It was the story of my life: While everyone else stood up I sat down. When Nathan Thomas approached us - for a nice, friendly chat, he mistakenly assumed - I was standing. And once the shit hit the fan, I sat. I distinctly remember saying "I think I'll sit this one out" to Jamie's mother as I joined her on the couch the instant things went from bad to ugly. I hope that she didn't hate me for barely standing up for her daughter. I hope she wasn't disappointed that I only minimally condoned the asshole who knows damn well that he holds all the power in the Jamie-Nathan situation, who knows what he's doing to Jamie, who knows that he's been stringing Jamie along with absolutely no intent for years.

I've been analyzing the moment I took a seat ever since it happened. Of course, it's partly because I hate confrontation. I'm hopelessly idealistic in that I just want everyone to get along - or at least to pretend to. (I'm not idealistic enough to expect life to actually work out that way.) It's also partly because I hate watching people get hurt, and certainly don't want to be the one causing it. I know that Nathan Thomas is an asshole and deserved every insult and bit of unpleasant truth he received, but that doesn't mean that I enjoyed watching him almost cry. Ever since John Henry ripped my heart out, I've had an enormous problem with watching other people experience discomfort. I sat because I don't want to be remembered as a bitch, and because I'm much better at observing and dissecting life than I am at actually living it.

The largest factor in my decision to sit, though, is the most complex. (It's also the one I'm least sure of.) I think I also sat because I realized that what was unfolding - that is, ganging up on Nathan in such a violent, fierce, colossal way - was the equivelant of removing the last bit of rubble from the site of a horrific collapse. I didn't want to haul away the last of the memories; I didn't want to sever the last link to what we used to have. ("We" being Jamie, Nathan, John Henry and I.)

Jamie used to have a photograph tucked into the frame of a mirror that was in her bedroom. Her father had taken a random snapshot of life as we lived it. The four of us were sitting on the couch in her old house, and John Henry had an acoustic guitar. We all looked terrible in that photo because we weren't expecting to be immortalized in that instant - we were just four teenagers, alive and happy. Eyes are half closed, mouths are half open, faces are partially turned from the camera. Even so, it was perfect. In the few minutes it took to jump Nathan, that photograph - already metaphorically torn down the middle - was shredded and tossed into the landfill.

That's really why I sat, I think. I feel guilty for it now because I've been practicing my Fuck-You-Nathan-Thomas speech for years...every time he hurt Jamie, in fact.

That's a whole lot of practicing.

 

Nathan and the catalyst for the outpouring of wrath:

"Don't go away, say what you say
But say that you'll stay forever and a day
In the time of my life 'cause I need more time
Yes I need more time"
~Oasis