A true friend takes for granted the fact that you help him or her out. A true friend expects that help because a true friend would do the same for you. And, as a result, you usually don’t reward your friend's kindness, either. Such is life.
When I was a junior in high school, I had quite the reputation. I also had a friend named Sean. Sean was a senior in high school, and as such, he was about three months away from graduating when his parents announced that they were moving his whole family to San Antonio. Sean elected to stay behind in St. Louis and crash on the floor of my bedroom (which was more of a basement apartment, really—had my own entrance to the house and everything). Sean was then, and still is, one of my best friends. He was as polite as he was funny, which was a winning combination, especially when I was trying to get laid and needed him to get the hell out of the house for a while.
Well, one night, I had a fifteen year old girl over at my house. After we completed our amateur sex (it’s amazing how right Coach was: practice really does make perfect), we laid in bed and talked. I had not heard Sean open the door to the basement, nor had I heard him crack the door to my bedroom, so I did not know that Sean was sitting outside listening to every word.
I don’t remember much of the conversation, except for the following part. The little, blond, freshman girl (whatever the hell her name was) actually said to me, “I can’t believe that I am lying in bed with The Nate DeGraaf.”
To which I replied, “What the hell are you talking about? I’m just like everybody else.”
To which she replied, “Huh, like, you’re only a living legend.”
To which I replied, “It’s time to call your dad, little girl. Play time is over.”
I don’t remember why it bothered me so much that she had placed me on that pedestal. But it did. Anyway, her dad came and picked her up shortly after Sean pretended to have just returned from White Castle (a burger place, for those that don’t know) and Sean and I got good and drunk.
The next morning, Sean was driving me to school. He lit a cigarette, smiled the smile of a happy psychopath, looked over at me and licked his lips.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he responded. “I just can’t believe that The Nate DeGraaf is letting me drive him to school. I mean, you’re a living legend.”
“Fuck you.”
So Sean, because he is who he is, basically went around that huge building and told the whole school the story of little What’s Her Name and her admiration of my reputation. He even went so far as to write, “I’m in love with The Nate DeGraaf” on the walls of every boy’s bathroom in the school. So basically, thanks to Sean, a statement that I found to be embarrassing in private, was now public.
Whether I liked it or not, there was now a “the” in front of my name, and it was all the fault of Sean (nicknames: The Dope Pig, The Half Spic, and Gel Boy). And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how your true friends pay you back for your kindness.
They embarrass the holy hell out of you.