He was never the same after that stupid winter cruise on Lake Wallenpaupack.

Who does that, anyway? Not just who plans it, but who actually agrees to go? I met Michael once, so I'm not all that shocked that he thought it was just a brilliant idea, but I don't see how he could legally enforce attendance. Jim could've just skipped the whole thing and then maybe things wouldn't have been quite as bad, at least. He could have toed the waters of despair before plunging in.

But he didn't, he went. He brought Katy – who was just unbelievably hot, by the way – and actually seemed intent on having a decent time if he was going to be trapped on a river cruise in subzero temperatures. But when he came home that night, I knew something had somehow gone terribly wrong. Stupidly, I initially assumed it was his boss, that he had somehow made the experience even worse than it sounded. Oh, if only.

He walked in, looking perhaps the most despondent I'd ever seen him. I glanced up from the game I was watching, looked back at the television, and then did a double take. "Hey man, you all right? I guess the river cruise wasn't all you were hoping for?" I grinned, hoping to lighten his mood a touch, but he just stared past me, at the television, brooding.

"No. It wasn't."

He was eerily serious. Jim was never that serious. I stared at him nervously, waiting for him to continue, but he just stood there, eyes on the television. Like he was in some sort of waking coma.

"Well what the hell happened, man?"

"Nothing." He paused. "I broke up with Katy."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." I actually fully sat up now, turned towards him as he continued to stand by the front door in his coat and shoes. "What happened?" I paused, considered. "Wait, when was this? After the cruise?"

"During." He nodded slightly. "Yeah, around halfway through. I was a real dick about it, too." And he just fucking stood there, staring at the television.

I waited for a moment, truly confused, before I shook myself out of it. "Wait… what happened, man? Why'd you break up with her like that?"

He shrugged. "Roy set a date. For the wedding. With Pam." Eyes on the television, like it was telling him something.

"What does that have to do with it? Isn't that even more reason not to break up with Katy?" I fully did not understand his hang up with that Pam chick. She seemed nice enough, sure, and I could see why he liked her, but there were plenty of other, hotter chicks out in the world. Like Katy. Katy was way hotter. And, oh yeah, Pam was fucking engaged, a fact Jim seemed all to willing to ignore most days, only to get all mopey and depressed when it did inevitably come up. What was he expecting? I didn't get it. I couldn't blame him entirely, though, because she definitely strung him along. For years, that girl had flirted with him like it was nothing, despite how obvious it was that he had a thing for her. A fucking blind person could see that. But she kept on, like it was all totally innocuous. What a bitch. What the hell did he see in her?

"I don't know." He made a disgusted face at the television. "Roy made some stupid, drunk announcement about setting a wedding date, and Pam acted like it was the greatest thing ever," he waved his hands about to accent this part, the first time he had really moved since he came inside, "and they just acted so… disgustingly… happy about it, and then Katy was all happy about it, and I just… I don't know." He sighed. "I broke up with her, like an asshole."

I sat there, dumbfounded. I was fairly certain I was supposed to be supportive at this moment, but I couldn't think of anything even mildly sympathetic at the moment. Instead I just sat there staring at him, slack-jawed, while he stared at the television, jaw clenched. Eventually I kind of laughed and said, "I, uh… I don't even know what to say to that, man." I shook my head. "That is not any kind of logic I'm familiar with."

"Yeah," he murmured. "Me neither."

"I mean, that Katy chick was hot," I reiterated, mostly to myself. "I would think she'd at least be a nice distraction or something, right? Especially if things are, like, 'official' now with Pam and Roy or whatever." I made little quotation marks with my fingers even though he wasn't looking.

"They were always fucking official!" Jim snapped, suddenly turning his head towards me. "Christ! They've been engaged for three fucking years at this point!" Now that he'd been pulled out of his trance, he finally seemed to realize he was inside and began roughly pulling off his jacket and shoes as he continued, I assumed to himself, "How can she be so goddamn happy that he's doing now what he should have done then? And he was drunk! He couldn't even bring himself to do it sober, he had to be totally shitfaced to finally decide that maybe he actually wanted to marry her. And she's fucking happy about it!" He stormed through the living room at this point towards the kitchen and threw open the fridge.

"We've got a few beers in there but there's liquor in the freezer if you'd rather." I said helpfully. I heard the subsequent sounds of the fridge closing, the freezer opening, and a half-full bottle of Smirnoff being pulled out. He returned to the living room with the bottle and shot glass, absolutely seething.

"I just don't get it, man. What does she see in that guy? I mean, ten minutes before she was oh-so-happy to get 're-engaged' or whatever, she was telling me that she just doesn't get him sometimes. And then, boom! Happy. What the fuck?" He asked desperately, looking at me like I might know something he didn't. Like I could help him. But I couldn't, so I just shook my head, and said the only thing I could think of at the moment.

"I don't know, man. Maybe some liquor will help."

An hour later the bottle was gone and so were we. I had tried to distract him from the situation at hand, but he wouldn't have it. He was dead set to torture himself. We were sitting there in silence, me staring incomprehensibly at ESPN, he at the empty bottle, when suddenly he started talking again.

"I almost told her tonight. She was complaining about not getting Roy, and just… waiting for something, I don't know. And I thought, 'This is it. Just say it. Tell her something before it's too late.' But I just stood there, all… creepy and staring at her, until she walked away. I totally pussed out."

I shrugged. "Probably better for it, man. What good could really come of it, anyway?" He didn't say anything, and I turned to look at him. He looked just so… hopeless. In my drunken stupor I struggled to find something positive to say. "I mean, maybe this is for the best in a way, you know? It's for sure now. Maybe you can start actually taking an interest in other chicks and not just… wait around, or whatever you've been doing. Your sun doesn't have to rise and set by Pamela fucking Beasley, you know."

He shook his head slowly, staring at the empty liquor bottle like it represented all existence at that moment. "I don't know, man. I really don't."

I wasn't sure exactly what he meant at that moment, but I assumed it was because I was drunk and he was drunk and neither of us were really in the best place to be having serious conversations. I assumed he would sleep it off and maybe this would all be for the best in the end. Maybe he could call up Katy tomorrow and beg his way back into her bed for a bit, forget about Pam. It would all be fine.

I slapped him on the back and he looked up at me, stupefied. "Let's go to bed, man. It's late. You'll feel better tomorrow."

He nodded distantly, murmured, "Yeah," and pushed himself off the couch. We headed upstairs, said vague goodnights, and parted ways. I stared at his closed door for a moment before I went in my room, shaking my head. Poor guy.

I should've known then that he was lost to me.