will never know what it is to obsess constantly over everything and nothing at all.

Some of us go even further than obsessing. We have taken pessimism to a whole new level. We will, invariably turn a casual meeting that someone couldn’t make into an attempt to stab us in the back. We will, without a doubt, start imagining car accidents and funerals for friends that are ten minutes late. Mark my words, we can, and we will find a way to take anything and quite literally turn it into the end of the world.

The things we think about don’t make any sense. Quite literally, and quite often, they don’t make any sense to us. We are intelligent people who have overactive imaginations, and for some reason, a way of looking at the world that turns everything negative.

We spend a good majority of our time second-guessing what we want to say, what we need to say or what we are trying to say. We do this before, during and after we say it. Sometimes, we obsess about something we said a few YEARS after we originally said it.

Quite honestly, if I ever had a chance to THINK what anyone thought about these blogs, I would probably stop writing them. Things I have such a hard time saying in person flow so freely from my fingertips that you would never imagine that Jake the Writer and Jake the Person were one in the same.

I spend most conversations with people thinking, ‘well, if I say that, they will think…’ Over time, it has just become easier for me to assume that no one reads what I write. It takes a lot for me to open up either mentally or emotionally to most people. I have spent a good majority of my lifetime assuming that I am being indicted for the things that I feel or think. When people tell you that you are weird or crazy for thinking the way you do, or liking the things you do, or worrying the way you do, you stop telling them these things. It’s only human nature to try to fit in to the way of everyone else’s thinking.

As much as I have tried, I can’t help it any more than a cripple can help walking with a limp. The only thing I can do is to start thinking about other things, besides the thing I’m obsessing about. By this time, I am trying to stop thoughts by thinking about them, which literally makes no sense. It is for all intents and purposes, throwing gasoline on the fire.

There have been numerous instances when I have been in the middle of a few thoughts when someone asked me a question, and it has taken a few seconds of contemplation before I understood what was being said. There has been more than one occasion when I have had so many thoughts running through my head that I have forgotten to breathe.

At any given moment, I have so many thoughts running through my head, that I wish I could hide from them. I think about things, then wonder why I think about things, THEN think that I am crazy for wondering about thinking about things. My brain can develop scenarios that no one has ever experienced before. It is a melting pot of ideas, and they flow from me faster than I can handle them.

Reading about it can ill express what it feels like, but here is an example of some things that pass through my brain in an average second:

