Moral Dilemmas
Should one choose between loyalty to a friend and honesty, or between self-interest and the greater good?
Back in the early 90s, for about two months, my friend… let’s call him Earl… and his friend, Chip, dated the same woman. She was a flight attendant for Alaska Airlines. Her name was June. She had a big heart and child-bearing hips, and one could see wild forests in her gray-green eyes. She wasn’t the type to commit, but she seemed to like both Earl and Chip. One weekend she would go out with Earl, the next weekend with Chip. It was like shared custody with a set visitation schedule. It suited her job and her personality, she said.
But then, the inevitable happened – both of them fell in love with June. Earl demanded she choose between them. She didn’t have to think for long. She chose Chip. My friend Earl was devastated, but he had known from the start what her choice would be, and somewhere deep inside, he was waiting for it. Chip was taller, had more hair, and worked as a manager at The Home Depot in Queens. He also owned a house he inherited from his mother. Earl lived with three roommates, worked as a waiter in a Persian restaurant, and studied Sanskrit.
Before June moved in with Chip and Earl started seeing a shrink, Chip had asked Earl to stand by his side as his best man at their wedding. Earl said yes. “It was bad enough losing love; I didn’t want to lose my friend too,” he told me.
Two weeks before the wedding, Chip came to see Earl at the restaurant where he worked. Earl was in therapy by then and developing a crush on his analyst. The memory of June, her soft snoring in the wee hours, her tender skin that smelled like goat milk, started to fade. Chip looked thinner and more distressed than usual. “I think my future better half is cheating on me,” he said, accentuating every word.
“You think or you…” Chip didn’t let him finish.
“I saw her tucking something underneath her pillow. She wouldn’t tell me what. She makes tons of phone calls and talks for hours. Her friends? I didn’t buy it. She might be a lesbian.”
“Hire a private detective,” Earl suggested.
“I did,” Chip said. “Ended up costing an arm and a leg. She’s clean. Straight as an arrow. And probably in love with me.”
“Good,” Earl said. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not in love with her anymore. Something happened and… the lights just went out. I can’t even be in the same place with her. She drives me up a wall. ”
“Is that why you came here?”
“I came here to tell you that if you’re still interested in her, she’d have you back in a heartbeat.”
Earl was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m not. I have to get back to work.” He turned around and walked off.
They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in 30 years. Through friends, Earl heard that Chip had sold his house in Queens and moved to Philly, where he worked as a used car salesman. But Earl had no desire to connect with him. He did connect with June on Facebook a couple of decades after she and Chip broke up. She got married to a gynecologist from Hawaii and moved to Honolulu. No children, no pets, but lots of surfboards and kettlebells. She even shared a few photos of herself in a bikini, looking as great as ever. Then, about two weeks ago, her husband posted sad news: June died from a brain aneurysm. It was sudden. In bed. In lieu of flowers, please donate to June’s favorite charity: Save the Trees Foundation.
Earl was shocked. He even shared the news with his wife. But things quickly went back to normal, and he forgot all about it until Chip left a voicemail for him last week.
“Did you hear about June? There hasn't been a day in all these years that I haven't regretted leaving her. I want to come to New York and have a drink with you, for the repose of her soul.” Earl didn’t return his phone call. That’s why he was on the phone with me four days ago, telling me the whole story and asking if he did the wrong thing. He’s a good friend and we often seek each other’s advice. “You’re wrong,” I said. “Have a drink with him. He might have behaved like an ass 30 years ago, but holding a grudge for three decades is bad for one’s health.”
That’s not what Earl wanted to hear. He hung up, and I haven’t been able to reach him. Should I have been a better friend and supported his decision? Or perhaps I should have offered my suggestion differently? “He needs time to cool off,” says my wife.
Meanwhile, through a friend of a friend of a friend, I got Chip’s cell phone number. I had never met him before. We connected on Zoom and drank a toast to June. It was wonderfully weird and gratifying. I have yet to hear from Earl.
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‘Til next time.
ak
There's something oddly Kafkaesque about this, or maybe Kafka filtered through Kandera.
Interesting post Alex. Life is all about difficult choices.