TOP FIVE WORST YEARS [PART TWO]

I was drunk, but I was flattered and I was pretty zeroed in on catching as many of her glimpses as I could. I didn't have any ulterior motives - I was just fixated on finding out if they actually were intended for me, or if they were consecutive coincidences.

They had to be coincidences. They had to be. He was right there. In-the-room. Watching her. Eyeing me. Watching her. They had to be coincidences. Please.

I still don't know how she and I ended up whispering words into each others ears in the small corner of the dorm room, but I'll take the blame because…well, just because.

With each whisper, she used her hand to touch my leg, then my arm, then my chest, then my elbow. That’s a lot of touching, right? Each touch was equal to someone sounding a blow horn in the room to grab his attention.

All she wanted to do was kiss and don't confuse that with her wanting an innocent peck-on-the-lip, and then we smile at each other, blushing. I mean all she literally wanted to do was- no talking face on face forget about breathing or any decency- kissing. And this girl was committed to her craft. She was ready to go down with the ship for one silly kiss. She was strong. I couldn't shake her.

So what did I do? I'll tell ya, I let her have her way with me right there in the hallway, where all the action happens, but with all my might, I watched that door knob looking for the slightest movement so I could throw her off of me. I could easily shove her away from me, I just didn’t, until I had to, when that doorknob finally did jiggle and he appeared in the doorframe, breathing like he just ran a marathon in full sprint. We looked at each other for a minute. Neither of us said anything and I quietly walked passed him whispering, “you two should talk,” disappearing back into the party.

The door flies open and he walks back into our room looking for me. His anger-filled sober eyes vs. my blood-shot drunk eyes.

Oh boy, she told him. He knows.

He continued to walk towards me and by the look on his face, I'm now the asshole.

“You're an asshole," I anticipated.

"You’re the only one she’ll talk to,” were the words that came out of his mouth.

"Not me." I said.

"Yes, you, Come on dude. She said she'll only talk to you."

Unbelievable.

Instead of bar hopping, I was drunk-running down the hall to catch up with her and talk her off the ledge of a college party gone pear shaped.

Did I want to sprint to her and play counselor? Hell No. My alcohol triggers were at full sail. Did I? Hell Yes.

I didn't think to say no. She clearly didn't tell him that we kissed in the hall because if she did I’d be in the fetus position with a bloody nose. So he doesn't know, and I don’t want to rock the boat, so, fine, I’ll go. I’ll go talk to her while they all head downtown and I guess we’ll catch up soon.

For him, soon never came. For us, soon came too soon.

I followed my best friend’s girlfriend into her dorm room and closed the door behind me.

I can’t tell you that I was suddenly strong enough to stop anything that happened behind that door, and it’s my opinion that if not for him pounding on the door a few quick minutes after I had closed it, we would have gone further.

-           -              -

We simply registered to be college roommates, and as college roommates, it turned out we had a talent for dorm room parties. That last dorm room party ended up being the last dorm room party we threw, ever. Again.

Our friendship has never been the same since the minute he had to pound his fist on that door.

We didn’t speak for years and somewhere in that time he got his deserved revenge. I was arrested, three times. I went to jail + I went to treatment + I’ve been divorced + I lost a pregnancy. Somewhere in there is deserved revenge whether he wished it on me or not.

The road to repair has been a long one. An inconsistent one. An emotional one.

In hindsight, it doesn’t matter who kissed who, that’s just child's play but

I learned a lot of lessons freshman year, and this, the worst lesson of all. I didn’t know I had so much to lose. Mike R, Andy P, Scott W, Neil W, Chad A, Eric R, Sue K, most important, Tom. All sorts of people from our home town found out and all of them had an opinion of me. The relationship with all these guys had been destroyed. I don’t know if I’ve regained any credibility with them even today. I guarantee you none of these friendships have ever been the same again and they probably never will.

But I made this bed. And I also sleep in it. Alone.

It was booze. Not just booze, it was also me, but it was because of booze.

It was in that same year I would first hear the words “I don’t like it when you drink. It’s like you turn into someone that I don’t even know, like you’re out of control.” Let me be the first to tell you - that pierces your heart and the moment never leaves you. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d ever hear those very words repeated. But this first time they came from the mouth of my very best friend. Another sting.

My reaction was a single raised eyebrow. Really?

What was I supposed to say? I don’t think I said anything; I just swept it under the rug.

I’m glad he was enough of a friend to tell me.

I wasn’t mad when he said it, but I’m disappointed that I proved him right, over and over again.

Let’s agree that at some point in life, in our own life, a do-over would be fantastic.

For me, 1992. Not the entire year. Just college freshman year.

Looking back, and after an on-again-off-again 22-year love/hate relationship with sobriety, I can admit, finally, there might be a problem.

The buzz, man, I want the buzz, ASAP.

When I’m drunk, I can’t stop, or don’t want to stop, and I’m not sure if it makes a difference where the difference is between the two.

But also, when I’m drunk, everything boils down to one common denominator, every, every, every time: Me.