“What did I do this time, why wont they tell me about the job, god, I’m hungry, my head hurts, I’m tired, my brother needs to stop drinking so much, well at least the expensive shit, when are they going to realize how little actual physical work I do all day, why do all my black shirts fade when no one else’s do, dammit they shorted me on my check, they better fix it or I’m gonna raise hell, shrinks suck, every one I have called has the same office hours I have, they are going to fire me, my eye itches, my head hurts, why am I so damn hungry, I want a GT, I cant afford a GT, my cell phone sucks, I need to stop buying crap that I don’t need, how am I ever going to afford that car, god, I cant believe I said ‘I cant let you drink alone’ in that dorm room in ’98 what the hell was I thinking that was stupid it just made me sound like I was trying to be cool, I cant believe that I am obsessing about something that happened in ’98, at least I’m not obsessing about something that happened in HS, god I hate myself for yelling at Matt that one time, crap, I’m obsessing over something that happened in HS, why is my mom calling over and over again, oh god, oh god, my brother must have gotten in a car accident, that’s the only reason she would try so hard to get a hold of me, get a hold of yourself Jake, she would call you at work if it was an emergency, I need to stop worrying so much, commas slow me down too much what the hell are those little rubber things for we have them all over but they don’t seem to serve any purpose why wont she believe me why do I obsess so much about things I cant control my knee itches F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 Alt+F4 how come everyone else seems at peace and I feel like I am at war why do I assume only the worst out of people how come I can identify what is wrong with me but I cant fix it I don’t want to go to a shrink I’m not crazy I just need to reason myself out of this like I reason myself out of every other problem I can fix myself I can fix myself son of a bitch why do I feel this way do I tell people the way I feel or the way I want to feel I hate myself I love myself people don’t understand self loathing they understand narcissism everyone hates me why do I have to fight everyone to get what I want why do people lean on me when they need to talk about things and I cant get the same courtesy in return why does everyone feel the need to try to make me feel worse when I talk about my problems no one knows no one knows I am ashamed to have emotions my father says it is a weakness my mom starts crying over Folgers’ commercials I cant relate to anyone why am I so damn hungry I cant eat I feel like a pig when I eat I have to be perfect I have to be perfect no one wants me around it seems like I always have to be the one to make the effort to spend time with anyone maybe I am trying to hard maybe I’m trying too much billions of people on this planet how come I feel like they are against me maybe I am being to selfish what are you talking about you aren’t being to selfish asking to be appreciated once in a while how come I bend over backwards for people and I don’t get the same in return god those machines are perfectly symmetrical this pen sucks ass I need to know I need to know why am I so afraid and ashamed to be myself where did they get a red swingline stapler I cant fall asleep I cant fall asleep I am so bored I want to cry this is my own hell I feel like I am being stifled I am so afraid that I am going to say the wrong thing and she is going to hate me I need to try she doesn’t understand how much she has changed me and my life she is everything I have to show her I have to tell her I have to keep her I cant let her go not now not ever I have to make our lives better I have to be everything to everyone I cant wear glasses I look like a dork I know I am a dork but it doesn’t mean I have to look the part I wish I was never a kid and had to deal with some things how can she not know what she means to me I need to be more open with her is that a gun to my back I cant get fat I cant get fat these walls feel like they are caving in I just want to be normal I just want to be normal I don’t want to think anymore this is torment who names fonts anyway I feel so inferior that I need to paint myself as a narcissist to hide why hasn’t my brother called oh god he got in a car accident stop looking over my shoulder I should be designing aircraft not databases I’m a fucking loser why do I keep looking at my cell phone cant stop moving cant stop moving that doctor is a liar why aren’t I fixed I wish I could forget everything and not be this person any more I misspelled classes why do I always have to fight for people to understand why do I always have to yell for them to listen no one knows no one knows no one knows what its like to…”

If any of you are still there and you could read that in a second or two, you now know a little more about what it is like to be me.

Fall of the House (Fiction)

It was during a monthly ritual, a Saturday evening affair when I heard the news. As a standing rule, the last Saturday of the month was saved explicitly for what I affectionately refer to as ‘Game Night.’ The guys from work bring over their girls, their steaks and their drinks. I fire up the grill and the hot tub. Everyone eats, drinks, and soaks, then we break off into separate rooms based by gender. The girls run off into the living room to watch which ever sappy Sandra Bullock movie Dave’s girlfriend happened to pick up on the way. The boys take off into the pool house to smoke cigars and play poker.
I could tell something was amiss by the way Trish looked when she walked through the door, before she even said a word. For the first time in the year and a half since her and Dave started dating she actually looked happy to be at my place on Game Night, she floated into the kitchen with a smile on her face. She waited until the nine of us were all in exactly the positions she had imagined we would be for her announcement. It seemed as if she had been planning out every detail of her moment, even as far as orchestrating what Dave would be wearing.

I was preparing my famous shrimp kebobs when I turned towards Dave. “So… What’s up with the suit, kid?”

Dave turned to me, somewhat in a daze, and before he could utter a single syllable, Trish piped in.

“Everyone! We have an announcement to make! Dave and I are engaged!”

In shock, I stopped mid-skewering to turn and see Trish holding her left hand out with what appeared to be a three karat stone perched on her ring finger. I glanced towards Dave and saw a look of what could only be described as a mix of pride and shame.

The general discomfort of the situation seemed to be shared between the men in my kitchen. Cameron began to choke on a jalapeno pepper he had just fished out of a jar. Tim, standing beside him, looked as if someone had just informed him that his mother had passed. Dale looked like a deer, caught in the headlights of an 18-wheeler, waiting for the driver to brake.

