The Forgetful Friend – Fiction

The Forgetful Friend

by J. Hazard Fitch
illustration by Julie Sloane

This is my hangover. I’m lying on Carson beach in Dorchester. It’s March, but it’s warm enough to lie out like this. The sun is warm and the sea is perfect blue. There are gulls and ducks down at the waterside. The breeze makes it just the perfect temperature. There are people walking all along the beach. But it’s one of those mornings when you know something major has crashed in your life the night before.

Last night I went to my friend’s party. He’s back at the apartment now, where I’m staying. I know I’ll go back later and he’ll offer me something to eat and everything will seem normal. But, it’s not normal and I know this morning that things will never be normal again.

What’s normal is playing baseball in his backyard when we’re eleven years old and never had best friends before. Going to Catechism and laughing. Skipping class to get baked, basted, and wasted in the high school parking lot. Playing pool in a downtown bar back home. Even when he was in college we stayed friends and did things. If I ever needed a loan, it was him I knew I could go to. Or I could borrow his car anytime I needed it. He understood that shit. And if I had stuff, whatever it was, he knew I would share it with him. There was just no questions asked.

But, I would forget stuff. Like his 21st birthday. I was talking to him and a few friends the day after and one of the friends mentioned it and what they’d done and where they went. All I could say was, “Hey, yeah, happy birthday.” I lost his number at college and didn’t call him for four months and didn’t bother to call information for it. Finally, he called me.

These things happen and go by. But you don’t realize how they add up until something really happens.

A wind comes up across the beach and I stop thinking. It blows sand all over me. I sit up to brush it off. There’s two Asian kids up on the sidewalk, doing back-flips and handsprings and stuff. They make me think of why I love coming up to the city, and then of why I might not be coming back as often now.

The party was pretty cool. There was a ton of people and I knew most of them pretty well. Some guys from home who came up separate. Plenty of good beer. My friend’s fiance was there too. I’d met her many times before. So we were all up in one of the bedrooms passing around a spliff. Most of the party noise was downstairs. And then I was stupid and asked them when their wedding was. My friend gave me a funny look and said it was June. I knew he had told me, but I forgot. But this wasn’t the worst. The worst was when his fiance looked at me and said, kind of joking, “What kind of a bachelor party are you planning to throw for him?” And I said, “Hey, I thought the best man was supposed to throw the bachelor party.” And then she said, “But you’re best man, aren’t you?” And it was true. I was supposed to be best man. But I forgot he asked me.

And it all wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been there when he found it out. Not that she was bad about it or anything. But, it would’ve been easier for it to slide if it was just him and me. And it would’ve slid. Just like it always had before. But not this time.

So that’s what happened. Sometimes, when something really bad happens, I think that if I do something crazy or extraordinary, the shock can blot the thing out. It never works, but I usually think of something and do it. So naturally I’m thinking of it now. The freaking icebergs are barely off the water but it’s the only thing I can think of. It’s like I’m cornered into it. I’m hung over enough not to care what all the people walking on the beach are going to think. So I take off my shoes and socks and get up and walk down toward the water. I clear out all the ducks and gulls at the edge. I wonder if I’m the first person to go swimming this year at Carson Beach.

The water is fucking cold. My feet and ankles are practically numb immediately. And the bastard beach doesn’t even have the courtesy to get deep right away. I have to keep walking through it like this until it’s deep enough to throw my body down in the water.

I don’t have to think about it, fortunately. In a second I’m looking through salt water at the sun lit sand on the bottom. In another instant I’m standing up and taking two breaths a second. All the people on the beach are staring at me. My feet have lost their numbness and they’re fucking freezing. The expletive is required. At least I know I deserve it.

(Inspired by a poem by Ron Plasse)