Friendly Fire

Sometimes things just go wrong. I didn’t mean for that to happen, but it did, and I know I bear some of the blame.

I have a friend. He and I were able to communicate in an easy, fluid manner. We could talk about serious stuff or make fun of the absurdities of life. Sometimes we didn’t have to say anything at all.

We spent many hours together like that, hanging out at the laundromat waiting for clothes, walking to class, sitting around the apartment, and in a hundred other places where the ordinary stuff of life happens. We have some things in common; a love of baseball being one of the first things that built our friendship. But we are also different people in many ways. Our distinct life experiences have caused us to see the world differently.

But then something happened. I didn’t see it coming, though I should have. I reacted in the manner I thought best, but in agonizing hindsight, I know I made a poor decision. Our friendship was hurt by what happened. My friend was hurt. I doubt that the damage will ever be completely overcome.

We don’t see each other nearly as much as before. Some of that is due to the fact that life sometimes leads people apart for a season or two. But it is more than just that. Even when we do talk, I sense a distance, a lack of trust and a wariness that was never there before.

I don’t blame my friend for feeling the way he does, but I feel an emptiness when I think of what we lost. I have been thinking about all this a lot lately, probably too much. It is painful to contemplate. I have apologized, of course, but as we all know, apologies don’t automatically fix things.

Damn.