Rock Bottom

       “Hey Jeff.”
       I looked over from the magazine rack in Marlo Books, where I perused the latest issue of “Starlog,” and saw my best friend Matt standing in the cartoon/humor section. He waved for me to come over. I placed the magazine back on the rack and walked to him.
       The store was only sparsely populated, not many people lining the aisles. As I walked to Matt, I unzipped my heavy dark blue coat, a necessity for combating the artic-like winds outside but inappropriate for the heavily heated interior of the store. I noticed Matt, clad in his green bomber jacket, holding an oblong-shaped book with Garfield on the front cover.
       “So you found it?” I asked.
       “Yep,” he said. “Garfield Goes To The White House. This is the one my sister wanted for her birthday.”
       “Cool.”
       He flipped over the book and checked the back cover for the price. Then, he pulled out his wallet and found only a few crumpled dollar bills inside.
       “Nuts,” he said. “I don’t have enough.”
       “Maybe you could get her something cheaper.”
       “I can’t. I already promised this for her, and we’re having her birthday cake and presents tonight. I can’t just give her something else when I already told her I’d get her this. She’d be really disappointed.”
       “I wish I could help you out,” I said, “but I’m out of money and I don’t get my allowance till Tuesday.”
       Matt sulked. He looked at the book in his hand. A smile slowly formed. He looked at me:
       “Say, maybe there is a way that you can help me out.”
       “How?”
       “Shove this into your inside coat pocket.”
       “What?” I asked in disbelief.
       “I’m serious. Shove it in there. No one’ll know.”
       “There’re cameras all over the place.”
       “Not in this section. This is the store’s only blind spot.”
       This statement made me realize that he had been planning this moment, probably over the past few days.
       “Come on, man,” he said, oozing sincerity, “help me out here.”
       “No,” I said firmly. “Even if the cameras don’t catch me doing it, the book would surely set off the alarm at the front door.”
       “You’ve got nothing to worry about! Your coat’s thick enough that the alarm’s sensors won’t pick up on the book.”
       I shook my head. I deeply inhaled. I tried to remain calm but felt red-hot anger simmering inside me.
       This represented the rocky bottom of the downward slope that our friendship had quickly and roughly descended. I couldn’t believe we’d reached a moment like this, one that could effectively end our friendship.
       Matt and I first met in 5th grade, when I transferred into his school. I didn’t know anyone and found little acceptance amongst my new classmates. Matt extended a hearty welcome to me and we gelled quickly. Hanging out after school and on the weekends, we discovered many similar interests in pop culture, hobbies, and philosophies. In those early days of our friendship, I felt thankful to have met him and really enjoyed our time together.
       Then, in 7th grade, he started changing. I don’t remember why or what made it happen, but he was never the same after that. He began lying a lot, to our teachers, to his parents, and to me. He bribed—more often, stole—homework off of other kids. He also forged his parents’ signatures onto tests he’d failed. He purposefully broke stuff in his house and blamed it on his sister. And, though I never actually saw him doing it, I knew that he stole money from his parents.
       Our friendship suffered due to his behavior. He suddenly became ultra-competitive no matter what we did. If we rode our bikes through the nearby park, he always had to lead. If we played baseball at the local field, he’d throw a fit if he didn’t win.
       I also started noticing various videocassettes and comic books that belonged to me mysteriously showing up in his room. When I questioned him about it, he’d remind me that I loaned them to him, which was a lie because I never loaned my stuff out to anyone. Though he always gave my things back, I remained wary and mistrustful of him and stopped inviting him into my house.
       I didn’t know what to do. I hoped for the best and prayed that he’d pull out of this rebellious funk. He was the only friend I had, and I didn’t want to lose him.
       Then, in the winter of our 8th grade year, we stood in Marlo Books and he asked me with alarming nonchalance to shoplift for him.
       “Forget it,” I repeated, insistent.
       “Come on,” he said, disappointed. “I’m in a jam here. I need you to bail me out.”
       “If you’d have said something earlier, I probably could’ve bummed some money off my dad, no problem. But this…no way, man, forget it. How could you even think to ask me to do such a thing?”
       “Because you’re my friend and friends help friends out in times of need. And this is my time of need. Nothing else will do. I need this book.”
       He forcefully tried to shove the book into my inside coat pocket but I backed away defiantly. He stared wide-eyed at me, flustered and angry.
       “So this is how you help a friend out, huh?” he scolded.
       “Friends don’t guilt-trip friends into breaking the law, Matt,” I said. “Did you honestly think I’d go through with this? If I tried walking out of here with that book in my coat, I’d get caught. I know it. And even if I didn’t get caught, it’d be on my conscience and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. So forget it. I’m not doing it.”
       Disgusted, I turned my back, walked out of the store and, subsequently, away from the outdoor strip mall.
       A few feet down the road, Matt ran up to me, livid, and said, “Oh, okay, I see how it is. Thanks a lot for stabbing me in the back when I need your help the most, friend.”
       I stopped and looked him in his eyes. “You need help alright. What’s gotten into you, man? You’ve been acting like a total jerk lately!”
       “No I haven’t!”
       “Don’t lie! You’ve been pulling all sorts of crap for the past year and I’ve let it all slide, but I cannot forgive and forget what you just asked me to do. What the hell’s going on in your mind?”
       He shook his head. “God, if you weren’t such a wuss…”
       Angered beyond words, I turned my back on him again and walked away.
       “Fine!” he yelled.
       I groaned, stopped, and turned back around.
       He said: “If you’re gonna be like that, fine. Good luck finding a new best friend.”
       I gave him a dead stare, realizing that our friendship was irreparably damaged. I turned my back on him for the final time and walked away.
       The next few days were rough. I felt guilty and sorry about Matt. I considered talking to my parents—or even his parents—about his strange behavior, but I feared that’d only make the situation worse. The best course of action, as I saw it, was to completely break away from him.
       And after those first few days, I felt at peace with my decision. True, I had no one to hang out with anymore, but I was happier keeping to myself than keeping company with someone as miserable as Matt.
       In school, Matt continued his antisocial behavior, and when coming in contact with me, he scowled and growled. Outside of school, we rarely crossed each other’s paths. Relations between us had officially ended.
       We graduated 8th grade and went to separate high schools. I found new friends and adapted easily to my new environment.
       Matt and I never reconciled. Though I eventually let it all go, I could tell he still held a grudge against me. The few times we ran into each other, I always greeted him cordially and affably but he’d either ignore me or scoff at me.
       He never improved. In fact, I heard that he deteriorated to the point that he spent more time in the principal’s office in his high school than in his classes. His behavior and recklessness reached an unfortunate nadir when he used one of his school’s computers to hack into a credit card company’s records. I don’t know the specifics of the story, but I do know that he got caught and expelled and served time in juvenile hall.
       Where he is now, I don’t know.
       I always think back to that day in Marlo Books and wonder if things could’ve ended differently. Going along with Matt’s shoplifting plan would never have been an option no matter the scenario, but I always wonder if I should’ve handled it differently. Maybe I could’ve calmly talked the situation out with him instead of my knee-jerk denial. Maybe I could’ve had more of a dialogue with him outside the mall. Maybe I should’ve confronted him about his behavior much sooner than I did.
       Or maybe…there was nothing I could’ve done.

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