"I ruin the lives of those I come across."
I took what my friend said with a grain of salt. Before I saw the tragic decay of Chris, I viewed him in a positive light. Optimism vibrantly flowed out with each sentence he spoke. I'd frequently see his showcase of calloused hands strumming on his Yamaha acoustic guitar. It was a guitar that traveled with Chris throughout the South. There was a time when he was homeless, and it was his ticket to food, water and sometimes a place to sleep.
Chris displayed many stories. He spoke of his drunken escapades, in which one time his friend and him took bats and busted numerous mailboxes. There was a time where he had a guitar in a black bag strapped to his back. The unfortunate circumstance followed when police stopped him and thought that he was walking around with a gun instead. There were even stories of his high school sweetheart and how she proceeded to destroy his trust by sleeping with someone else. Chris was a human with a history and with heartbreak, and he never tried to hide the details of his past. The skeletons were in plain sight, and those around him frequently tripped over the remains.
Eventually, in my time of knowing Chris, he obtained a girlfriend. He once swore that he'd never date again and achieved being celibate for two years. A sword slashed the celibacy in two, and he started to mold hearts with another person. He fell in love with someone who was the complete opposite of him. Chris was soft-spoken, and his girlfriend, Candace, was brutally honest. Her words could sometimes put tears in his heart, as her blue eyes and soft smile would sew the wounds tight. He had a small list of exes, and she had a brochure. Candace was experienced, knowing exactly what she wanted in a partner. Chris was inexperienced and confused in dating. He loved to drink, and she seldom sipped on a cocktail. Drinking wasn't her expertise, and he showed her the ropes to the ring that he'd decimate her mood in.
As with any relationships, the first months are bliss. Chris was so elated that he played guitar more often and wore an infectious smile. There wasn't a time in this honeymoon period when I wouldn't be soothed by his kind words, wonderful melodies and brotherly hugs. There also wasn't a time during this when his girlfriend's heart wasn't full of ecstasy. Friends and family around them would say "You both are so cute together." For a time, they truly were, until they moved in together.
They didn't get to have their first fight, first tears or first harrowing experience before they decided to move in together. It didn't come as a shock when they finally did have their first fight. Chris drank more than he should, which led to the property in their apartment to be destroyed. The futon had slashes from a jack-knife that carved into it and made the springs visible. His initials were carved into the walls. Their television had a hole in it from fists that were thrown. He couldn't handle his anger properly when drunk, and he made sure to acknowledge it each time he was sober.
I lived with this couple for five months, which is all it took for Chris to finally display enough acts of drunken rage to destroy the chances of living in the apartment we occupied. Chris and Candace took a break from each other, but were still living together. This caused Chris' drinking to increase dramatically. Chris stopped playing his guitar. A grimace was worn on his face, as though the smile worn on the previous months was just a mask. Chris was, deep down, depressed when he allowed his past to catch up to him. It didn't help that Candace was seeking elsewhere for companionship when Chris failed to meet her expectations. Their fights spiraled out of control, so I spent days away at a friend's house. When I returned, the apartment was unrecognizable.
The master bedroom window that Chris and Candace occupied was shattered. Piles of trash covered the floor, and holes along the walls and cabinets showcased a crippling disease. On the counter read a note, "Sorry I destroyed the apartment. Love, Alcohol." I witnessed someone I loved turn into someone I didn't want to ever be around.
I heard stories of how it could affect others, but this was the first time I saw it on my doorstep. With alcoholism was dread and depression. Alcohol was the sign of a deeper issue, and that was Chris' repressed past. His skeletons were out in the open for the world to see, but he never tried to clean it up. It was a tornado of despair, and it rolled through the lives of those around him. He then left the state temporarily, it left others to clean up each bone that was left, dirty and cracked on the ground.
Chris is doing better. It has been well over a year later, and he has been recovering. He has a beautiful child with Candace. I even get to finally see him like I used to, in his sober and most honest moments. Each conversation I have with him, I have to throw his low moments on the back-burner, because I see the human parts of it. If alcoholism has taught me anything, it is that in our most human moments, we are frightened. We hide behind something, anything, to help. My friend chose to hide behind a bottle. Eventually, the bottle becomes empty, and what's left is another flawed and beautiful human handling the twists and turns in life differently than any of us is accustomed to.