The women, on the other hand, broke out into unbridled joy. Shelly, Cameron’s girlfriend, was the first to hug Trish and start to cry. The other girls fallowed suit, apparently unaware of the disapproving stares that the boys in the room were giving Dave, who leaned against the kitchen counter, speechless. We all kept the looks in our eyes as we gave Dave our half hearted handshakes and congratulations, then feigned elation as we hugged Trish.
As everyone finished dinner, I excused myself to setup the pool house for our weekly game. I set out the usual fare, chips and dip, and an open bar. A green felt table served as our playing surface. I was setting up the table when I happened to glance at the wall, laden with pictures. The five of us had spent the past seven years working together and being there for each other, in good times and in bad. There are pictures of baseball games, business trips, office parties and road trips. There are moments that I will never forget, emblazoned for all time, framed, matted and nailed to the drywall.

We had all, myself included, passed in and out of different relationships. There are scattered pictures of each one of us with our arms around different women. It started to appear to me that the girls that they were with now might actually stick around. Shelly and Cameron had just moved in together, Tim and Leslie were shopping around for a place, Dale and Ashley had just celebrated their first year together.

The light of the setting sun shone on the far corner of the wall, highlighting a picture that I had forgotten even existed. It was three years since it was taken, and it made me a little uneasy.

As the five of us sat down, and the shock was beginning to wear off, everyone anted up and I dealt the first hand. Being the ever supporting, nurturing friend that I am, I said what every man says when one of his best friends gets married.

“What the hell are you- Wait a second, did you knock her up?” I interrupted myself mid sentence.

“No.”

“Do her parents have money?” I said, only half kidding.

“No.”

“A rich uncle?”

“No.”

“Does she have money?”

“Uh, no.”

“What the hell are you thinking, Dave?” I finally finished the sentence.

“I love her, I love her a lot.”

“That’s no reason to marry her!” I didn’t actually think about the sentence until a couple of seconds after I blurted it out.

“You just don’t want us to get married because you don’t like her. Not one of you have given her a chance since we got together!”

“That’s not true at all!” Tim spoke up, always the one who followed the letter of the law rather than the spirit. It’s not that we didn’t like Trish, the fact is, we hated her.

Since the guys started seeing their respective girlfriends, we had all started seeing less and less of each other outside of the office. But the situation seemed a little different for Dave and Trish. Since they met, it was as if we had to plan things a month or two in advance, and the concept of guys-night-out seemed to have flown out the window. It seemed as if the situation was getting worse, being that the last two outings he attended were Game Nights.

“Alright Davey, when was the last time we went to a Mariners game?” Cameron fired his first volley.

“May.”

“May was the last time you went to a game with us. We have been to seven games this season, the last one being last weekend.” Dale spoke, for the first time since he heard the announcement.

“So what? I missed a couple of games.”

“You missed six you moron, in a matter of three months. And it’s always been the same excuse, some half-baked story about Trish being sick.” It was my turn again.

“I didn’t want to leave her alone when she wasn’t feeling well.”

Tim started laughing uncontrollably. “She’s 31, not 12 for Christ sake! Throw a pillow under her head and get her some medicine. Besides, no one goes on for three months being sick unless they have something they should be in the hospital for!”

“Guys, I know she seems a little controlling to you, but she makes me happy, shouldn’t that be all that matters to you?”

Completely dodging the question, I changed the subject. “I’ve gotta ask you kid, does it bother her that the ring you gave her is a fake?”

“It’s no fake.”

“Bull. I know how much you make, and I know for a fact that you could never afford a ring that big, unless..”

And that’s when it hit me. Dave had owned, since his 18th birthday, a silver and black 1968 Mustang fastback. It was given to him by his father as a collectors item, hoping that Dave would pass it down to his own children. Dave had spent the years I had known him treating the car as if it was his first born, at times, talking about it more than he talked about any woman he was seeing. It continuously caused fights between Dave and Trish. She hated the fact that he loved the car.

“You sold the Mustang, didn’t you?”

“It was sitting in storage, collecting dust. I wasn’t doing anything with it. Besides, it wasn’t my idea.”

“It was hers, wasn’t it Davey?” Cameron piped in again.

“Well, yeah.”

“Do ya get it now, Dave? You aren’t rich, but you make decent money, enough to afford a decent ring. Instead, she twisted your arm to get her a ring she doesn’t need and to get rid of the car she didn’t like.” Tim spoke for us all.

