It happens. I felt it earlier and then it suddenly hit. The swelling was amazing. It didn't start small either.
I could feel it building and it
was painful. Each step it was bigger and more severe. It was worse than the
morning when a freshly sharpened, lawn mower blade sliced through the skin
covering my thumb, and I watched the blood ooze out and puddle under my work
boot. I didn’t actually watch. I couldn’t even man-up enough to look, but I
knew what happened.
If I had to guess, I’d guess the swell was the size of my
fist. No, no, that’s not totally accurate. A boulder. Oh, yeah, the lump in my
throat was at least the size of a boulder. I know this because it was in my
throat and I couldn’t swallow my own spit. My mouth wasn’t dry, or parched, it
was just that all my body fluid was being rerouted directly to my eyes.
My mind was clear as day, but as I was led down the white,
clean, sterile hallway with my hands cuffed behind my back in hand-cuffs, I
couldn’t see a thing out through the
tears that were built up and burning my eyes, refusing to fall. I’m actually
glad they didn’t fall and it has nothing to do with macho. I didn’t want to cry
down the jail hallway, or in front of my friends, or in front of the guard. Neither
would you.
I wasn’t hurt or scared about anything. I was happy. I was
excited. I was so happy I was crying like a baby because friends were just down
that hall, around the corner to the left, and through the door. I knew I liked
these people, but I didn’t know I’d end up loving them.
So with every step the tears would build up, the lump in my
throat grew and I silently prayed not to cry. They told me they were coming.
They told me that there was no way they wouldn’t, so I knew who it was. Each of
their faces appeared in my head. Each of their reactions was rolling as well.
Another step: would
they express disappointment? Probably. I wouldn’t be upset if they did.
Another step: will
they smile at me when I walk through the door?
Another step: will
they greet me straight-faced and regret being here?
Another step: will
it be awkward enough that it changes our friendships for the rest of my life?
I had to prepare myself. It might be anyone of those
reactions. I had no say in it. I was the width of a bullet-proof metal door away from taking my medicine like a man. I had apologies to make and I dreaded it.
The guard stops me in front of the door and takes off the
hand-cuffs. I’m starting to shiver with anxiety and nervousness and guilt and
shame.
Why did I do this to myself?????
I wiped my forehead, adjusted my jailshirt and a hard swallow for composer. My hair is a mess, I’m not wearing any socks on my feet, I'm hungry, I'm tired and the
lump in my throat is gone.
Dave.
Christel.
Sarah.
Jenny Red.
Tom.
Kelly.
Joe.
This group came every Sunday, like clock-work. I will never
forget them and they will never be replaced in my heart or in my mind no matter
how much or how little we keep in touch. (On the off-chance they’re reading
this, call me).
I know you and dad have choice words for my friends. Especially
Dad, and I get why. We’ve talked about it a few times. You think they influenced
me, and let’s be adults, they did… but it was on-stage. They inspired me to be
better, rehearse longer, and memorize lines by becoming the character instead
of relying on blocking. They pushed me to be more creative and showed that it was OK to be
proud and passionate about the craft. They inspired me to be a better
friend.
If anything, IF ANYTHING - I was the bad influence. I kept
them out later; I ordered the last round one more time, every time. I’m the one
that rallied the after party. I’m the one who recruited people after rehearsal.
I’m the one who’d get drunk first and fastest. They are good people. It’s
not their fault that I made life altering bad decisions. Nobody ever made me do
anything. They never made me drink. They never opened the driver’s-side door
for me. They never decided to start the car for me, I decided.
Of all the friends I had at college the ones listed above
tried more than anyone else to keep me under control and then when I
embarrassed myself, they never turned away. They’ve been mad at me, I’m sure
they’ve felt bad for me because I’m so stupid, but they never ever ever one
time made me feel inferior or unworthy
or unequal.
I can’t say that about very many people. But I can about
them.
