After he kicked in my front door, I stopped threatening to call the police and actually did. The man wanted nothing more than to come inside and pull Ivan out — and it wasn’t as though I liked Ivan, but by comparison he was far safer than the big bad wolf at the door.

This man was prone to bad decisions. A distant friend of a friend who was new in town and lived nearby. I was friendly, we hung out. I recall one night when I went camping, he showed up. No tent, no sleeping bag; nothing but a few flats of beer. He drank without pause. There was this place he knew of that he insisted on driving to, and he went, a dozen beers later. When he came back, he bragged about his near collision. Like it was some mark of manliness.

The big bad wolf had been dating Ivan’s sister, and for whatever reason, they hated each other. We’d all been at the only bar in town earlier that evening, and apparently they had exchanged words. They were drunk as all stinking hell, angry, and in my home. So when I locked the door on him, he kicked it down. I know that he wasn’t thinking clearly, and I know he was sorry for doing it, but that was the last I ever saw of him. Driving away in a hundred wild emotions, risking everyone around him.