The Big Mysteries

I've been having a series of rather difficult conversations with a friend.

Last night, I realised that sometimes it might seem like I think I have all the answers. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I simply seem to have all the questions.

We were discussing a problem to which there are no right answers, and the concept of regret. My friend has very few regrets, but those he has, haunt him.

I've always been one to live in the present,
judge people by what they do,
try and do right, despite, not because of what others do.

That could pretty much be my credo.

What do I regret?

I regret not saying the truth when I knew it. I regret getting played. I regret things I didn't do more than things I've done.

When a friend was caught in the most awful downward spiral, I thought that to support her insanity and self-destruction was, in the long run, the right thing to do. I never told her the truth. That she was the only one hurting herself.

Years later, one night, she came to my house.
Her hands were covered in mild chemical burns. She hadn't slept in days, and a beautiful woman (who was always exceedingly vain) sat on my porch smelling like shit, with dirty/stained clothing on.

"I'm trying to burn off my fingerprints, so that nobody can find me"

We washed her clothes.

"I'm just going to run out for a minute"

She left, in little more than a bathrobe to go buy more crack.

"I just need to fix my hair"

She smoked the crack in my bathroom.

I understand when deception becomes the norm. I understand when someone has manipulated everyone, and can no longer even be honest with themselves. I understand when you go along with the manipulation (Hey, at least I -know- when I'm getting taken for a ride, right?) just to make the other person feel better.

When she told me -anything- I had doubt, but it was easier to beleive than fight about the little lies, right?

I'm big on personal responsibility. I really think it's key. However, this person was never held responsible for her own actions in my eyes. I just figured that someone who had basically been raised by wolves on the mean streets of Chicago, living off her good looks, and the kindness/perversion of strangers, didn't have that in her.

Her daughter will be 9 this year.

Luka won't remember her mommy holding her in her arms, looking up at me with absolute wonder and saying, "I just feel at peace when I hold her in my arms. I love her sooooooo much".

I thought that having a child would save her. That she'd pick up the peices of her life, make that kid her first priority, and live for her kid.

She hasn't.

The look in her eyes when she held Luka, that look said, "I'll do anything for my baby." I believed that look, completely.

I got taken.

I got taken for over ten years. I got taken in by the little lies and the big ones.

I called her pimp at one point and begged him to buy her a ticket to Denver, so that she could see her kid, and clean up. I figured that she couldn't buy drugs with no money and no car.

She said that it was what she needed to do. That it was the only way.

She was back in Chicago in three days, sucking strangers dicks for drug money, surfing couch to couch, with a crack pipe wrapped in plastic wrap shoved up her vagina, and stories about how her former husband didn't want her anymore.

That was a lie. Matt always talked about how much he loved her. He has never found another woman. Sure, he dates, but I think this whole life has been haunted by this beautiful, fucked-up wraith.

She felt regret at how things had worked out, but she never acted on it.

She never made the small steps needed to get him to trust her. She said it was insulting, demeaning even.

She was/is demanding. She would show up on our doorstep, saying how much she missed us. I sometimes wonder if she ever ment it. Her eyes said she did, but was that only an act?

She disappeared one night, amid shame, paranoia, and a general sense that she would burn us, just to save herself. I think that was the truth. I think that it was all the truth.
I think she ment everything. I think she ment nothing.

She calls late at night, always. Never a number to call her back on, just a payphone, or some stranger's home. I'm sure they're passed out in the bedroom, while she who never sleeps combs their house and hides things.

She steals.

She cries.

Once, I answered the phone. I knew instantly it was her. The timing was right.

I asked her if she was clean.

"Kind of"

I told her that wasn't good enough. I wished her luck. Told her I would see her later, when she was clean.

I hung up.

I cried.

I still never told her the truth.