How did we end up like this? (pt.1)

I remember it well: A new shirt, light blue and white stripes, tailored in the manner of a dress shirt. Paired with dark jeans and some vintage (well, second hand really) cowboy boots, I looked the part. After all, I was making an effort for him since I was there in support.

Fast forward.

It was a roaring success. The crowds went wild, and they performed another two encores. Soon it had to end as the next act was about to come on. The headliners may have been divas, but they were professional and kept good time on their scheduled appearances. I went round to the back and waved at Mac, the security guy. A curt nod and a hint of a grin, he let me through. The band were high-fiving each other, the atmosphere electrically euphoric that even I started to feel like I was on speed. Some groupies were hanging around, cigarettes dangling from their lips and passing the different bottles of spirits around after taking a swig.

Then, the group parted and he was there with his arm around Estella, the other clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels, grinning and shaking his head in disbelief at the gig he'd just played. Spotting me, he turns to peck Estella on the cheek and untangles himself, walks over and gives me a long hug.

'Thanks so much for being here, mate. You have no idea how happy I am to see you,' I give him a half hug back. As he holds on, I catch a waft of him: sweat, tobacco, whiskey and the odd scent of hair pomade thrown in for good measure. After he releases me, the troops are rounded up and we pile into a club a few streets away.

Much later, I'm taking a break from the loud music and mass of gyrating bodies. I head outside and take a sip on a coke, fumbling for my cigarettes. The pack is slightly squashed and the fag I manage to extract is misshapen. Straightening it out, I hold it between my lips while I pat down my pockets to find my lighter. I hear a 'click' and look up, he's holding out a lighter to me, the flame dancing precariously in the night breeze. Its my lighter.

'You left this inside. Thought you might need it,' he grins as I lean in to light my cigarette. 'Mind if I have one?' I hand the pack to him and he fumbles drunkenly so I help him and pull one out, straighten it, and spark the lighter for him. He takes long drag, then puts an arm around me and says he wants to walk up to the concert arena.

We stumble back along the few streets where we started out from. There are street cleaners with their vehicles sweeping up the debris left behind by the crowd that were queueing to get in. The crunch of broken glass, the swish of the brooms, the whiring of the high-pressured water jet. We talk about nothing in particular and by the time we walk round to the front, the billboard lights are still on, flickering. One arm still around me, he points at the band's name up there and giggles with childish delight. Turning to face me, he tries to look serious but its proving difficult after the amount he's had to drink.

'I did this for you,' he slurs. I take a deep breath and look at him quizzically. 'Now, with this, am I good enough?' I am caught unawares. I never thought that he'd feel this way. For me, being his friend was enough despite knowing our worlds were diametric opposites. I refocus and look at him, and he leans in to kiss me. For a few moments I don't know how to react as his lips are searching, his tongue gently probing, then I reciprocate. I taste him, the cigarette smoke, the whiskey, the bitter, numbing traces of the cocaine they'd been doing.

A few minutes later he stiffens and pushes me away. My mind is in a whir. Maybe he's realised he's made a mistake, but then I see the unmistakable flinch indicating nausea. Just, but only just, he swings away and vomits. Some of it hits the pavement, splatters onto my jeans and the second hand shoes. He's bent over, and I pat him on the back to try and ease the ordeal. When he's finished, I flag a taxi and manage to bundle him in and get him home. It's a bit more challenging when we arrive as he's almost comatose. I manage, and soon he's in bed. Heading to the bathroom, I sponge off the bits of sick on me. I leave a note on the table and step out into the cold night.

'Am I good enough now?' his words ring in my head. A smile is playing on the corner of my lips as I light up another cigarette. My mobile phone goes off. It is my boss who is abroad and wants to know if I've done the due diligence on the American company we're expecting to do a big sales deal with.

With a sigh, I give him the information and end the conversation. I walk home through the quiet, leafy streets. The birds are stirring.

(To be continued...)