Sometimes You Have No Clue How to Help or When…

It was 1:30 a.m. in Portland; 3:30 a.m. in Austin when the phone rang. And I was up, across the room, and to the desk by the second ring. Of course, I wouldn’t have done this if I had known it was 1:30. I thought it must be like six or seven and my secretary was calling me hopefully for business reasons and not just to be cruel. Instead, the caller id displayed “J’.

J is an old college roommate. Like the majority of former college roommates whenever we talk there is a lot of laughs and stories. He and I got along the best of all my college roommates, despite the fact that he and I squabbled with all of our other roommates. With J, I had a great last semester of college filled with booze, women and late night intellectual stimulation. For me, it was a great time in life. Already in graduate school and winding down some easy classes, I had no place to be and time to enjoy it.

J and I were similar that year. Both of us had most of our serious parting behind us. We felt more mature and laughed as the underclassmen made the same mistakes we did at their age. Our lives were on the way up.

So, I graduated and moved away from Austin for more schooling. J had one more year to finish up, and then was to begin his studies to be a pastor. And it all fell a part.

I have no clue what happened in J’s last year. I know he fought with his roommate and after one quick trip to the Seminary decided that it was not for him. But none of those events explain what happen next.

J went to grad school to become a licensed therapist and came out of the closet. Two events that still should not have moved him into what he has become.

Then last time I visited, J was in love and doing minor drugs again. (Neither of which sounded too good. The guy he was dating didn’t sound right to me, and knowing J and his past minor things became huge deals quickly.) Now, J is fucking everything that moves (and has a penis) and is doing enough coke to ski a blue. Our calls have gone from remembering old times to talking about the orgy J was involved in the night before.

I’m watching an old friend waste away. Each time I talk to him, the parting becomes more pronounced and other things become less important.

He called at 3:30 a.m. in Austin and left a voicemail message saying he missed intellectual stimulation and was probably stoned out of his mind rambling odd shit to my voicemail, because he had dialed my name on accident. I miss the old J. I hope to see him again.