“Can we just get off the subject and play some poker, please?”
The five of us finished the night off, not breathing another word of the situation.

Monday morning came around, and I had thought a lot about the situation, feeling guilty for the way we treated Dave. Even though we saw sides of Trish that he was apparently oblivious to, we, as his friends, should have been more supportive of his decision. Each one of us felt remorse for the way we acted. It was his funeral, after all.
I called Dave into my office to apologize.

“I wanted to say sorry, for all of us. Our reaction was… unbecoming. If she makes you happy, then we are happy for you.”

“Thanks Javi.”

“We just want you to be careful, and occasionally take time to look at the situation objectively.”

“Understood.”

Tim, Cameron, and Dale walked in only a second later. We were preparing a contract negation that would bring millions into the business. My company, Soliton Dynamics is young, but growing fast. Within five years, we became one of the few independent aerospace contractors that sells avionics suites to the military, civilian, and private sectors. Dave, who had just started a couple of years ago, had been an intern for us in college. He is an electrical engineer, and works as Tim’s right hand, designing the avionics components. Cameron is the top program manager in my company. Dale is the second best software engineer in the company, second only to me. Besides the owner, I am an aerospace and software engineer, it was my job to put everything together.

“Tim, how is the hardware holding up?”

“There were a few problems with overheating, but we just slapped in a more powerful cooling system and it seemed to clear them up.”

“Cam, are we on track?”

“We are actually ahead a couple of weeks, under budget.”

“Dale, is our suite ready?”

“Assuming there are no changes to the airfoil, everything has been tested and is up to spec.”

“Good deal. Now, guys, I cannot overestimate how important this contract is to us. We need to knock this meeting out of the park. Bring your best, got it?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, just in time for the reps from Airbus to show. My receptionist came over the intercom with the announcement.

“Grab your presentations guys, I’ll meet you in the conference room in twenty minutes.”

The guys walked out and I sat alone in my office for a couple seconds, trying to center myself. In the corner of my eye, sitting on an end table was the same picture that had caught my eye two days ago in the pool house. I had walked by it day in and day out, always knowing that it was there, but never really noticing it. It bothered me more this time than it did the last, giving me a sense of impending gloom.

Six months later, having settled the $40,000,000 contract with Airbus to build the software suites for their next line of passenger jets, I decided to reward the guys. With Dave’s wedding only a few weeks away, I decided we could kill two birds with one stone and throw him a bachelor party at the same time. Normally, it was policy only to give managers trips as bonuses’, but I decided just to let this one slide.

Dave had recently made me his best man. And although my own home would have been more than adequate to host a gathering of this type, I had remembered the last bachelor party thrown at my place. Tim was playing the role of best man for a friend of his from high school a couple of years back, but his apartment at the time was, in a word, laughable. Dale once described it as ‘a shoebox with a toilet.’ It was not large enough for the fifteen people we originally invited, let alone the 150 that showed up. Dale happened to invite the wrong person, someone who not only couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but doesn’t know what the meaning of “small gathering” is. I awoke the next morning to find a random 19 year-old girl next to me. There were people passed out in my bathrooms, my bedrooms, my closets and my kitchen. There were pairs of women’s underwear in the most inauspicious of places. My living room looked like Beirut, couches were overturned and broken bottles were strewn about. Fifteen hundred dollars worth of booze was gone, and I won’t even begin to describe what clogged my hot tub and pool filters.

It was the greatest party ever. But the aftermath took two weeks and a biohazard team to mend. It was a situation that I would never like to face again. So Las Vegas, a place far, far away from my house, seemed to be the best place to throw the party.

I put up everyone in suites at the Luxor. Cameron and I shared a room; Dave, Tim and Dale shared the other. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to get rooms next to each other, and the two suites ended up in opposite towers.

The night of the bachelor party, I readied myself before Cameron, so I took a seat on the couch and started to watch whatever movie happened to be on at the time.

Cameron’s voice came from the bathroom. “Did you hear what Trish is making Dave do now?”

“No.”

“According to Tim, she’s making him toss out most of his old magazines.”

“What? Like Playboys?”

