Not exactly what I had planned...

Actually, it was -- the day was exactly what I had planned. I wanted to go to Garden of the Gods and hike around, and then I wanted to go to Poor Richard's; that's exactly what happened. At one level, it was beautiful.

My old friend had invited her boyfriend to come with us, and he was going to come, but then he decided he wasn't going to come. That was the extent of my involvement -- she said he was coming, and then she said he wasn't. He had decided that I did not want him to come; I never figured out why. I would, in fact, have been perfectly pleased to have him come with us.

We talked about it while we were hiking and at Poor Richard's. There is no reasonable explanation for his perception -- I mean, not one that is based on my behavior. It is reasonable to explain it by saying that he's fucking nuts.

By the time we got back at about 5, he had been drinking. He came into the room where I was stuffing my belongings into my suitcase and started yelling that I don't have to leave yet, and he knows I don't give a shit about him, and he knows he's not my friend, and he's sorry that he tried to be my friend, and I should have invited him to Garden of the Gods, and I should think about someone other than myself sometimes. Blah blah blah. There was a lot of it -- some I don't remember, I guess.

He was standing in the doorway mid-rant as I pulled my suitcase off of the bed; I said, "I'm going to leave now." He didn't move, so I said, "Can I leave?"

He hesitated and then turned from the doorway to tell Heather, "If you ever bring someone like that motherfucker (me) in the house again, I won't be responsible."

Ingratiating, placating, she asked, "Like what, baby?"

I tried to pull the door shut behind me, but he grabbed it and said, "Don't you touch shit that belongs to me." I let go of the doorknob. I walked through the garage and down the driveway. I got in my rental car. I drove away.

I wouldn't be surprised if he beat her up after I left -- I would, in fact, be a little surprised if he didn't. If he did, he's done it before. They've been together for 10 years. She's intelligent, financially independent, self-aware, and she has a lot of resources. If this is her choice -- and it clearly is her choice -- so be it.

I'm not willing to watch, though.

As I drove up I-25 to Denver, I called Deb. (Deb used to live in the pink house when I lived in the green one.) Deb talked to me until my stomach stopped twisting, and made me laugh, and I missed her.