I found something very interesting
and relevant over on www.fray.com in the archives of the old site- it was posted in the comments after one of the stories. It's almost eerie how closely it parallels this mess.

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John's not his name. He had been a friend. A very good friend. A work associate. He talked to me when he couldn't talk to anyone else, and occasionally I had felt the same way towards him. That was then. Not anymore. There he stood at my front door. Smiling. Trying to pretend what had happened didn't happen. Trying to pretend I didn't know what he had done to others and what he was still doing to himself. Trying to pretend my advice to him hadn't fallen on his deaf ears. Wanting me to invite him in. I inhaled, and even from some feet away, I could tell.

Smoking pot in and of itself isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's not my bag, but up until this moment it hadn't been a deciding factor on whether or not someone could be my friend. However, when smoking pot and doing other drugs causes a person to lose their job, fight with their spouse, put their child in mortal jeopardy, and alienate oneself from his friends?

He was still smoking pot. He was still throwing his life away.

"So. How is she?"

"She?" He thought for a second. "Oh. Well. She kicked me out."

"The other she. What about your daughter?"

"I'll see her. Now and then. I suppose. I'm living somewhere else now."

"Divorce?"

"Yeah." We shared a knowing look. I glanced back at my wife who was typing at the computer within earshot. Pending divorce was one last thing he and I had in common.

I nodded, "Yeah. Good luck with that," I went to close the door.

He put a hand up, blocking the door. His eyes were pleading. "Zach? What did I do?"

I levelled my eyes at him, my voice tired and dismissive, "You're here for money again."

"No! ..okay yes. I'll pay you back."

"Thought you said you were gonna quit, John."

"I did."

I shook my head and frowned. "Another lie. I can smell it on you from here."

"Zach?"

"Bye John."

Have I ever been taught a lesson? Every day. That day, I learned that one can only save a drowning man if he wants to be saved. If he keeps insissting on swallowing the salty water even after he knows it's slowly killing him, there's nothing one can do about it. That day I learned I'm no savior, and that I can't save someone from drowning because I don't know how to swim.

I closed the door on his pleading, dialated eyes.

I never saw him again.

ZachsMind 13 Jul 2003
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 28 May 2008, 14:40, Reply)