What are friends? I used to think I knew.
Recently I went to NOLA to visit my friend Lolo and little Debbie, not to be confused with Debbie. When I had had just about enough of the bullshit that makes LA so wonderful I got a little tipsy and bought one-way greyhound bus tickets to NOLA.
That is how people get stuck in New Orleans, if you didn’t know. I’m there to visit a long time kinky friend who is miraculously “not interested in that [kink] anymore” I have been given the go ahead to talk to his new girlfriend little Debbie. “she knows everything” Lolo assures me. Right, sure she does.
As Lolo was out of town for business I met his new girlfriend at the bar for a drink. After three minutes she started asking me questions about kink. Being a big pervert and having the go ahead from Lolo I started to discuss her interests with candor, answering questions about cuckolding and transsexuals. Lorelei and I stayed up till four in the morning talking to little Debbie about kink. She was really excited about it, I thought.
When Lolo returned from his business trip I was happy to see him for a few minutes and then he went to stay at little Debbie’s, leaving me and Lorelei in his place. After his three day weekend he left town on another business trip. When he was gone, the fight happened. It was the central drama that surrounded my recent trip to NOLA and has had me wondering what friendship is and what it means.
I have been visiting NOLA for years. I love it there. My girlfriend and I have become friends with a couple of pretty hard core artists. Lexi and Travis http://www.rustypelicanart.com
We are at the bar, having a few drinks and Lorelei and I decide to walk back to our home away from home. These friends of ours head off in their car and pass us on the way to their place. We had to walk past their place to get back to where we were staying which is how we came to witness the fight.
As we approached the corner I heard a couple of guys yelling. We decided to walk on the neutral ground to avoid whomever might be fighting. There are a lot of fights in NOLA. When we got a few feet closer we realized that out friend was getting the living Jesus beaten out of him by the guy who shares the duplex with him.
The guy who shares the duplex is a bad dude. He is a womanizer, a coke head, and a no good sneak of a person. But he used to be nice enough, which is how he came to share their duplex. For the story his name is KC but if you know him you know that this is a made up name to protect the guilty. The very guilty.
The first thing I saw was my friend Travis get socked in the jaw and flip backwards off the concrete stairs onto the driveway, taking down his newly created piano sculpture. He went down really hard. I immediately thought “shit he probably has a concussion.” When KC grabbed a motorcycle helmet and started smashing in his head I new things were way too far out of hand.
It was about that point when a cute little Austrian girl who told me her name was Sylvia approached me asking me if I knew these people and if I could help her get her purse out of KCs apartment. I told her I would try. I took her by the hand and snuck into Travis’s apartment, looking for her purse. “no no” she said this is not even the same place. I was in a different apartment.
By the time I figured out that we could get next door through the building Travis came staggering in with blood streaming from the cavity that previously was his nose. His teeth we dangling from his face and he was mad. He went for his gun. His wife asked me to call the cops. I grabbed the girl and Lorelei, dialed 911 and dashed across the street to the neutral ground.
Lorelei was covered in blood as she had put herself between them. Travis was not fighting back, KC was trying to kill him. We took the girl back to her apartment without her purse. On the way she explained to us how she happened to be there — KC had sweet talked her out of the bar they had been in and brought here there without her consent. I’m not gonna say kidnapping but she had no idea who he was, where she was, or why such violence had erupted.
When Lolo got back from his business trip we told him all about how the fight had gone. He shrugged. So did all the other people they seem to hang with. Then Lolo gave KC some work and started kicking it with him. I asked him what the hell he was doing and Lolo told me that he needed to hang out with KC cause they were buddies.
“Do you know what he just did to Travis?” I asked Lolo. “He put him in the hospital” I informed him “He shouldn’t be trusted, let alone supplied with beer.” Lolo just sort of shrugged his shoulders and went back to hanging out with KC.
I was in NOLA for a few weeks hoping to have a chance to visit with my friend who I traveled out to see, on his invitation. The whole time I was there I was blown off so Lolo could hang out with KC, the wanna-be killer. I had to hear through the grapevine that my friend Lolo was pissed off at me and that I had “overstayed my welcome.” It’s sad because I really thought that Lolo was my friend. After all the years we have palled around he could have told me that he was too busy to have visitors, before I got down there.
Lolo and I are not speaking this week. I think I told little Debbie a bit too much about kinky relationships. Maybe he is trying to write me off, or maybe he actually has some reason to be mad at me now. Either way, I left NOLA wondering a lot about what it means to be someone’s friend, why I choose the friends I choose and how it is possible that I don’t just hermit up and call it a day.
Lately so many of my friends have decided to get old, buy property, have kids, live in the suburbs, have a nervous breakdown, and simply become grumpy. I think grumpy is the indication of old. If you can’t have a beer and remember how to chill, not worry about your stupid roof, your brat of a kid, your wife who is probably cheating on you, or your shinny new corvette then what good are you?
I hope my readers enjoy life and try to shrug off the worries that seem to be making people old. It would appear that that shit will catch up to you, if you let it.