4 Friends and A Criminal
By Cakes McCain on February 04, 2012
Earler last week I engaged stage 1 of "Operation Escape Social-Coma" via cooking dinner for my girl-crew of 2 (Tani and Lavinia) and inviting Francesco a cop friend, who recently did me the favour of signing my new passport application as a "guarantor."
Saturday afternoon I got a call from F asking me to come out that evening with his crew to see a dance recital at a local restaurant. I had never hung out with F socially without my Irish friend Lara (who had since gone back to Ireland) and I was releuctant as "his crew" was the same Lara used to frequent. A local group of disfunctional buddhists whom I reffered to as "The Zen Adulterers" as they all were in relationships but seemed to be f'cking each other within their circle, and none of them were any the wiser to eachothers sexual shenanigans. Most organised religions have some sort of aversion to sexual misconduct and I often wondered how they justified their narcissisism. Regardless of my reluctance to join them that evening, I remembered an incentive - that being the great grass they smoked, as Lara once hooked me up. I figured could really use some quality product, as I have been hitting the sack no earlier than 2:30am every night for the past 2 months, getting less and less sleep/more sleep deprived, and becoming increasingly weirder by comparison. My mission: Make the contact... smoke... sleep like a baby.
By the time F arrived the plans had changed, as one of the crew had come down with the stomach flew and the rest had dispersed. He suggested we head over to his digs and he would cook Japanese food. I am too easy-going, I should have remembered what Bill told me about Italians and their "free booty passes," and suggested a restaruant. I'm an idiot.
After we had polished off a 3 course meal I remained at the table while he sat on the sofa a short distance away. As he pulled up Youtube on his laptop he asked me to come over, sit down and source some music. I found some White Stripes (minus: "We are gonna be friends" because as F is now stroking my back and trying to hold my hand - we ARE NOT going to be friends, and as of recent I can't listen to that song anymore because it reminds me too much of a certain someone, and I find myself too melencholy to endure it.)
I then ubruptly switched to some Japanese comedy to distract myself from the fact that I felt like getting the hell out of there as it was redundant to maintain small talk (and some of his random comments he had made, jogged my memory to thoughts of someone else whom I wish I would have been with instead, which made me feel even worse). I sat there propped on the sofa like a department store mannequin, idle and embarassed, staring at the computerscreen, laughing at Japanese people in helmets and spandex trying to do Human Tetris, while I wished I would have had the balls to tell him something, anything....and add that he was ruining (what I thought was) a decent friendship. I really hate confrontation.
Positions of Human Tetris: Maybe he got ideas while he was hitting on me.
I made excuses to get up and take glasses of water, and going to the bathroom but every time it started all over again. I went as far as to find some vile video clips of JackAss 3 featuring graphic scenes of excrement in hopes he would think I was a lunatic, and leave me alone. I prayed to the gods of logic and common sense that he would get a clue that I wasn't into him, and eventually he would stop. He didn't. WTF? I never gave him any indication I had any remote interest, and was dressed like a librarian.
After my last bathroom run I said I had to leave. "You know, the dogs are at home, have to let the dogs out..."
I called Tani the next day and told her about it.
"Wouldn't logic dictate that if someone isn't responding, and sitting there like an ice block, she isn't interested and it's time to give up?"
She gave the new, adjusted condensed version of her speech: "Your logic doesn't translate here in Italy."
"Great. Another cool platonic, male friendship down the toilet. I'll just stick to my gay homeboys then. WAY safer."
Sunday afternoon Tani was having a party and me and Liv were set to go, HE was going to be there. Exausted by the logistics of arriving in her village and non presence of a bus, Liv and I gave up and walked home. F had called a short time after we arrived at my place, likely to come by and pick us up, but I didn't answer. I figured the fewer favours I take from him the better. Liv and I ate lunch together and like a great friend she offered to help me clean "the frat house."
Then later I broke even...
My friend, "Dog-guy" was in the hood. He picked me up, we ate at a pizzeria in Vietri, we had our usual varied amicable conversations...he told me of his futile quasi- reconsiliation with his ex ( aka. "The Glenn Close love-muck skank"), I told him of my most recent complicated friendship, he asked me about my immigration status (which is legal for now) and then... dropped the bomb.
Remember when you and your ex used to come by the shop? (that would be the Stalker-ex from Salerno)
Ya sure, why?
You guys were still together, but remember when you came alone a couple of times?
Sure, I remember.
After that he came by alone one time, and told me some things about you being in the country illegally.
Ya, I was illegal then, because I stayed longer than the alloted 90 days for tourists, but not now, I have my papers. But I don't understand.
He said you were in Italy because you shot someone.
Huh? Sorry, what? SHOT?!
He said, you shot one of your friends, you are wanted by the police for murder, and you were hiding out here.
OMG... He told you I killed someone?! I would never!... Did you believe him?
No, not really. It was none of my business and I didn't want to bring it up. I'm telling you this now because you were talking about your passport and immigration and the fact you were legal, and I thought you should know.
I am still in a state of shock. This was a person I was in a relationship with, someone I trusted that was telling people I was a murderer, so he could - in some sort of sick way, selfishly isolate me further from making new friends. And I had NO idea.
Another post-it note for the paranoia bell jar.
As for "Dog-guy," if I ever had any misconceptions about his intentions in the past, they all became clear during the course of the evening we are "FRIENDS..." and I can dig that.
Ethical Dilemmas: What Would You Do If Your Friend Was Having an Affair With Another Friend's Husband?
by Mata H
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