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Description
It was a temperate September evening, a Wednesday, a routine. It was many things that above all else seem disturbingly normal, but normality only suffices as a descriptor so far as 7:00 PM of the 28th of September 2005. This was only a short time ago, but there is no better way to broach a subject of such irreducible complexity as “a time that [I] have been both challenged and supported.” The regularity of that September day was such because it was everything to be expected. Routine is comfortable because it requires no adjustment. There is no resistance in routine. However, at 7:05 that evening, routine was broken. Resistance was introduced.

I have known Kevin since before either of us can remember. We know it dates at least as far back as preschool, and we don’t even remember those days. He was, is and forever will be my best friend. It was in October of 2000 that we met Amy. She was always meant for Kevin, at least in my eyes, and in January 2004, my foresight was tested at 20/20. She had, over those four years, become just as valued, loved and inseparable to me as Kevin had over the course of a decade. And it seemed just that the two greatest friends I could have asked for were dating each other.

I was attached, unequivocally and irrevocably so. Yet, on that chill September evening, I would be forced, silent and contemplative, from my constructed womb of stability in our friendship. I had decided to remain at home from the routine of a Wednesday night youth group meeting at our church. Chaos Theory proposes that the smallest abnormality can change the very dynamics of a large system. Perhaps staying home that night set into motion a bizarre chain of fate. Perhaps none of this would have happened had I gone. I ended up going, though. Kevin called me, asked me to come, said we needed to talk about “stuff” and left it at that.

I arrived, and he took me outside the building. It was just the two of us. He sighed. “You know Amy and I have been dating for almost two years now,” he said. Of course I did, so I didn’t even bother responding. He went on to explain that months earlier, he and Amy had their first and only sexual encounter, and that in March, he was going to be a father. He looked at me for a response. How was I to respond to news of that magnitude? I sat down, and said very simply: “Wow.”

Later, I found myself in a bizarre state of contemplation, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, looking numbly at my computer screen, maybe walking through the cold night. I had a response for Kevin now, a thought. I had a million of them. One of them reigned chief in my mind, though. The idea that this baby would take up their lives, would inevitably become such a consuming thing that I would be elsewhere. I shudder still at the thought. It was a few weeks later that I sat down with them. I told them my first thought was that I was going to be left behind. I didn’t want to accept that, so I had the notion to stay with them, to forego leaving for college, to stay and help them.

Again, a period of two weeks passed. The youth group was scheduled to go on retreat with a theme of “True Love.” It was a familiar event, something that had historically been called “Love and Honor Retreat.” It was meant to take a Christian look at love, sex and God’s plan. This alone has convinced me that the Creator has an ironic sense of timing. Of course, Biblically, sex ought to be confined to the marriage bed. Kevin and Amy were not, and are not, married. Over that weekend, my best friend was increasingly bitter, turning all this information he already knew inward as a means to vilify himself. He became abrasive, and as a method of catharsis, treated the one person he knew would not physically hit him—me—with a level of rudeness and disdain that few people expend on anything. It was frustrating, and I slowly stored up my own anger over the course of the weekend until Saturday night, where things finally came to a head.

“Look, you’ve been acting like asshole to me all weekend and I’m sick of it. I’ll be honest, I’ve been scared since I first heard this—and not for you and Amy! You guys can make this work. I’m scared for me, that I’m being left behind.”

Amy approached me later. She wanted to talk. Twenty minutes later, we were hugging, with her promising that as I had offered to support her, so she would support me. It was nothing short of selfish of me to ask that of her, because with a pregnancy in high school, she had far larger concerns than a friend who couldn’t take care of himself. She couldn’t take care of me, either. We separated. She began avoiding me, which only caused me to feel resentment. She had lied to me. How could she call herself my friend when she wouldn’t stay around as she had promised?

Over the course of months, she and I sent e-mails back and forth, messages filled with emotion and honesty. They were a way to discuss plainly the roots of our thoughts towards each other, towards the relationship, and most importantly, towards the concept that she was going to have a baby. These e-mails, which I have printed and stored in a personal journal as means of chronicling this history, have given birth to a new friendship, a different friendship, for the three of us. I did not think six months ago that I could be more in platonic love with Kevin and Amy, but I have been proven wrong.

In the process of this communication, there were numerous people—Chris Davis, Nate Breyer, my family at home and others—who refused to watch our friendship fall apart, and refused to see me become broody and contemplative. An essay to assess each individual support would be far beyond the confines of the requested paper length, but I must thank before anything Amy and Kevin for tolerating my childishness over these months.

The chief question was which was more important—the challenge or the support? The challenge allowed me to sever my attachment to Kevin and Amy. It allowed me to recognize my own shortcomings and assess a need to grow beyond the two of them. Whereas the support is dependent upon need (a challenge), the circumstances had no causal necessity, and the challenge alone could have garnered support. When one exercises, muscles tear. When those muscles regrow through natural means, they become stronger. This exercise for the metaphorical muscle of my greatest friendship tore it, tore it to the point of absolution. However, we are all the stronger because of it—different, yes, but stronger.

