Shock-absorber blues

I was having dinner with a casual friend the other night when it happened. And I thought stuff like that occurred only in movies, but I was really shocked about that particular incident. So let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

This friend, lets call her Stacy, invited me to a night out. I don’t usually jump into the car with such requests on short notice but having nothing better to do at home, I happily accepted. She brought me to this trendy place in Tomas Morato and insisted on ordering the fish and chips‚ for the both of us.

So there we were, heartily eating our food with some awkward small talk when Stacy confessed. The girl said that she took me out because she was having "problems" with her current flame and hoped that maybe I "could give some advice." Oh for the love of Buddha! We weren’t even really that close to each other, and I barely knew her outside my friend Allan and now I was supposed to cough up some B.S. that her love life was going to be just fine? The nerve!

Some girls actually feel that I’m a good shock-absorber in these kinds of situations because I don’t really give a damn and I never judge anyone (well, almost anyone). I let their mouths ramble on about how crappy their partners are while I blankly stare at them. In my mind, these lasses just need to release their tension by bitching about their man; that’s why I don’t take their cries very seriously.

I used to find it cute in college when my lady friends would offer me their secret whines but unfortunately, I outgrew them. And with Stacy, I wanted to throw the napkin at her and run. I had not yet even finished my dinner when she began this running monologue that would last until my dessert. Once again, I have proven that women like her just need someone to talk to.

Someone totally expendable in friendship. Someone they don’t give a shit for. Someone unattached. Someone gullible enough to make it through the night with them. Someone who’s a total idiot. Someone like me.

She didn’t even care that I was yawning uncontrollably and half-listening to her yapping on how her Carlos didn’t wear socks. I was now constantly checking my wristwatch, hoping to give her the slightest hint that I wasn’t enjoying a minute of this when it happened. Remember? This is what I was trying to tell you folks a while ago.

This burly, unshaven man with short sleeves and no shirt came barging inside the restaurant and walked directly to our table. His teeth gnawed in rage and if looks could kill, I would have already been in intensive care. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the bastard was Carlos (his not wearing socks gave him away).

Stacy’s eyes widened as she babbled something to her (ugh!) lover that I was just a friend. But reeking of cheap whiskey, I knew Carlos wasn’t going to listen to reason. I expected to get my head pounded on when he picked me up like a rag doll, but I still tried my best to look strong. I stand about six feet tall, but that man could have even made a giraffe feel short. I think I said something on how I was allergic to physical pain when Stacy, whom I felt was responsible for all this, finally butted in.

She calmly told the caveman look-alike to put me down gently (which he did) and asked him to listen. Stacy started telling Carlos the problems in their relationship while the latter scratched his ass in front of God and everybody else. I hated to be in the middle of a confrontation, so I tried to excuse myself from the table. But Stacy, the ignorant tramp, demanded that I stay put. And being the total blockhead that I am, I actually did at least for a bit longer.

I asked for the bill as I reluctantly watched the two talk things out. And I never said a word except for the occasional shhh! when Carlos got too loud. I felt like the dumb referee (which really wasn’t that far from the truth). And I was sick of it. This is going to be the last time that I get involved in a story about two people, I thought. Without so much as a goodbye, I stood up from the table and plunked down my share of the cost ignoring Stacy’s signals that it was her treat.

I went over to a local juice stand and bought some cigarettes and was just about to warm up the car when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Carlos. I readied myself for another bout of violence when he suddenly shook my hand and apologized for the embarrassing incident a few minutes ago. I snickered and said it was okay.

It was at that very moment that Stacy came running up to me. She jumped and hugged me tightly, thanking me over and over. For what, I asked. I wasn’t even of much help to myself. For being there, she simply said. She hugged me one more time and walked away hand-in-hand with Carlos, who gave me a warm salute.

I smiled. I didn’t do anything for them, and they acted as if I essentially did.

I know I said that I no longer relish being a shock-absorber for these kinds of situations, and it’s true. But sometimes, I wouldn’t mind going back to that old role of actually lifting someone’s spirits by just being there.

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Email: reuben_matthew@hotmail.com