A friend of mine has been harboring a grudge for 16 whole years now, and I feel it’s downright sick. It’s even more bizarre when you realize that it’s not actually a friend who’s done this, but–truth be told–it’s me! Yes, I have Italian Alzheimer’s! I forget everything except a grudge!
Let me explain. Way back in ’93, I was on a date with a clubbie for my birthday. We went, naturally, to a club. This was my third date with the guy and we were basically developing into sex buddies, though he was nice enough to fake some romantic energy and share this special night with me.
Well, a friend happened to be there and started drunkenly chatting me up. I introduced him to my equally boozy beau, making it clear that he was my date, and they started talking amongst themselves. Amidst the loud music and the swirling lights–God, this is painful–the next thing I knew, one of them had gone off to the men’s room! And the other promptly followed! And I later found out they had sex in there! Without me! Happy birthday, dumbass!
I was furious at my fuck buddy, but I couldn’t stay angry for long because a few months later he ended up naked and drugged out on a highway, where he was fatally run over by a car. (I’m not making this shit up.) But that made me even more livid at my friend, who had deprived me of my last possible intimate time with the guy. To this day whenever I see him, I recoil in horror and run into traffic (but not naked and drugged out). It’s as if the horrible scene of sordid betrayal had happened just five minutes ago.
Should I finally let go and flush the memory away?
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on July 23, 2009