Choices

I would imagine that it goes without saying that alcohol and good decisions aren't often used in the same sentence in a positive way. This statement, as hard as it may be to believe, is even more so true when applied to me when I was young and stupid. As opposed to now, just older and stupid. It is no secret that for about three years in high school that I was a bit of a "Fun Bobby" kind of guy along with my mates in the gang known as ROOI. Don't read anything into it other than having a good time, which is what we were supposed to do at that time of our lives. And don't be a buzz kill if you want to talk about the why? Because we did. Personally, I wasn't running from anything, deadening any pain or escaping reality. Life was and is good. At best I was augmenting my normal jovial self. Remember the word tapestry....no regrets

And since I am still alive to talk about it I guess things turned out just fine. I am a well adjusted somewhat normally functioning member of society. Take that statement for what it's worth by the way. What I also have are some funny stories that fall into the "why is he still alive" category. Like the shagging on the bumper of a speeding car and taking short cuts at the top of buildings stories. Sometimes alcohol has nothing to do with the stupid choices I have made, but because I am still here I get to talk about it. Along with my naivete it's part of my charm...right?

So, many moons ago my friends and I found ourselves at a very well to do house somewhere in suburban Etobicoke. What were we doing there? The usual, having a good time. I honestly don't know whose house it was, whose party it was or even how we got there. There is about 45 minutes, by my watch, that I do recall. For instance, I do know that there was a pool, which figures prominently in this story. I do know that we weren't relegated to the furnace room as was the usual price of admission. I also know that we drank a lot. What could possibly go wrong?

Generally speaking I followed a path of non violence and peaceful ways of drinking. I'm not a fighter, I'm the other guy. Except for instances of defending honour or protecting people, I was hardly ever in a fight. Add those circumstances in and I was still hardly ever in a fight. Further more, I usually didn't go for overt aggressive behaviour with my buds. I didn't feel the need to share my Festivus inspired feats of strength or push people around to show I was tough. Which I wasn't anyway but I was pretty strong....able to life a bag of potatoes right over my head and all...hahaha But this night I did.

I was comfortably numb, stretched out on a pool side lounger chatting up someone when my buddy Dave stumbled by. Without thinking I gave him a little nudge with my foot...just enough so that he stepped into the pool without breaking stride and walked right out of it again, hardly wet above his knees. I was impressed with his agility. He was less impressed with me. I want to say that he was furious but I don't think that manages to convey his mood at that moment. He was pissed. I think I may have embarrassed him in someway. Maybe he had shoes that he didn't want soaked...I don't know, but I thought he was over reacting.

Well, this of course set the table for some sort of revenge and knowing that he was as pissed as he was I knew it would be either painful or completely embarrassing, or both. I actually got a little scared, the anticipation building so that I walked around constantly looking back so as to avoid getting surprised. I continued to drink and cavort of course but I was constantly on the lookout for the revenge.

So, choices right.

I chose to drink
I chose to knock him in the pool
I continued to choose drinking
I chose to ignore my muted spidey sense
I chose to stay at the party
I chose to drink some more

And than I made the worst choice of all.

My fear of retribution, somehow, in my addled mind, led me to choose what I thought was a safe place to "hide". In plain site no less. I decided that the end of the diving board was my best chance at staying dry, because I was certain Dave wanted me in that pool. Choices right?

Thinking that there was no way Dave was going to sneak up on me and there was no way Dave was going to reach me out at the end of the board I surmised that I was as safe as I was going to be. Beer in hand, feet dangling as I stared up into the clear sky. Music playing, the sound of young people being alive. Trees over hanging the large backyard creating a mini Utopia right there in the wilds of Etobicoke. It was kind of nice to be honest. I had lost track of where Dave was lurking but I wasn't too concerned. Draining the last drop of my beer I realized that to have another beer I would need the help of someone or I would have to venture back into danger. I sat up to do some reconnoitring.

I barely registered the sound of bushes rustling before I realized that I had made a fatal error. I didn't take in account Dave's disregard for his own dryness. He hit me so hard in the tackle that I may have spit up a bit as I hit the pool with him on top of me. He didn't care about getting soaked, he cared about making sure I was soaked. His revenge was all that mattered.

Afterwards, while towelling off and hving a bikini clad girl dive for my glasses the inevitable "what the fuck were you thinking" question came. In what universe was that a good choice? Told you my brain works funny and back then, alcohol made it work even funnier.

Looking back I realized my folly was tied to detente with Dave. I apologized but didn't see the revenge in his heart as potent, despite his warning that he would get me. I figured it was simply bluster. I chose wrong that night.

But as has been said, God watches over fools and drunks and since I was both that night. all I came out with was a swim in the pool and a funny story to reminisce about.

Ciao
D