Nov 19, 2008
My brother's friend left. After I told them both to be smart and shut up. Tonight was the first time that fat ass has been over in months. He's always invited at 11:00pm, and the two of them proceed to smoke weed for hours in the living room, watching the stoner lot of shows. Fatty takes hits so huge, even for his enlarged lungs, that for thirty seconds after exhalation is sounds like he might vomit a lung. Given that we're not alone in this apartment complex, I thought after five minutes of this I might have to get up, enter the room and say something to these geniuses. The fat one gets up to blow his nose twice. He's got a cold, I presume, and I know how the conversation will go. I'll call them out on their hacking, he'll tell me he has a cold, etc. Enough was enough. "You guys want to practice a little discretion?" Huff and puff. Murmur. "We don't live alone," "It happens all the time," the brother replies. That's the problem, I think to myself. "You sound like you're going to lose a lung," I say to no one in particular, a bit aggravated. The fat one replies defensively: "I'm sick, I can't help it!" "Well then maybe you shouldn't be smoking fucking weed!" Silence. Strange silence. No grown man likes to be put in their place. But we all have a dark place in our lives where we back ourselves into a corner. We choose to be there, and when confronted, we shut up or spout nonsense. "Understood?" Sigh. "Yeah," the brother says. The fat one hesitates. "You know," he says, "I'll just fucking go home." "Fine by me," I say, before the hum has left his lips. Maybe this is me being responsible. Maybe I'm just getting old. Maybe it's both.