THREE

-3-
“Long December”

School rolled on pretty much uneventfully for the next few months. I hadn’t met too many people and I often found myself sitting alone in my dorm room every Friday night. There were a few occasions that I managed to rustle up some fun, but those were few and far between. There was one time I did go to a club with Christa and a few of her friends. It turned out, though, that one of these friends was the guy she had a crush on. Boy was I wrong to believe it would be any different for me this time around. That night was some random Friday in October. Two months had passed since then and the only time I saw her was in class. We barely even spoke on the phone anymore. College does that, I guess. Instead of bringing close relationships to a tighter bond, it weakens them. The whole idea of college tears old friends apart. It’s a place where you find out who your friends are and how close you should keep them to your heart. Perhaps it was in the December of my first year of college when my life first started to spin out of control.

The month hadn’t started out so bad, at least in the early part. This is right around the time I met Eric. He was at a party I was at with Pat. People kept mentioning the man they called “The Baron”. I found out soon enough why they called him this. The Baron, as pointed out to me by Pat, was currently making is rounds with all of the ladies at the party. In succession, he had each of them laughing and having a good time. Without any hesitation, Eric, would get the girl’s number and move on to the next one. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he really did slay the ladies.
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That night, when introduced to Eric, the two of us hit it off almost instantly. Our personalities played off one another and, ironically, it was my MTV fed brain that connected with his. The music, movies, and other pop culture channels are what started the conversation, but it was the knowledge of Henry Miller and others that kept our connection going. We had a rapport that to this day cannot be matched by anyone I know. Eventually it got to a point that we’d both say the same joke without hesitation or acknowledgment. It is ironic, in a way, because he was almost like a soul mate, which quite frankly scared me. No, it wasn’t because I was gay. I had no problem with that lifestyle, don’t get me wrong. The whole friendship with Eric (I cannot regularly call him The Baron. I never have, but may still refer to him as that for your sake) made me question who I really was. Had my love Christa and her subsequent denial turned me to finding solace in a member of the same sex? There’s always a competition amongst guys and a machismo that drives their “relationships”. This friendship was neither of those things. For the first time since Junior High, I’d found a friend I could tell anything to. This is something I thought I would never find.

I’m gonna go back to Christa here, but Eric ties right in so bear with me. Christa had come and gone from my life, even though a mental image of her was permanently plastered on the back of my brain. Her denial of me ultimately led to my foray into the alcoholic college world of up all night and asleep all day. It’s odd how I trace everything back to her. At least in my mind. She is none the wiser and I can only imagine how I would have felt if we’d dated. It was in December of that year when I had forsaken life and had wanted to cling to death. In the good year of the Lord, 1998, is when Eric stood by my side. He was there to join me in the earthly delight of depression.

Now, Eric was brilliant with the ladies, at least when he wanted to be. Yet he still had that emptiness in his life. It was an unfulfilled passion that left him always wanting more. I had that same wanting and it was one snowy Sunday when we both discovered we had that common bond. We didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, but years later, it would all make sense. I was lonely and looking for a girl, while he was lonely and did not want the fun to end. It was a sad Sunday and there would be many more to come after that.

Okay, I’ll back it up. I’ll go back to the night prior to that first Sunday. Through the miracles of college society, Christa had arrived at the same party I was attending. You see, she had fallen for an actor acquaintance of The Baron’s. The Baron was an actor, so of course he knew other actors. I saw her walk in and I immediately reached for the bottle of Tequila. She was walking towards me and I quickly took a pull off the warm bottom shelf Cuervo. She reached me, smiled, and gave me a half-hearted embrace. I hugged her back and we exchanged pleasantries. It was amazing how much had changed over four months. Her new friend interrupted us and whisked her away. I probably said no more than five words to her the rest of the night.

The party was great, it really was. In fact, at that point in my life, it was one of the best I had ever attended. Drinking was done, weed was smoked, and sex was had. I drink myself into oblivion and even turned to weed for the first time. A few hits are all, but it was enough to lace my night with fun. People came in and out of the party and I met people I still keep contact with to this day. The beer did not stop flowing until the later part of the night.

At least for me it didn’t. It was nearing four when the excessive Tequila intake finally hit me like a ton of bricks. I was soon lying on the floor. I watched as the ceiling fan turned round and round. The entire thing seemed minutes, but in reality it was probably hours that went by. Eric sat on the couch as I was enraptured by the fan. He waxed poetic about girls and how, in the end, it didn’t matter what they thought. I came to the realization that no matter how long I had spent with Christa, or even away from her, she would never be mine. That night was the one in which I gave up the fight. Except now, as I enjoyed the beginnings of my first Sad Sunday, I realized that she’d never leave my mind no matter what happened.

By December 31st, things were not going well, at least for my liver. The two days I had been sober in the past month were the two I had spent at my family’s home for Christmas. It was tough, but I had pulled through. My time alone was spent mostly crying myself to sleep, which was not new to me. As you will see, crying becomes a theme in my life. I wish I could sit here and talk about the good times I had for the remainder of the year. The truth is, though, I don’t remember many days except for New Year’s Eve. There are big holes in my life that my brain has decided to replace. That’s the payment for this pleasure of depression drinking. Of course, the bad stuff is still in the dark crevices of my mind. Bad memories of the past are just something I haven’t been able to drink away.

Let me explain a little further. As I had mentioned, Christa had moved on to this actor chum. He was a real asshole of a man. He came from a background of three fathers and an unstable mother. He used people like the whole thing was going out of style. This man continually insisted to me, on occasion of our few run-ins, that he wasn’t interested in Christa. Being the foolish, trusting man that I was, I believed him. And that completely back fired. On the night of December 31st, my worst fears were confirmed.

See, when I was back home, the asshole had made his move. Here I was, wallowing in my misery, and he was planting seeds. Perhaps he had planned it the entire time or perhaps it was only a matter of chance. Either way, I didn’t believe what I’d heard when I got back into town. Rumor had spread that he had travelled to the undiscovered country of Christa’s inner lands. Though the rumor mill ran rampant, I still refused to believe it. I knew fully well that Christa would not have set aside her morals for this prick.

Needing to find out, I cancelled plans with Eric and his friends and had accepted a New Year’s Eve invitation from Brad. (The actor’s name was Brad. I’ll never mention it again.) We drank a bit at his place along with Christa and two other couples. Why I had agreed to be the fifth wheel on this triangle of love, I’ll never know. The seven of us smoked a bit too, even me, and we walked downtown to see the fireworks. I figured my proof would be in who she kissed at midnight.

Boy, did I find out. As the countdown reached “Happy New Year”, his tongue was already down Christ’s throat. As I watched the three couples kiss, I had to do my best to choke back a tear. A giant lump had formed in my throat, nearly making me gag. I reached into my jacket and removed my flask. I unscrewed the lid and forced the cold metal onto my lips. The rum did no good as the kissing and streamers continued. Before Auld Lang Syne was even finished paling, I had slipped away from the crowd. A full bottle of champagne had been left on the ground and I snatched it up as I began my long walk home. I sipped on that champagne all the way home and awoke the next morning on the steps of my dorm building. I had in my hand and empty bottle of champagne and was covered in snow and urine. I could already tell that 1999 was going to be a blast.