Turds in the Punch Bowl (A Story of No Ordinary Friendship) Read Online Free PDF Page B

continually shot me a thumbs up to make sure I was okay. I responded with a brief thumbs up on my part and took joy in watching him play wingman to Anthony's testosterone-enriched display of macho drunkenness in the beer bong competition. I was safe; at least for the moment.
    I must’ve gotten too deep into conversation with the Brits, because before I could check the stage again, I caught a glimpse of Anthony over the shoulder of the Elvis standing directly in front of me. I was mortified as he began circling around us, gesturing like a Neanderthal with a broken heart. He moved like a bulky ape, side-stepping around us like an alpha male standing his ground. He didn’t say anything. He just kept dancing around like a boxer dancing around the ropes of the ring, hesitant to make the first move yet preparing his plan of attack. My shoulders sank and I waited to see what was inevitably in store. The lovely chap I was talking to turned to witness Anthony clasping his hands together in front of his chest and pulling them apart in the shape of a heart, symbolizing its brokenness. I rolled my eyes.
    “Um...” the Brit started hesitantly, not sure what to make of Anthony’s foolish performance. “Do you know him?”
    I smiled as delightfully as my lips would let me and simply replied, “No.” I tried to resume the conversation, but Anthony's gimmicks would not allow our attention to venture anywhere other than to him.
    “Are you sure he's not with you?” the Brit asked again.
    “Yep,” I answered confidently, but it was useless. I saw Joe entering my peripheral view to the right, seemingly confused by how Anthony had eluded him. But before Joe could arrive at our destination to save me, Anthony broke through the ring of Elvises that surrounded me and shouted out in pathetic desperation.
    “Why are you doing this to me?”
    He fell to his knees in front of the crowd, in front of the British Flying Elvi, in front of his coworkers, managers and friends, and burst into tears.
    “Get up!” I whispered to him as the crowd dispersed around us. “Anthony, get up!”
    I looked around. Everyone was staring. Some people looked concerned, others looked amused. Anthony looked heartbroken and I know that I looked embarrassed.
    Trying to keep my lips still, I spoke through my stiff expression. “Get up! Now!”
    “Why?” he begged, running his fingers through his blonde mop and staring up at me. He clenched his hair in his fists and let the tears roll down his face. “Why are you doing this to me?”
    “Stand up,” I told him once more.
    “I can’t,” he cried aloud. His steely blue eyes runneth over in magnificent waterfalls of salty pleading. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
    I rolled my shoulders back and stood up straight. “Listen,” I started, “I'm not doing anything to you. You’re doing this to yourself. I'm leaving.”
    I turned to apologize to the Elvises and find Joe, but the caped invaders had flown the coop and before I could locate Joe's face in the sea of onlookers, I was pushed to the ground. Joe's hand swept through the crowd and assisted me in getting up.
    “What the hell happened?” I asked him, as I got back on my feet.
    “That...happened.” Joe insisted.
    He pointed over the heads of everyone around us toward the stairs leading up to a second story terrace. Anthony was plowing his way through the bar patrons, pushing them all to the side as he barreled up the steps in a crying fury, stomping like a child during a temper tantrum. He shoved someone aside, swiped the tears across his face, then pushed someone else and repeated. He was on a one-way, self-destructive path up the river to drown himself in sorrow at the bar upstairs; making a complete ass of himself in front of everyone along the way. I just stood there in awe.
    “I'll go talk to him,” Joe assured me.
    “Please don’t,” I said. “Let's just go.”
    “Good call, I'll just let him know we're leaving.” Joe agreed.
    Ten