September 13, 2004

The Saga Ends

(Call this one "The Saga of The Aforementioned Friend and The Princess of MeMeMe : Bonus scene after the credits")

The Friday of Dragon*Con, The Former Aformentioned Friend sent Melissa and I a "breakup letter." He and I were supposed to be going to the event together, even working on a costume for him, but he quietly backed out of that like everything else. He'd been writing the letter for a while, judging by it's pure length of rant. Par for the course, he put the blame for the friendship ending squarely on us, and took none for himself. Melissa read it, but I told her to forget about it for the weekend, so his attempt to ruin DragonCon for us would not succeed.

Melissa, however, was never content to leave lies uncorrected, and I love her for it. They had a brief, heated argument, Melissa set him straight and he hung up on her.

I left the e-mail unread in my in-box until the next week. She said her peace, but there was just too many dodges and lies in his letter for me to ignore. Some good friends convinced me that responding to him would accomplish nothing, and I agreed. But I have some shred of pride, so I composed a response of my own. I only wanted to correct a few accusations that he made, but I ended up writing a 3-page letter, longer than the one he sent. This letter had everything I wanted to say in it, from my rebuttals to saying my own peace. It was the perfect catharsis.

And I had every intention of leaving it unsent. I knew that sending it would do no good, he wouldn't learn a damned thing. No one ever learns anything from a breakup. After the point of no return is reached and both sides are spewing the laundry list of faults that the other posesses, all comments are dismissed as psycho-babble. I knew that it would do no good.

The final straw was the short letter he wrote Melissa after their final argument. It such silly "I hope that someday we can be friends" Shiny-Happy-People bullsh*t, that your average 13 year-old would consider it trite. This was it. I was not content to leave things like this, with him thinking he was a big man, offering us this olive branch at the end. My pride may be small, but it would not stand for that.

So I sent him the letter this morning. I apologize to my friends for not heeding their advice. This wasn't my proudest moment, giving in to the game of verbal revenge, but he was my best friend just a few months ago, the godfather of my only child, the person that I most trusted in the world, and he was not about to leave with his delusions of innocence undisturbed. Betrayal has it's own particular sting, causing a slow burning scorn as it spreads across your pride, converting logic to an irrational desire for revenge, justice, some sort of karmic equilibrium.

I had to send it. It was a moral imperative.

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