50. Glass Houses

I don't remember much of when I met him as we both hit the bottle pretty hard that night. I do know that shortly after, I figured out that being friends with him meant having to stomach a fair amount of elitism on his part.

His mistakes were far grander than everyone else's and they always came with a great story. He found a way to prove and disprove god. He walked rigid like he had a gun to his back but carried himself like he knew better. He didn't know better, as much as his success would pen you to believe otherwise.

Even still, we loved him. We loved him because once he dubbed you as one of his own he took care of you. He was a consistent firm shoulder to cry on. He was the quick fix to your broken bike. He was a round of cheep beer at your favorite dive and a bitchy glare you loved seeing him give to other people.

For the sake of his health, we all hoped he would ease up on the drinking. Then he did, completely.

It had been a long time since I heard from him, least since before my trip back to Boston. He was dating a girl that he was stupid for. I'm glad for that. What I'm not glad for is that when his best friend came to visit town recently he wouldn't give him the time of day, sticking up his nose at the idea of engaging in the same kind of debauchery they did maybe three months prior. Never mind that, but the fact that he would barely give him the time of day for a dinner, and then judge everyone's alcohol consumption a good part of the time.

I wasn't there that night, but when Porter came back to my place the look in his eyes was sullen. I'm aware that friendships based around booze are doomed for failure, and while I am psyched he put the bottle down for good, I'm under the  high school mentality that you don't just fly high with your pals only to shoot them out of the sky minutes later. Sure we grow up and change, but wouldn't you rather provoke inspiration  than bitterness? God knows Porter could use staying clean for a while. Who better than instead of his best friend to help him?

He won't get that luxury, but I hope he gets something better.

I hope the glass house my friend sits pretty inside echos with his own judgement right back at him. I hope he learns that while love may come easy to him, loyalty is not a disposable commodity.