My best friend from high school, Steve, bar tends at one of my favorite bars in New Haven. The best thing about coming home is walking into his bar (which is called Temple) and seeing Steve, no matter how busy he is, drop what he’s doing, reach into the fridge and slam down a Bud Light on the corner of the bar for me. It’s a great feeling for a ton of reasons which I don’t feel like I can accurately explain.

But as any diligent reader of my blog would know, I pretty much gave up drinking a few months ago. The first time I walked into Temple after that fact was a very hard thing to do, and stopping Steve mid cap removal was almost physically painful. Not because I wanted that beer, but because I was denying him a tradition which I knew he enjoyed as much as I did.

When I told Steve I stopped drinking to be healthier, and to be able to run, he was disappointed. This was a weird reaction considering most people I told were so supportive, but it was the reaction I expected from Steve. And I couldn’t blame him. For so long alcohol was the one thing that could always bridge the gap between our lives as they were growing apart. Giving up drinking suddenly didn’t mean giving up hangovers, it meant giving up shots of straight vodka with my best friend in a closed bar at 4:00 AM. We both felt that loss. I left the bar early that night, upset for letting Steve down, and upset because he could make me feel so bad about a decision that until that night had made me feel so good.

I went back to New York. I didn’t lose touch with Steve or anything, we were always going to be friends. I left Connecticut feeling shitty, but the feeling didn’t last long. A month later I came home and saw Steve on his birthday, and even though he said I didn’t have to, I insisted on having a beer. Still, it didn’t feel right. The one drink I had actually acted as a more visible reminder that I had given it up.

Last night found me walking through New Haven with my friends Rosie and Christine, heading towards Temple. I was excited and nervous to see Steve. I didn’t want to let him down again, but I didn’t want to let myself down by drinking when I knew I didn’t want to. We walked in, I saw Steve smile from behind the bar. He was pouring drinks for a group of people but he stopped and walked towards us. He pointed at Rosie and Christine and asked what they wanted, he reached into the fridge and put their beers on the counter. He reached down again, my stomach sank. But before I could say anything Steve slammed a cold bottle of water down on the corner of the bar. My best friend smiled at me, the strain was gone, and I felt at home again.