Trying to be...
2003-08-21 - 3:52 p.m.
Since its been so long since I've written anything (not that a week is long, but still) I am posting something I wrote a while ago, but just found on my computer. I don't remember specifically when I wrote it, but it was orginally posted in the "Letters I'll Never Send" thread at Bust.
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Dear E,
It was so strange to see you today. There I was in Union Square, calling in to my office, and I thought I saw you….well, I thought I saw an older, fatter you. So I continued with my phone call, while looking over my shoulder a few times. After I hung up, I felt confident enough it was you --- what's it been, 5 years….no, it has to be longer, I've been with my husband for over 5 years and I know that the last time I saw you was way before I even met him, I was still with T back then. So yeah, it's probably more like 10 years by now.
I approached and cheerily (or was that nervousness?) said "E?". You replied with a flat "Car". No affect, no emotion, certainly no giddy surprise or feeling of random coincidence, which is what I was feeling inside. Did I really hurt you that badly? In all of my years, I have never ended a friendship so abruptly. Never. But I did it for a reason. For your health, for my health….
You were so important to me during such formative years. You were a mad crush of mine, and I remember how proud I was to be your friend - that you wanted to be MY friend….You introducing me to so many cool bands (both figuratively and literally). Remember the night we cooked chili for Dinosaur Jr. at your apartment? Remember teaching me to skateboard? Remember the sexual tension that never went anywhere? I still have your painting hanging in my apartment. It's in our den, takes up the whole wall over the love seat.
When I look at it, I remember the old E. The one who was surly and angry, but in a humorous way. The one who I went to Fugazi with a bazillion times (remember when they played at school? You housed half the band, I housed the other. You were always jealous that Ian stayed at my place, but lets face it, my apartment was cooler), the one who could sit and debate the many many merits of Al Jourgensen until the wee hours of the night, the one who was like a brother to me.
After you graduated, remember the road trips the rest of us would take down to visit you at grad school? Man I loved that place. And how we all missed you, and would relish when you came up to visit us. But that's when I started to notice the shift. The surly-ness was turning into hostility, and the anger no longer contained much humor. And the drinking. Oh, the drinking.
Once we were both in NYC, I was so happy to see you. To continue our friendship. To introduce you to the new friends I had made, and for you to do the same with me. But wow. I never realized how much the drinking affected you. How deep seeded the anger ran.
I still remember my breaking point. After so many nights of biting my tongue and putting up with it because "oh, that's just E" I had enough. You were so drunk. And violent. I introduced you to C who casually new your ex from grad school. That's all - knew her, had a class with her or whatever - not having an affair with her, not an intimate acquaintance, just an affirmative answer to "oh, you went there - do you know so-and-so?". You went ballistic with your anger at her abandonment. I know that she broke your heart, but you took it out on him. It wasn't just that you were loud and drunk, you got violent. You started pushing him, and harshly poking his chest to emphasize your point. I thought you were going to hurt him and literally had to pull you away from him. I left the bar that night, and knew I was leaving our friendship.
I remember trying to talk to you about it. You went in to the whole cycle of abuse thing, the alcoholic parents and the excuse that it was "just who I am". I wasn't ready to deal with it, or strong enough to save you. I told you I had to walk away. That I cared about you, but that I couldn't stand to see you like that, and couldn't stand to be the target of the violence and anger.
And that's it.
10 years later I run in to you at a rock show. Random demographic information is exchanged - where we live, what we are doing currently, that I am married and I meet your girlfriend. You ask if I'm still in the music business, and I feel like another person entirely. A few moments of exchanges of who we still (or rather, no longer) keep in touch with "from the good ol' days" -- all without a hint of emotion from you. You still seem angry, you still seem surly, you still seem dissatisfied with your life.
I want to tell you so many things. I want to send you this letter so you'll understand. I was too young and too immature to explain it all to you properly when we were living it, but I still think of you. Every time I look at that painting, I think of you and wish you the best. And it all makes me very sad.
