[I've been thinking for a while about sharing some of the more....unusual stories from my adolescence. I'm calling this series, Dirty Little Freaks]
When I was 17 I was living in second floor walk-up with my best friend and his boyfriend, let’s call them Shane and Alex. To christen the apartment we did what any self-respecting independent teens would do and threw a house warming party. As with any group of friends, our group had “that guy”. You know the guy, the problem drinker who gets so hammered that he just sucks the fun out of any party he goes to? Well in our group that guy was…let’s call him Allan.
We really hadn’t planned to invite Allan but of course he heard people talking about the party and assumed he was invited and said he would bring some beer so, what could we do but just smile and nod.
Now let me tell you a little bit about Allan’s trademark trajectory when he would get wasted. First he would start out yelling for anyone to hear about exactly how wasted he was. You know, things like “I’M FUCKIN’ SKUNKED!!!!!” and the like. Next he would corner some poor girl in the kitchen (or whatever room was reasonably empty) and tell her about how miserable his life was and how miserable he was. By the end of this monologue the poor girl in question was usually wishing he would just drink himself into a coma already. Just as she was thinking escape was imminent his hapless victim would be subjected to another twenty minutes of his most sincere and heartfelt, albeit slurred, apologies for boring her with his troubles.
On this particular night he followed this little number with pissing off of my roof –and frankly, he was lucky nobody pushed him off – followed by hurling all over my bathroom and finally passing out in the middle of the hall. He spent the remainder of the evening as a tripping hazard.
Such is the life of a party animal.
This of course is nothing new to any party, and certainly not to any party Allan attended. No, the interesting part comes the following morning (okay, full disclosure, we were a messy lot and we didn’t actually make our gruesome discovery until Monday afternoon).
Monday afternoon we were cleaning up and I picked up a tea towel from the kitchen floor only to find that there was something wrapped in it. When I opened up the tea towel I found a souvenir that I never could have imagined. Hidden in the tea towel there was a set of partial dentures, nicotine stains and all.
What. The. Fuck.
Me: Shane! Alex! Holy crap look what I found!
Shane: What the…that's fucking gross.
Alex: Ewww where did you find them?
Me: Whose could they be?
All of us: They must be Allan’s
So we did what anyone would do and we put the teeth in an empty cream cheese container and took them over to our local hangout. As we showed them around and asked if anyone knew their provenance we all came to the same conclusion: Only one person was so drunk that he could have lost his teeth and not noticed and only one person puked, ergo they must be Allan’s right?
So I went to the payphone and called his house only to get his mother on the phone.
Me: Hi, is Allan there?
Her: No, he’s out right now but can I take a message?
Me: Um….well…can I ask a weird question?
Her: ….Okay.
Me: Does Allan have any false teeth?
Her: No, definitely not.
Me: Okay….Thank you, bye.
Her: Goodbye
So the question now is, how the hell does someone who’s not utterly wasted lose their teeth and not notice? That’s some fuckin’ expensive dental work, and the chewing! Weren’t they missing chewing?
So I took the dentures back to the apartment and tried to forget about it. But before I did that I went back to the café and told everyone that the teeth weren’t his after all (see how conscientious I was?).
Later that day we heard a pounding on the door. When I answered it, Allan was standing at the top of the stairs looking irate.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TELLING EVERYONE I WEAR DENTURES?”
At this point of course I’m still thinking that this is all hilarious and of course he’ll see the humour in it all.
“Well we found some in the kitchen and you were the only one drunk enough to lose teeth and not notice. Besides I didn’t tell anyone that, it’s just what everyone assumed.”
From there everything went sideways and he started saying anything he could think of to hurt me. Did I mention that we had at one time been very close? I actually walked away and went to the living room but the screaming didn’t stop. We devolved into a volley of character assassinations that took the form of “Well at least I don’t (insert embarrassing behaviour here)!!!”
Before I go any further I’d like to give you a better sense of Allan. If this were a sitcom the screen would be going all wavy and you’d hear some random harp music (although in his case I suppose it would be the Grateful Dead).
Flashback – a year and a half before:
I was sitting at my locker with some friends and Allan walked by with something clenched in his teeth. My friends started speculating as to what it was, the consensus was that it was a pen cap. I was the only one who noticed the drop of blood on the back of his hand. I jumped up and ran after him. When I reached him I nearly tackled him and made him give me the razor blade he’d been carrying in his teeth. Let me repeat that.
He was walking down the hall with a razor blade in full view and blood dripping from his hand.
I took him to the nurse and he told her about his substance abuse problems and she got him registered in a detox program.
Flashback – a few weeks later:
Before going into detox Allan planned on having one last big acid trip. He was going to go camping with a buddy and drop some acid while his buddy watched him to make sure he didn't freak out. Before his “big trip” Allan gathered some of his closest friends at his apartment and made a big speech “just in case I don’t come back”. He passed around a goblet (I’m not shitting you it was a fucking goblet) and had each of us spit in it. Then he drank our spit.
I’ll give you a moment to take that in.
He then proceeded to give us each a meaningful item (I was so hoping for his copy of Sandman by Neil Gaiman). Mine was a book about the pitfalls of atheism and as he gave it to me he held my face in his hands and said in his most dramatic and condescending voice that he hoped that one day I might see the light. This from a guy who’s about to go acid camping.
To answer your question, I don’t know why I stayed friends with him for as long as I did.
Flashback – about six months later:
I had taken Allan and some other friends up to my parents place in the country while they were away. We were all sitting around the dining room table – sober I might add – when Allan started writing something on a piece of paper and then got up and walked out the back door. We were all a little perplexed so we read the paper and it was a poem about suicide. At this point I was honestly done with his dramatics, six months earlier I might have gone after him but not anymore. I just rolled my eyes and we kept talking amongst ourselves. A little while later he came back unharmed.
As some of you may know from reading my other blog I’ve had a lifelong struggle with depression and at one point I tried to kill myself. Most of my friends didn’t know about it, but Allan did. So when he pulled these overly dramatic stunts it wore on me.
Now, let’s return to the fight at the top of the stairs. After a few minutes of screaming at each other, Allan yelled, “WELL AT LEAST I DON’T CRY SUICIDE AT THE DROP OF A HAT!”
At that point I completely lost my shit.
Now I’m not talking about yelling a little harder or slamming the door in his face. I’m talking flailing arms and legs, roommates holding me back, completely lost my shit. Now of course because my roommates were holding me back and because Allan promptly grabbed my wrists, I didn’t lay a single blow. As he was safely holding my wrists he said to me, “Now now Kristin, let's not be violent, remember you’re a pacifist!” with a nasty little smile. Then he reached around behind my head and clocked me.
Later, when he was talking to a mutual friend he said, “I didn’t hit her, if I had I would’ve drawn blood.”
Flash forward about five years:
I’m talking to a friend who’s still hearing news from the old ‘hood and she tells me that Allan has been sent to jail for beating his roommate to death.
All I could think was, “Wow, I guess I really dodged a bullet”
Eighteen years later and I still don’t know who left their teeth in my kitchen.
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