For the sake of keeping my column somewhat professional and still respecting the privacy of my now-lost ex-friend, I will refer to him as “John.”

Ever since the pandemic, John’s life has proved to go downhill. His family on the brink of bankruptcy, losing friends one by one, dropping out of college. All of those factors became part of his journey to predatory behavior. Maybe now looking back, the peak of his much longer journey. 

Despite his troubles and loss of any motivation left in his life leaving him lifeless, my best friend “Isabel” and I remained at John’s beck and call. We were the unstoppable trio. 

We spent time with each other every single day. Whether we were gossiping sporadically at the gym, devouring cheesy quesadillas in the Taco Bell parking lot, or dancing recklessly every New York City Friday night, everyone knew we were always together. 

John was my best friend since third grade and was Isabel’s best friend since their freshmen year of high school. John properly introduced Isabel and me to each other around sophomore year of college and we have become sisters ever since. Closer than John and I ever were.    

It wasn’t until we all took our annual week vacation to Wildwood, New Jersey this past summer that perception changed. Or that you can say the wild came from the wood. 

This year I brought my boyfriend “Eric” who was previously referred to as Albanian man in my column. 

The four of us purchased a motel room with two beds. One for Eric and me, one for Isabel, and John would bring his air mattress like usual. (His sleep is too chaotic and contaminated with the smell of fresh farts to sleep beside anyone else.)

As per most of the motels in Wildwood requested, we could only have one car parked in the motel parking lot. So, my fabulous Eric volunteered to drive us all on the three-hour trip blasting Wildwood Days by Bobby Rydell.  

“Oh those Wildwood days, wild, wild Wildwood days…”

As you can imagine, Isabel and I being the two women in the car took up a lot of room. An estimate of more than six duffle bags and suitcases. Yet, John was infamous for packing even more than that. For some reason, he would always bring a pile of clothes stuffed recklessly into a gigantic grocery tote bag on every vacation. He would never even touch the dirty laundry-looking pile of distressed and worn-out fabrics made into clothes.

John suggested, for the greater purpose of saving room in the car, Isabel and he should share the second bed and he should ditch the air mattress in his packing. He even promised to “not make it weird.” 

Isabel was already uncomfortable with the idea from previous private experiences with John. However, she didn’t wish to bring it up and spread the uncomfortableness she found to everyone on the first day of this trip. 

So the music continued.

“Sleeping on the beach (Wildwood days) seven days a week (Wildwood days)…”

The week continued and slowly started to, rather than stay sweet, turn salty. Literally, as we were right next to the breeze of the Wildwood ocean. 

By the middle of the week, Eric and I woke up in disbelief to Isabel screaming so loudly at John, that I thought my ears would collapse and my eyeball veins would pop by how promptly I woke up. Eric and I watched in disbelief and cuddled each other tightly for warmth in a new situation to that froze us. 

“How could you do this again?! Why? Why?” 

Again? 

John was scolded by Isabel for a few minutes before he was banished by Isabel to sleep on the floor. He slept with ease and efficiency on the past-stained, rug burn discomforting floor of the motel. And remained silent the entire time. 

The following day, Isabel informed Eric and me of her troubling past with John while John remained in a sleep-filled cocoon on the motel floor. This incident was not a one-time occurrence. It was a culmination of similar occurrences for over a year.

Over a year. 

Incidents that can not be gently described but can only be named what they are. 

Sexual assault. 

One would never be able to tell by how close their friendship was outside of our trio. But somehow the truth always has its way of coming out. In every circumstance. 

John’s presence became too much for anyone to bear the rest of the week after what he did and what was revealed. He acted as if nothing happened and everything was perfect again. Or what we thought was perfect. Which later backfired on him and evolved into fights, black and blue marks, and his mother trying to fight over the phone as if we were back in third grade.  

John slept on a cold, wooden Wildwood bench, that looked like it was ready to collapse after the handful of children that played on it every day, across the street from the motel on the second to last night of vacation. He quickly fled the next morning while we stayed for the last day of what turned out to be a hell-ridden vacation. 

The music on the way back home picked up where it left off.

“Spring’ll soon be gone (Wildwood days), summer’s coming on (Wildwood days)…”

John will soon be gone, destruction of his friendships coming on. 

My intention of reflecting on this trip and friendship has no ill will at all, despite it should having some concerning John’s actions. Instead, it took over Isabel and I’s friendship for the past few months since. Trying to pick up the pieces of what was destroyed. Yet, the only thing that should have taken over is John’s mind with guilt and yearning for forgiveness over what he’s done. His inability to control himself should not have to take away from Isabel’s life and affect her bright path in life.  

I realized this situation was like the Wildwood Days.

Isabel and I’s friendship with John was gone. And we were moving on. 

It was like a shift in the lyrics for us.

The summer will soon be gone, fall’s coming on.