Description
It was a temperate September evening, a Wednesday, a routine. It was many things that above all else seem disturbingly normal, but normality only suffices as a descriptor so far as 7:00 PM of the 28th of September 2005. This was only a short time ago, but there is no better way to broach a subject of such irreducible complexity as “a time that [I] have been both challenged and supported.” The regularity of that September day was such because it was everything to be expected. Routine is comfortable because it requires no adjustment. There is no resistance in routine. However, at 7:05 that evening, routine was broken. Resistance was introduced.

I have known Kevin since before either of us can remember. We know it dates at least as far back as preschool, and we don’t even remember those days. He was, is and forever will be my best friend. It was in October of 2000 that we met Amy. She was always meant for Kevin, at least in my eyes, and in January 2004, my foresight was tested at 20/20. She had, over those four years, become just as valued, loved and inseparable to me as Kevin had over the course of a decade. And it seemed just that the two greatest friends I could have asked for were dating each other.

I was attached, unequivocally and irrevocably so. Yet, on that chill September evening, I would be forced, silent and contemplative, from my constructed womb of stability in our friendship. I had decided to remain at home from the routine of a Wednesday night youth group meeting at our church. Chaos Theory proposes that the smallest abnormality can change the very dynamics of a large system. Perhaps staying home that night set into motion a bizarre chain of fate. Perhaps none of this would have happened had I gone. I ended up going, though. Kevin called me, asked me to come, said we needed to talk about “stuff” and left it at that.

I arrived, and he took me outside the building. It was just the two of us. He sighed. “You know Amy and I have been dating for almost two years now,” he said. Of course I did, so I didn’t even bother responding. He went on to explain that months earlier, he and Amy had their first and only sexual encounter, and that in March, he was going to be a father. He looked at me for a response. How was I to respond to news of that magnitude? I sat down, and said very simply: “Wow.”

Later, I found myself in a bizarre state of contemplation, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, looking numbly at my computer screen, maybe walking through the cold night. I had a response for Kevin now, a thought. I had a million of them. One of them reigned chief in my mind, though. The idea that this baby would take up their lives, would inevitably become such a consuming thing that I would be elsewhere. I shudder still at the thought. It was a few weeks later that I sat down with them. I told them my first thought was that I was going to be left behind. I didn’t want to accept that, so I had the notion to stay with them, to forego leaving for college, to stay and help them.

Again, a period of two weeks passed. The youth group was scheduled to go on retreat with a theme of “True Love.” It was a familiar event, something that had historically been called “Love and Honor Retreat.” It was meant to take a Christian look at love, sex and God’s plan. This alone has convinced me that the Creator has an ironic sense of timing. Of course, Biblically, sex ought to be confined to the marriage bed. Kevin and Amy were not, and are not, married. Over that weekend, my best friend was increasingly bitter, turning all this information he already knew inward as a means to vilify himself. He became abrasive, and as a method of catharsis, treated the one person he knew would not physically hit him—me—with a level of rudeness and disdain that few people expend on anything. It was frustrating, and I slowly stored up my own anger over the course of the weekend until Saturday night, where things finally came to a head.

“Look, you’ve been acting like asshole to me all weekend and I’m sick of it. I’ll be honest, I’ve been scared since I first heard this—and not for you and Amy! You guys can make this work. I’m scared for me, that I’m being left behind.”

Amy approached me later. She wanted to talk. Twenty minutes later, we were hugging, with her promising that as I had offered to support her, so she would support me. It was nothing short of selfish of me to ask that of her, because with a pregnancy in high school, she had far larger concerns than a friend who couldn’t take care of himself. She couldn’t take care of me, either. We separated. She began avoiding me, which only caused me to feel resentment. She had lied to me. How could she call herself my friend when she wouldn’t stay around as she had promised?

Over the course of months, she and I sent e-mails back and forth, messages filled with emotion and honesty. They were a way to discuss plainly the roots of our thoughts towards each other, towards the relationship, and most importantly, towards the concept that she was going to have a baby. These e-mails, which I have printed and stored in a personal journal as means of chronicling this history, have given birth to a new friendship, a different friendship, for the three of us. I did not think six months ago that I could be more in platonic love with Kevin and Amy, but I have been proven wrong.

In the process of this communication, there were numerous people—Chris Davis, Nate Breyer, my family at home and others—who refused to watch our friendship fall apart, and refused to see me become broody and contemplative. An essay to assess each individual support would be far beyond the confines of the requested paper length, but I must thank before anything Amy and Kevin for tolerating my childishness over these months.

The chief question was which was more important—the challenge or the support? The challenge allowed me to sever my attachment to Kevin and Amy. It allowed me to recognize my own shortcomings and assess a need to grow beyond the two of them. Whereas the support is dependent upon need (a challenge), the circumstances had no causal necessity, and the challenge alone could have garnered support. When one exercises, muscles tear. When those muscles regrow through natural means, they become stronger. This exercise for the metaphorical muscle of my greatest friendship tore it, tore it to the point of absolution. However, we are all the stronger because of it—different, yes, but stronger.