Day 31

A picture of a tradition I have:

More Ventura Boulevard.  My house is a brisk walk away...not that I've walked it since high school.

It began junior year of high school.  If D, Freddy or I had something we wanted to discuss in-depth, something that was perhaps too sensitive to discuss on campus - although the campus was tiny and the walls had ears, the larger factor was a demonstrated inability to whisper when one of us got going on a rant - we'd pack into the car and head off to this McDonald's.

Sometimes we only had forty minutes to hash it out - sometimes we'd sit there for hours.  I think it was Fred who named it The Confession Booth.  For the first few years, this referred specifically to our preferred booth (near enough to the condiments, far enough from the bathrooms, good line of sight to the door); later, it described the general activity of dining at McDonald's while talking through some major event.

Those sessions were critical release valves - without them, each of us would have burst from the buildup of social pressure.  Girl 1 had almost certainly found out through Girl 2 how I felt about her! What would I do?  How should I play it?  Why the hell did I trust Girl 2?  Other Guy was too fierce a competitor for Girl 3's affections; Freddy needed a game plan, but first he needed to be able to say "FUCK OTHER GUY" - every inch the archetype of the Nice Guy, there was no way Fred was going to let that sentiment out where anyone but his brothers could hear it.  D was in an off-again phase with Girl 4, and was having conflicted feelings about Girl 5 - Girl 4's best friend. I should mention, Girls 1 and 2 were also best friends, and each of these scenarios occurred - no generalizations here.  These comprised the core conflicts of our last two years of high school (well, mine and D's - Fred was two years below).  In many ways we only had each other to go to - in other ways, of course, we each stepped on the toes of the other with the best of intentions.

Those sessions, though now they most often only include some two of the three, and usually take place in better dining establishments, remain a critical release valve - all the more critical, as the pressures are no longer just social.  It was at a Confession Booth session that I first gleaned the problems that would end Fred's first marriage; at another, D shared some of the racially-charged issues between himself and an employer that would eventually lead to their separation.  My own concerns have been no more trivial than these, my need for my brothers no less dire: addiction and recovery, forging a career path relatively late in life...all are Confession Booth material.

And sometimes, every so often, I really just need the McFries and my boys, so I can complain about how much I miss Girl 6.  They're sick of hearing about it, but they humor me.