If it comes down to it, I can't be there for her.

A friend of mine is worried tonight; a man of some kind offered her an awful evening, and stalked off upset when she didn't accept. The worry, of course, is that he'll stalk back, some time when she's alone.

She's been a friend for years, and ordinarily I quite enjoy watching her grow up. This part, though, I wish I had missed. Some idiot was going to make her afraid at some point; I'd hoped to be out of town that week.

I spoke to her a bit about it - she wanted to talk, so it was mine to do. (I still hear echoes of an old friend saying "show her what a good man is like" when this sort of thing comes up with her - usually, I step up, for that reason and all the others.) The things I said as we talked, I think were right, or right enough. There is no unsatisfied obligation on me, I've covered what I was asked.

And yet, it's staying with me. There are some troubles which you want to deflect from friends - if somebody is trying to make my friend have an awful night, I damned sure want to keep that from happening. I had to stop writing what I'm supposed to be writing because I kept thinking of angles of attack, how I could help cover them, despite all the obvious absurdities.

The thing that wrecked that train of thought (abruptly, with some bruising) was this: I know where my bravery ends, and why.

Some few years ago, a man showed me a gun and asked for my wallet. There was a moment ^[1] when I knew I could get away from him, odds were in my favor, it was a plus risk. He and I had been eye to eye by that point, and we both knew I was not at the mercy of a better man. ^[2] I could well have taken the chance - it would be a much better story if I had.

I did not.

I have a bride and a boy, and they're my first best responsibility, and fucking with the plans of petty thugs does not fit into the space that remains in me after that. There's a long version of that speech, but let's just leave it short - I have a bride and a boy.

Rather than risk what is theirs, I watched a pretty good wallet get away from me. (Actually, I didn't watch, because the man with the gun preferred that I lay face down on the concrete while he left, and it seems that all he had to do was ask.)

I would have to watch a pretty good friend get away from me too, if it came down to it, for that reason and all the others.

I am amazed at how right, and how wrong, the mere thought of that tastes to me right now. I find it hard to believe that this is what a good man is like.

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^[1] It wasn't the first moment - had I spent the first moment thinking something other than "Frank, you idiot", and thereby realized my options sooner, it would have been so much easier to just be gone. Moral: hating yourself is not a good first move, and you may want to avoid it entirely.

^[2] This is so obviously the sort of self-serving thing a man manufactures in his head later that I can't believe I'm repeating it as if it were true. Please excuse that; it does, at least, make the story flow a little better, and this is how bruised I am right now.