The Relationship

We were at a point where pictures on tumblr seem profound. We were pretty smashed. George took the computer from me and exited out of the picture of Kurt Cobain. “Look,” he said, the vodka on his breath barely staining my own inebriated nostrils. “Don't you think it's time to stop idolizing this guy?” 

I slide away on the bed and pull the computer back from George. “Never,” I snarl, and ogle a photo of Kurt holding a can of Pepsi and a cigarette. “Your obsession disturbs me,” George says, and when I look in his eyes I can't tell if he's being serious so I say, “Yeah, well, so does yours,” apropos of nothing. 

George gets pissed and topples my bedside table. “What the fuck,” I say. “Look, I can't take this any more,” George says. He jabs an index finger at the computer screen. “It's me or him. Pick one.” 

I looked at the picture of Kurt standing in front of a theater marquee saying “Men can't save you any more,” and then I looked at George's fat, red face. “Him,” I said, and shrugged. George whined and groaned simultaneously and then he stood and rampaged around my house, breaking my Nirvana records until my threats to call the police made him sit in a corner and cry. I watched as George sobbed, motionless. I was kind of relieved. I walked back to the computer. On screen was Kurt with Christmas lights around his neck. I saved the photo to my desktop.

That's how 2012 began.