My best friend and I knew how to get into trouble when we were young. We loved to have fun and experiment, and we figured we could get away with just about anything. In our minds, we had already manipulated our parents so many times that we couldn’t possibly get caught for any of our mischief. We were invincible, and we could do anything we wanted.  

One day, I snuck into my parent's liquor cabinet and stole a bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey. Getting into my parent's liquor cabinet was no big deal. In fact, as a small baby, my Dad had put a splash of whiskey in my milk bottle to get me to go to sleep and calm down. I was a horrifically cranky child and was constantly screaming.  It was the only way he knew to get some reprieve from the constant screaming.

Alcohol was respected in our home, and used appropriately—but I had not yet learned the hard lessons of it when I stole this bottle.

My brother was away for the weekend, so we decided it would be fun to go into his bedroom where he had a waterbed, and goof off. We were sneaking through all his stuff, and sipping Jack Daniel’s straight out of the bottle. The party was in full force, and my parents were two floors up in the loft of the log house. I don’t know how or why they didn’t hear us. We were pissed drunk and giggling like little school girls about things that didn’t matter.  

Then my friend started throwing up. Luckily we got her into the bathroom before the projectile vomit ended up anywhere else, but she kept purging, over and over again. It was brutal. She was white in the face and sweating profusely. I was 14 years old at the time and had never experienced anyone in the throes of alcohol poisoning before, but I knew deep down that something was very wrong. She had puked all over herself and decided it would be a smart move to strip down naked and throw herself in the shower.  But she couldn’t stand up, and she slipped and fell into the tub.

At this point, I realized that I was out of my league and that everything was out of control.

I had a decision to make.

Do I go wake my father up and risk the rage that would ensue, or would I let her lay there in her own mess? Thank God, I chose to make the wise, yet dangerous decision, and I went upstairs to wake up my parents. The look on my dad’s face was one of complete disappointment, but also one of sheer worry. As he had been sound asleep, he had no idea the extent of what had been going on in the basement.

I lied to him. I told him she just started getting sick for no reason, and that I had no clue what was going on.  Here was my best friend, at the age of 14, lying naked in the bathtub, and my Dad, not knowing how to react or what to do, and armed with only half of the information. I should have told him the truth. We should have taken her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.  She had consumed the better half of a full bottle of Jack Daniels.  

I assumed that dad knew she was drunk.

How could he not know?

The smell of it must have been very intense. He proceeded to get her wrapped into a towel to protect her decency and helped her out of the tub. He was calm and collected. Not once did he yell. He didn’t even ask any questions. His entire focus was on helping her and keeping her alive. We got her sipping water, which she immediately purged again, but served as a great way of getting the alcohol out of her stomach. After about an hour, she became coherent again and was able to hold some water down. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Dad was able to get her settled into bed and relaxed enough to sleep.  He asked me if I knew if she had gotten into anything. 

I lied again.

I had no idea, I said! Meanwhile, I was drunk as a skunk, although the last few hours had definitely served to sober me up quickly. I was so worried about myself and getting caught that I didn’t think it might be important for him to know what she had been drinking. The mention of drugs or alcohol came up in the short conversation we had, but it was quickly dropped, and he went back to bed. 

The next morning, my friend left, and we never spoke of the occurrence again. It was something that we never discussed, not between her and me, and not between my parents and me. It was as if it never happened. And yet, deep down inside, I knew, and would always remember, the moment I chose to protect myself over the life and well-being of my friend.  This memory would hang on to me for a long time before I was ever able to forgive myself for my deceit and my actions.