Alone: The story of how I lost my high school best friends and spent my last summer by myself

One of my best friends in high school was a guy named Bob. I met him through a mutual friend, Sandy, in middle school, and we became closer as the years went on. Bob was the one that got me to play football, and playing that sport led to some incredible life lessons, which I explain in the second chapter of my book.

I was also really close with a guy named Rich, who also played football.

The three of us hung around at each other's houses, met up on the weekends, went to homecoming and prom together, and got into some mischief, as high school boys will do.

Shortly after high school graduation, Bob, Rich, and I were hanging out one night, possibly with a few other friends. It was late June, so it was light out until about 9 p.m. Around that time, we would hop in one of our cars and cruise around various neighborhoods, looking for open garages that owners hadn't closed for the night. If we found one open, we might peek in and see if we could spot a case or two of beer, and if we did, we might take it.

After a few nights of doing this, Rich told us that his mini-fridge in his bedroom was getting full, and we needed to find a place to drink it.

The thing is...I didn't really drink in high school. I might have tried a beer or two at some point, but I hadn't been drunk and knew from the smell of it that I didn't like hard alcohol.

But I opened my mouth anyway.

"My parents are going out of town for a week."

That's all they needed to hear.

A few days later on a Monday night, Rich and Bob showed up at my house with a trunk full of beer...the same beer that we had stolen over a number of weeks. Then some more people started showing up, some other football players and some other random people I casually knew. As the party moved between the living room and the backyard, some neighbors who I also went to high school with came over, leaving shortly after as one of the football players tried to start a fight with them.

And that was when the night turned sour.

People started to drink more...and I was unhappy. I never intended to throw a party and I wasn't even drinking. The next morning, I found Jason asleep on my living room couch with a pile of puke on the floor next to him. Other people were sleeping in other places.

Nothing was broken. Nothing was missing. The house...and myself...seemed to make it out alive. I went to work at the Star Diner the next day, and then my friends returned that night. And then they came back Wednesday.

Rich's girlfriend, a girl by the name of Jodi, came over along with the usual crew.

"Parker, why do you seem upset?" she asked (or something similar to that).

"Because I don't understand why people keep coming back to my house without asking me."

She didn't respond and my friends kept the party going.

And they returned on Thursday. There was still more beer to drink.

They came over around 8 p.m., if I remember correctly, and we started watching television. Around 10 p.m., one of my friends said this:

"We should go get some food before we start drinking." Someone suggested Burger King, right down the road from my house.

"Parker, do you want to come with us?"

"Nah. I'll stay here."

They all left in a single car.

This was my decision point.

I didn't want them to come back. I had to get the rest of the beer out of the house and clean it before my parents came home on Saturday. I was working all day on Friday. I felt like I had to act.

I was immature, as many 17-almost-18-year-old boys are. Did I call them and say "please don't come back?"

Nope.

I closed up my house. Turned off all the lights. Locked all the doors and windows. And I left.

I drove to my grandparents' condo, about 15 minutes away. I said that I had run into a situation and needed to stay at their condo for the night. I slept on the pull-out sofa.

The next morning, I drove home, packed up all the remaining beer into my car and drove it to the diner. Before our shift began, I pulled my coworkers together and told them that I put a few cases of beer in the walk in refrigerator. Anyone could take it who wanted it. I just needed to get rid of it.

After I worked my double shift, I went home and cleaned the house, even taking all the beer cans from the recycling and trash bins and tossed them in a dumpster behind a local 7-11. When my parents got home, they knew nothing.

But my friends did. I hadn't talked to them since the night I left them. I had no idea what happened after they returned to my house. How long did they wait? What did they think? Did they try to call my cell phone? If they did, I had no idea because I had kept it off.

Then came Sunday night.

Rich was in his car in front of my house. I was peering at them through drawn blinds of my bedroom window. Bob, Chad, and perhaps another person were in the car with Rich.

We were on the phone together, though I don't recall who called whom.

"If you don't give us $150 for the alcohol you gave away, we're gonna kick your ass."

"You mean the alcohol that we stole? That we paid nothing for?"

"If we see you, we're gonna jump you."

That's all I needed to hear. Our friendship was over.

My birthday, which was four days after this incident, was one I spent with only my family. I had no friends join me. I was constantly looking over my back at the shopping center and mall...or any other place I went. I put a small knife in my car, just to feel like I was safe.

I was alone for the rest of the summer. I just worked...and worked. And that was it. Then I went to college, found new friends, and forgot about the past.

About two summers later, shortly after I had returned from basic officer training, I met Bob. I picked him up from his house and we got some barbecue from a local joint we both liked. But even then I was nervous. Was he still angry? Did he still want to fight me?

We had our meal, caught up briefly, and I dropped him back at his house.

And that was the last time I ever spoke to or saw anyone from that group. I've never been to a high school reunion. Why? Because they have always been scheduled on Thanksgiving weekend, and that weekend I'm always attending the Ohio State-Michigan football game, as I have annually since 2004.

It has been almost 20 years since that fateful night. We've all moved on and I would be surprised if they even remembered that night as I do. A quick LinkedIn search shows that Rich and Bob are both lawyers for the federal government. Clearly they have more important things to worry about. But maybe they would remember it. Maybe we could all connect one day and talk about the silliness of that whole situation. I was too chicken to tell my friends I needed them to go home. They were too angry with me to realize that beating me up for alcohol they didn't pay for was quite a silly threat.

Maybe we could laugh about this.

I certainly hope so.