October/Tenth/Two-Thousand-Ten:
Detroit, Michigan.

*Knock-Knock-Knock.*

I Ignored the knock.

*Knock-Knock-Knock.* "Jim? It's Tom."

I didn't want to see anyone right now, not even my best friend. After what Coral did I didn't want to be ALIVE.

*Knock-Knock-Knock.* "Jim, I know you're in there. I can see the light under the door!"

I continued to pretend I wasn't home.

*Knock-Knock-Knock.* "Damnit Jim! I'm your best friend for Christ's sake! I know you are feeling down but you've missed three days of work! Your boss called me and said if you aren't in by this Friday you're fired! Open the fucking door!"

"Go away, Tom!" I finally called back.

*Pound-Pound-Pound!* "Jim Smith: so-help-me-God if you don't open this mother-fucking God-Damned door right the fuck now I am going to break the fucking thing down: do you understand me?!?!?"

Tom is my best friend, but he can be a real asshole some times, even if his heart is always in the right place. "FINE! Don't do anything we'd have to explain too the cops! I'll open the door, but I'm in a really foul mood, so don't expect this to be a fun visit!" I went over and opened the door, undoing all four locks.

There was Tom, my closest friend since freshman year of high-school when we both moved to Kalamazoo. He's a lot better looking than I am, though I've had my share of girlfriends. He's taller than me. He holds a tan better. He's a blond where my hair is a kind of dull brown. He can shave; where if I get a razor within five inches of my face invariably I end up dripping blood on my shirt. The one thing I have that's a leg up on Tom in the looks department is my eyes. His are a muddy-watery blue/gray, mine are a striking vibrant hazel.

The other thing I have, (but it's not really mine, it's my clothes, so it doesn't count,) is that I am a very snappy dresser. I know how to make myself look NICE with the right clothes and accessories, where-as Tom... As far as I can tell he decided sometime in the eighties, (when we were both about five,) that cartoon characters had the right idea. His idea of fashion sense is owning an endless succession of the exact same outfit with like maybe a tux for weddings and formal dinners and a suit for funerals and job interviews. I mean his uniform of green blazer/jacket and hat, blue sweater, yellow-green shirt and brown slacks is, alright I suppose... I mean a lot of girls seem to go for it, but... Once a year he updates his wardrobe with the newest incarnation of that same theme, but he hasn't actually CHANGED it since I first met him over ten years ago...

"Look, Tom, I promise I'll go into work tomorrow. I'll explain to my boss what happened, I know him, he'll understand." I said resignedly but Tom was having none of it.

"That might have cut it yesterday Jim, but not today. Coral called me this morning saying she couldn't find her pistol, and that the only other person who knows the combination to her strongbox is you. Where's the Snubnose Jim: and were you planning to kill yourself; or her?" Tom asked, forcing me aside by pure strength of personality and closing the door behind him.

I knew I was busted, Tom has always been able to see right through my B.S., just like I can with him.

"Hadn't decided, but I was leaning towards BOTH," I admitted with a sigh, then asked the next logical question. "Is she going to turn me in?"

"No. Before I would agree to even come over here I drove her up to Meadowbank and made her swear on her family bible while it rested on her grandmothers tombstone that if I got her grandmother's colt back, no one got hurt, and you behave as if she has restraining order against you for the next two years, this bit of larceny will never be mentioned to another living soul. You know her, in the biblical sense, she would never break an oath like that."

"Not any more!" I snarled but then my shoulders slumped in defeat. "Ok, ok, I'll let you take it back. If I know her she already has a new 'midnight special' for defense, plan's ruined..." I muttered.

"It was the single most idiotic 'plan' I've ever heard from ANYONE, and I work as an 'image' consultant!" Tom snarled back.

I went into my room and retrieved the colt, unloaded it and handed it to Tom. "Was there anything else Tom?" I asked, once more dejected.

"Actually, yes, Jim. Get dressed in your snazziest party outfit, after we put this debacle behind us we're going to the post midterm singles mixer at U-of-M..."

"We can't go to That! I haven't been a student for two years and neither have you!" I exclaimed, shocked, and slightly annoyed that he was trying to drag me to a singles mixer at our alma mater...

"Not the Student's party dummy! The faculty party. Don't you remember? I'm part of the South Campus redesign team..." Tom explained patently.

"Tom, I know what your trying to do and it's not going to work, I'n my condition I'm not going to be able..." I started in but suddenly I had a Colt Snubnose Revolver pointed right between my eyes.

"So help me Jim you fucking DARE to finish that sentence I will pull this trigger!" Tom barked

I recoiled, scared senseless, (I think I swore, but can't remember,) then calmed down almost instantly, the revolver wasn't loaded. That was all the opening Tom needed to seal the coffin shut on my resistance though.

"Look at yourself man! You're so fucked up mentally that you were panicked by a gun you unloaded with your own hands not five minutes ago, and you were 'planing', (your word,) to commit a premeditated murder/suicide. Coral's a fucking bitch for what she pulled but if we were going to shoot everyone who fucked up that way we'd have to start with half of the Senate, she doesn't deserve to die: and neither do YOU. Come to the party, everyone who got an invite was encouraged to bring non-staff alumni as their wingmen/girl squad, none of the rest of our old posse still live in the area except Coral; (Like hell I'm going to bring THAT cunt, or she'd come after this,) and Val, and that'd send a totally wrong signal. We always made an Ace team in high school, with Coral effectively permanently out of the picture now it's time to start polishing those skills again, and who knows, maybe you can get your rebound out of the way quick and start finding your feet again..."

I knew he was right and hung my head in defeat.

"Fine, I'll throw something together, but even though I guess your right I'm not very hopeful of being able to score anything but a grenade tonight." I mumbled and went back upstairs to put something on.

"You never know, one man's grenade is another's hot number!" Tom called after me...