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Or — “How one late night phone call turned into the world’s most awkward party.”
We can put up with a lot when we really like someone. Major issues become minuscule in the face of an intense infatuation and a little TLC. It’s totally fine, until it isn’t.
I used to hang out with this guy after graduation. He was popular, handsome, and had a ton of friends. He always liked to throw parties at his place and he was easily the smartest, funniest, and most charming guy in the room wherever he was. He was a sensitive artist type, and he had a thick veneer of togetherness about him that was easily seen through by me. He was very handsome, had cool tattoos, and he was a skilled painter — which I adored. I wanted to be just like him.
We met at a party but I think we had encountered each other before somewhere. He seemed very familiar, and he had eyes you would kill for. One look from them and I would melt instantly into the floor. I had a hard time talking to him at first because I still hadn’t quite grown out of my shy phase, but I slowly made my way closer to him to introduce myself. We sat chatting about possibly meeting each other before while we shared a drink. He was so cool, we had a lot in common, and I was instantly smitten.
After that we started talking pretty often. He would always invite me over to his place well past midnight and well into his second bottle of wine. It was always the same thing; I’d drive over to his place, he would be drunk, we would make out, and we would simply fall asleep cuddling. Harmless, it seemed strange to me but I didn’t care about that though, I was just happy to be there with him.
He was very sweet in a way, he would always ask me how I was doing and would check in if I wanted a drink, I usually would. He didn’t like talking about himself much. Whenever I would ask about something other than movies, art, or music he would kind of shy away from getting too deep, then he would instead reverse the question on me to see what my answer was. He was a pretty tough shell to crack at times, but I was skilled with a pickaxe. I think he understood that, and respected it.
One night, true to form, I got a phone call around 3am. It was him. I knew what the deal was so I put on my clothes and drove to his place. I got there about 30 minutes later and he answered the door with his huge, beaming smile and his perfect, white teeth. I could smell the liquor on his breath but I was so entrapped by his smile that I didn’t want to leave. He gave me a kiss and brought me inside.
We enter his room and he starts making out with me heavily. I get lost in his arms for a moment before I realize there’s headlights coming up the driveway. I asked him if he was expecting someone else and he said he invited a few more people.
Huh?
“I get lost in his arms for a moment before I realize there’s headlights coming up the driveway.”
Next thing I knew there were probably eight or nine of his closest friends crammed in his bedroom at four in the morning. I was confused, and everyone else seemed to be as well but he seemed excited that apparently an impromptu party had started and he was the star. He turned on some music and started dancing on his bed, and the rest of us were all just kind of looking at each other quietly flabbergasted and openly confused.
He started dancing very violently when something changed. All of a sudden he turned and motioned at us to move out of the way. We all took a step back to make space. He leapt into the air from his bed, did a full somersault in the air, and landed on his hands and knees directly on the floor. The shock from this impact must have made him sick because almost instantly from hitting the floor, he projectile vomited across the room and all over the carpet.
Everyone blinked and stared at him for a moment. Without skipping a beat, someone said “okay, party’s over,” while someone else went and grabbed towels from the bathroom. I stepped down and rubbed his back to see if he was okay but he didn’t look up. I helped clean up while someone helped him walk into the bathroom to finish puking.
One of his friends, who was helping clean up with me, looked at me and told me sorry that I had to see him like this. I said it really was no problem, I was just a bit stunned. They told me this occasionally happens because he liked to chase his wine with Ambien sometimes. He blacks out and just calls everyone he knows to come over like it’s a party. Sometimes it’s fine but other times we’re here just because he needs us to be.
This profession of someone’s true vulnerability smacked me right in the face. I really hadn’t seen it before. Maybe I didn’t want to see it because he seemed so cool. It’s funny how we can look at someone with such rose-colored glasses without ever seeing their flaws. Then again, maybe their flaws don’t want to be seen, either.
“It’s funny how we can look at someone with such rose-colored glasses without ever seeing their flaws. Then again, maybe their flaws don’t want to be seen, either.”
We finished cleaning the carpet and everyone was getting ready to leave. My friend took me aside and said sorry to me. I told him not to mention it, we all make mistakes. I gave him a hug and he grabbed my waist and tried to go in for a kiss. I had to pull away before he made contact with his just-vomited-from lips and said, let’s try that another time, yeah? Get some rest.
He smiled again and went upstairs to bed. We still remain close friends to this day and I hope he doesn’t mind me telling this story. This is one story that didn’t necessarily have a horrible ending, projectile vomit aside, but it’s one that I’ll always remember. It also reminds me of how important it is to have close friends who will take care of you even in your most chaotic moments and not judge you for it. If you ask me, those are some pretty dope friends to have around.