“All his old magazines. Playboy, Maxim… anything that has anything to do with girls that aren’t her. She’s also making him give up his season tickets. She says that baseball is distracting from their relationship.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He was finally starting to make a few games.”

“I’ve been thinking about getting rid of mine, too.”

Cameron’s laptop, on the desk in the corner happened to be in screensaver mode, flashing random pictures, and the picture that had been haunting me for the past few months happened to show.

“Cam, why do you have that pic on your computer?”

Cameron, stuck his shaving-cream-laden face out for a moment and looked at the screen.

“Oh that? I’ve just always thought that was a cool picture of you. You remember that trip?”

“All I remember was Dave getting the call from his father and how broken up he was about his mom dying. To tell you the truth, the picture kinda bothers me.”

“That was three years ago, Javi. I think he’s pretty much over it by now.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” I had a moment of hesitation.

“What is it then?”

“We have to stop this wedding. I think I have a plan.”

“What is it?”

Just then, the phone rang. Tim suggested that we should meet them in the lounge in 10 minutes. Cameron finished shaving, as I explained the plan to him. Ready to put our idea into motion we headed down stairs and walked through the lobby. It was so simple, yet so brilliant, that I thought I was the smartest man alive. As we headed toward the lounge, I was hoping for a song like “Seven Nation Army” to play on the casino P.A. system. Instead, “I’m Just a Girl” started. It completely ruined my moment. When everyone finally arrived at the lounge, I bought five shots of Jack Daniels’ and we briefly took a seat.

“Guys, I want to make a toast! To Dave, and to everyone. Dave, you are one of my best friends, and putting my misgivings aside, I hope for nothing but the best for you and Trish.”

Looking at me rather surprised, Dave managed to eek out, “Thank you.”

“And you three… Dale, Cam… You have been there for this company since before it had a name, Soliton wouldn’t exist without you. Tim, you may not have been with us as long as Cam or Dale, but you are as responsible for its success as anyone at this table. I want to thank you all, for your work and your friendship.”
We raised our shot glasses, and as is tradition, tapped them together.

“Salud.”

As we downed our shots, the lounge act, a local cover band, began to play “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. At that time, I knew it was our cue to leave, we got into a cab and headed to the middle of the strip. After six hours of boozing, carousing, and general debauchery, the five of us returned to the hotel, and I put my plan into action. I called a number on a flier that a rather generous Hispanic gentleman happened to hand me as we were walking down Vegas boulevard, and had an entertainer sent up to the other suite. Sometime in the middle of her third dance, Dave passed out, and I happened to catch a few provocative pictures of her straddling him.

Tim gave me a disapproving glance, and said, “Dude! Pictures?”

“Blackmail, Tim!” I had to yell across the room for him to hear me over the stereo. “Who wants another drink?”
Dale, standing in the corner, put his hands up like a receiver waiting for a football. I grabbed a beer out of the cooler and threw it his way. Not realizing how much he had to drink, he completely missed the glass bottle flying at him, that is until it hit his forehead and knocked him out.

“Cam, you’re over there, is he still breathing?”

Cameron looked down briefly, and spat out, “Yep.”

That is the last thing I remember from that night.

It was three days later, and we were back home in Seattle. Tim, completely unaware of what I planned in Vegas, walked into my office rather livid.

“What the hell, Javi? Why did you post those pictures online?”

“What pictures?” I said, knowing full well what he was referring to.

“Dave and the stripper, they are all over your blog!”

“You know full well that she controls the hell out of him. It’s not healthy, Cam and I thought those might break them up.”

“What the hell kinda friend are you?”

“I believe friends should be there for each other, even when you don’t see the error of your ways.”

“Man, I just don’t know… I can’t fathom, what was going on in your head when you did this. You can’t just leave well enough alone, can you? I’m not sure I want people around who do this to each other. God knows when you’re gonna try to get Leslie out the picture.”

“Oh, come on now Tim! That’s not fair, the situation with you and Leslie is different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Well, I can handle Leslie…”

“You cannot go around imposing your will onto the lives of the people around you, it doesn’t work that way! Dave’s looking for another job, in Georgia out of all places! Trish saw the pics, had kittens, and decided that his friends here were a bad influence.”

