I used to tell this story fairly often, but then I stopped.<\/p>\n
In our mid-twenties, one of my best friends was dumped\u2014and I mean hard<\/em>. He lost a girl, a home, a mutt, all in one day. Total blindside. He\u2019d been playing house for a few years, so he didn\u2019t get out much anymore. But I saw him enough to know he probably had it coming. If not for the reasons she supplied, then for something that slipped under her formidable radar. In his grief, he conveniently lost sight of who he was. No angel.<\/p>\n When he found himself in freefall, friends were the branches of a tree that broke his final, brutal descent. One after another, he crashed through us all. I was mid-trunk.<\/p>\n After a night on the phone, I learned two things. First, he was a total mess. Second, it\u2019s extremely difficult to clip your toenails while cradling a cordless handset between your shoulder and neck. Speakerphone seemed too impersonal.<\/p>\n We met for a beer the next evening. He was crying before I said, \u201cHello.\u201d Now that I could see<\/em> his pain, I was worried. Even I could understand that his condition called for maximum sensitivity.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, are you gonna blow your brains out or what?\u201d<\/p>\n He managed a smile. \u201cThought about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDamn<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n What else could I say? Okay, I suppose there was a lot I could say.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not<\/em> gonna kill yourself over a chick.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan you think of a better reason?\u201d<\/p>\n He had me there, I guess.<\/p>\n \u201cSeriously. Don\u2019t be that guy. You\u2019ll get over her.\u201d<\/p>\n We drank. He bared his soul. If I didn\u2019t convince him to wholeheartedly embrace life, his newfound freedom, at least I talked him off the ledge. But there was no talking him out of one dangerous line of thought.<\/p>\n \u201cWe had coffee this morning,\u201d he confessed, a little sheepishly. \u201cI begged her to see me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I asked her, \u2018Is there any chance we\u2019ll get back together?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe says \u2018You want the truth? Here\u2019s the truth: there\u2019s a 99.9 percent chance we\u2019re never<\/em> getting back together.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n It was harsh, even for her. I was tempted to say so, but then he looked me right in the eye and I\u2019m pretty sure what he said\u2014or maybe asked<\/em>\u2014was, \u201cI think she\u2019s just throwing me a bone.\u201d<\/p>\n I wanted to punch him. I wanted to hug him. I tried not to laugh.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know what to say,\u201d I told him, and 30 years later, I\u2019m reading about a guy in North Dakota who won two separate million-dollar lotteries in six months. What are the odds? I\u2019m wondering if this news would have made my friend\u2019s heart perform a little back-flip, like my own just did. I wonder, too, what my old friend would make of some old dog living for years on a bone of hope half the size of his.<\/p>\n Like I said, I used to tell this story a lot. Now I don\u2019t.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They will never, ever<\/em> agree on how it started.<\/p>\n Very Drunk Donnie exits Polestars like a shot followed by two chasers: Richie and Jamie. They\u2019re all happy and laughing, who knows why. The orange VW is already idling noisily at the curb, Jason behind the wheel.<\/p>\n Cue the two strangers walking past the club.<\/p>\n So maybe Donnie bumps the one guy. Or mutters something under his breath. Or they just don\u2019t like the look of each other. Maybe Donnie, no joke, really is<\/em> a fight magnet. Whatever happened, Donnie and the guy with the short sleeves and huge pipes\u2014it\u2019s a chilly 1 a.m., you can see goose-bumps\u2014are suddenly ready to rumble. Chests pumped, hackles up.<\/p>\n Richie and Jamie are where they\u2019ll always be: prepared to back Donnie up as fearlessly as they take the piss out of him. Jason has that familiar oh shit<\/em> look on his face; if things turn especially nasty, he\u2019ll jump out of the van. Donnie\u2019s not really a fighter and he knows it; as usual, the alcohol begs to differ.<\/p>\n So, two powder kegs are rubbing each other the wrong way. It\u2019s all happened in a flash, and any second now, wait for it, the predictable spark\u2014a quick fist, a kick to the nuts\u2014will blow the whole thing up.<\/p>\n Except when it comes, it\u2019s not a fist. It\u2019s not a knee to the groin. It looks, for a moment, like it\u2019s going to be a head-butt. It isn\u2019t a head-butt.<\/p>\n It\u2019s a kiss.<\/p>\n In the instant it takes Donnie to process this peck on his lips\u2014an unorthodox assault\u2014something gives. Richie and Jamie signed up for action-adventure. This is comedy.<\/p>\n When Donnie finally lurches forward, swinging wildly at an opponent who\u2019s already danced away, just beyond range, Richie and Jamie, swallowing laughter, grab their boy by his furious flailing arms and wrestle him into the van. Without a word, they choose toxic 7-11 nachos over a visit to the ER. Or another night in the drunk tank.<\/p>\n As the door slides closed and Jason peels the van into a U-turn, Mr. Pipes offers Donnie a smile and parting wave.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat. The. Fuck<\/em>!\u201d Donnie wails, lunging for the door.<\/p>\n Richie holds him back. \u201c\u201dYou must have said something<\/em>,\u201d he ventures.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck, I didn\u2019t say anything<\/em>,\u201d Donnie protests.<\/p>\n \u201cThat guy was ripped,\u201d Jamie says.<\/p>\n \u201cI could have taken<\/em> him,\u201d Donnie says.<\/p>\n They do their best to talk him down, but Donnie rages until they\u2019ve passed McDonalds. He seethes from there until the mall with Home Depot. Somewhere beyond the Jiffy Lube, he finally settles down. And by the time they pull into the 7-11 near campus, he\u2019s actually happy.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m starving<\/em>,\u201d Donnie says as they spill into the parking lot.<\/p>\n Then he notices that Richie\u2019s giving him a look.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Donnie says.<\/p>\n No answer.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n Richie shakes his head.<\/p>\n \u201cMan,\u201d he says, smiling. \u201cI can\u2019t believe<\/em> you let that guy kiss you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh shit…<\/em>\u201d says Jason.<\/p>\n Suddenly, the night is young again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After a night on the phone, I learned two things. First, he was a total mess. Second, it\u2019s extremely difficult to clip your toenails while cradling a cordless handset between your shoulder and neck. Speakerphone seemed too impersonal.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":15241,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1911,1910,1909,863,1428],"class_list":["post-15166","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-breakup","tag-delusion","tag-desperation","tag-flash-fiction","tag-hope","writer-mark-koepke"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15166","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15166"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15166\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15254,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15166\/revisions\/15254"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15241"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15166"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15166"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15166"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}THE NIGHT IS YOUNG<\/h5>\n