“He’s leaving?”

“Right after the wedding, as soon one of them gets a job.”

Tim left Dave’s resignation on my desk and stormed off, leaving me in shock. Cameron walked in a second later.

“Did you hear about Dave?” Cameron seemed in shock as well.

“Yep.”

“I kinda thought the stripper thing was a bad idea.”

“Cam, then why the hell didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Well, cause at first I thought you were just joking, and by the time I figured out that you weren’t, it was a little late. Besides, I know why you tried. I mean, I really know why you tried, and although it blew up in your face, I know what you were trying to do. It’s kinda…” Cameron stopped for a second, it seemed like he was looking for
the right words.

“It’s kinda what?”

“I want to say that it’s kind of… nice, but you did embarrass one of your best friends in a very public medium.”

“You don’t like that word do you, Cam?”

“I couldn’t think of something more fitting.”

“You know, I was just trying to help him. I was just trying to do something good.”

“You have a fucked up sense of propriety.”

“I think it’s time we cut our losses, keep our traps shut, wish them the best, and not make things any worse for him than they already are. I have been telling him since they got together that the whole situation was unhealthy. He’ll just have to learn his lessons on his own, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

As soon as Cameron left I decided to meander over to Dave’s office to discuss the situation, fearing that it was already too late to change his, or Trish’s mind. Instead of Dave, I found an empty office, and decided to have a seat at his desk. Restless, I happened to glance about and came upon something interesting. It was a post-it note tucked away under a pile of paperwork with a hastily written message on it:

Josh Wade… stang… has money and is ready to buy. 206-555-8394

For Dave to have a telephone message in his office for a matter of 6-8 months is par for the course. The fact was that on any given day, the place looked like an unkempt monkey cage. The janitorial staff refused to clean the place, and I couldn’t blame them. Dale once joked, “Ya know, I wouldn’t be surprised if they found Jimmy Hoffa in there.”

Sensing another bad, yet irresistible idea coming on, I took the note and left for my office.

Two weeks later, it was the afternoon of the rehearsal. Trish was still relatively upset with me, although I apologized profusely. Dave, not surprisingly, only showed signs of being angry with me when she was around. I Trish demoted me from best man down to usher, with Dale taking my place. It was a conversation that Dave didn’t take place in, even though he was in the room.

Nursing hangovers from the night before, Cam, Dale, and I staggered into the church. It was at this point that I realized how lucky I was not to be the best man. This was a catholic church, and when the priest stated that the wedding would last two hours, I sighed and Dale started to mouth obscenities.

Sitting in the pew, watching people walk up and down the aisle, I started milling over the situation. I looked at how happy Trish seemed, and how apprehensive Dave was. He feigned a smile every time she looked at him, and although I had suspicions of it before, something became painfully obvious to me.

“She made him go through with this, she had to…” I tried to talk to myself as quiet as possible, but Cameron still
heard. He leaned over and started whispering to me.

“What? How do you know?”

“Look at them, he doesn’t want to be here any more than I do…”

“I know, I wasn’t gonna say anything but-“

“But what?”

“Well, we have to say something to him, we have to talk about it.”

“I’m through trying to reason with him, it’s time we butt out.”

“Weren’t you the one gung-ho about them not being together?”

“Trust me, they won’t last. It’s time to let them fail.”

“You seem a little hostile about the situation.”

“And you aren’t?”

“It’s his life, Javi, not mine.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a little bit of a hard time sitting and watching a friend make the biggest mistake of his life. Out of all the people he chose to be with, why her?”

“Well, she’s hot…”

Although I already knew where he was going, this was a point of view I had not really considered before this moment. Trish’s one, solitary enduring feature was that she was ridiculously hot.

“Javi, look… I’m not trying to be mean here, but have you seen Dave? The guy’s a slob, pudgy, dorky…”
“Yeah, yeah, get to the point.”

“He hasn’t dated much, so when he found a girl that looks like that, he latched on to her like a drowning man to a life saver.”

“It just… every time I think about the situation, it makes my ulcer worse. I mean, he wants to spend the rest of
his life being controlled and tormented by her… he might as well have signed up to be a friggin indentured…”

I am not sure if it was my ulcer flaring up, the $2.99 breakfast I had at 5:00 that particular morning, or the 1.75 liter bottle of Captain Morgan’s that Cam and I put away the night before, but at precisely this moment, I started to get violently ill.

“Javi?”

“Move!”

I shot up as fast as I could, but it was too late to find a bathroom. I ran into the closest door I could find and started to throw up. There was no mistaking that it was loud and violent enough for all in the next room to hear.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the confessional to find everyone staring at me with their jaws on the floor.
I glanced over the shocked faces, and as calmly as I could raise my right hand and said, “Don’t worry, I’m cool...”
Everyone continued to stare. I was obviously interrupting the rehearsal, so I closed the door of the confessional and took my leave.

“I’ll be outside if anyone needs me.”

Sitting on the curb, I called Josh, the new and former owner of Dave’s Mustang. After finding his number in Dave’s office I called him and explained the situation.

“Dude, I can relate, my brother just married some chick who is a real bitch. The car was supposed to be an investment, but it looks like you need it more than I do. Here’s the deal, you can have it for 20% more than what I paid for it…”

“Jeez, thanks…” I winced, hoping to spend a lot less on it.

Josh and a friend dropped the car off then sped off. Dave and Trish walked out of the church even more surprised than they were when I walked out of the confessional.

“Did… did you buy this back?” Dave stuttered.

“I wanted to apologize about the internet-stripper thing. I know how much the car meant to you, and I think you deserve it.” I tossed him the keys.

Trish looked at me and produced the worst fake smile I had ever seen. It turned into a grimace as soon as Dave began to hug me. Trish got in her car, Dave followed in his, and they took off for the rehearsal dinner.

“Javi, weren’t you the one just telling me that you were gonna butt out?”

“Did you see the look on her face, Cam? It was worth every cent…”

“You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”

“I might not be able to burn the house down, but that doesn’t mean I wont throw gasoline on a flame.”

“Remind me never to make you my best man if I ever get married.”

Lately this place, my home, seems too quiet. The winds have picked up recently, and when the TV or stereo isn’t running, all I can hear are the tree branches rustle in my front yard. It is now six months after Dave’s wedding, another game night, and for the first time, no one showed. Instead of poker tonight, I’m in the pool house, practicing for a nine-ball tournament I am entering next week.

The wedding went as well as one would hope for. Although no fights broke out, I felt Trish’s disapproving eyes every time she looked down the table at the reception. According to Dale, the Mustang is a continued point of strife between Trish and Dave. It was just as I had expected.

We expanded our contract with Airbus, requiring a European office. We needed a Chief Electrical Engineer for our new European Division, and it was a position that Tim was all too eager to fill.

A little disturbed with the way things are going this evening, I decide to give Dale a call.

“Dale! Where are you? It’s Game Night, why didn’t you show.”

“Well, Cam and I thought it might be nice to take the girls out, you know, for something a little different.”

“You guys could have at least called!”

I recently had a picture from the wedding, probably the last one of us the five will ever take together, printed, framed and matted. I decide now is as good a time as ever to hang it up, on the same wall that holds so many others like it.

“Well, we’re at the Boxcar on Gillman, if you want to come by.”

I see a perfect place for the picture, right next to the one that has made me anxious for the past year. Looking at it now, I see it a little differently. It doesn’t bother me the way it did before, it seems as if I have come to peace with it.

“Actually Dale, I think it might be good if I get some time to myself tonight.”

“Cool. If you change your mind, we’ll be here. If not, we’ll see you Monday.”

“Have a good night, Dale.”

“You too.”

I hang up the phone, and head toward the wall. It is a shrine to the memories I have shared with my friends. The picture that has unnerved me is now to the immediate left of the picture that I just framed.

The picture was taken three and a half years ago, on a skiing trip we took in Canada. I am standing on a balcony, with a drink in my hand and the red sky above me. It may be the fact that it was a two-week trip, or the amount of partying we did in those two weeks, but I can’t remember whether the sun was rising or setting. Out of all the pictures on that wall, it is the only one I have where I am alone.