so long

So,

-On Thursday we finally had the intervention. Instead of waiting around, we (five guys, including myself) went to Mr. For-whom-the-intervention-is-for's (FWTIIF) house. It was around eight o'clock at night. We said we'd be outside his house at eight, but he wasn't home, and didn't show up until 8:10. So we sat in my car, going over the game-plan. Then, Mr. FWTIIF showed up. I felt very bad because he seemed happy to see everyone together, and he started making jokes and talking about life, as is his custom. No one wanted to do it; that much I gathered while we walked up his driveway. But I knew it had to be done, regardless if anyone backed me up. My friends are incredibly timid, and sometimes I feel the dire need to step-up and fill the role of leader, if only to find our path. /// So we get inside, and say hello to his family as we go into his room. Mr. FWTIIF is cheery and seems excited because we told him we'd be talking about Dungeons and Dragons, and from what our friend who has a class with him told us, he's come up with a brilliant idea on how to write-off a character in the game. He has no idea why we're really there. /// Everyone finds a seat in his small bedroom, wary of not sitting too close to him. I'm fed up with waiting and stalling and I just want everything out and open and over with, so I push past everyone and plop down on his bed. The friend who has the class with him, the only other person who is not timid like everyone else, sits down next to me, and immediately we begin. /// My non-timid friend speaks first. We start off by asking him to listen and not say anything while we speak. He agrees too quickly for my taste, so I repeat the request, slower and with more emphasis. He's even quicker the second time, and trusting to the intention behind his words, my non-timid friend and I begin the speech the group has written. /// We talk, and talk, and talk. We discuss the punctuality problem and how it shows a lack of respect for the group; we go over preparedness to run the story and the number of hours wasted by his time reading the story during gameplay; we go over the issues regarding map-making; we skim over table manners and complain over the total lack of focus of every session. Finally, we end the entire speech by giving him the ultimatum that is the reason we've come here, but also the reason everyone is tense: we demand that he either shape-up to our expectations, or step-down as our Dungeon Master. It some ways, it feels as though we are asking him to stop being our friend. /// Although initially jitteringly nervous, throughout the entire intervention I feel calm and peaceful. My voice sounds even, and my hands are relaxed. Mr. FWTIIF, true to his word, stays silent while we say our peace. But as soon as we are done and our talking drops into silence, he springs. /// In essence, he agrees with everything we said. He's memorized our three major points, and for every one, adds some clarification or sideways rebuttal. I could tell within the first fifteen seconds he felt attacked when we spoke, but now that he's having his own say and we are silent, he's letting all emotion pour out from him. He seems hot, sweating; his movement, even while sitting, is hotly animated--fingers, hands, forward leaning. There's nothing to do but listen fairly. But I know one thing: there's no escaping from this problem now that we've opened a wound in him. /// The group murmurs and agrees here and there, but mostly it is Mr. FWTIIF who speaks. Those bastards, my friends--now that we've handled the speech, they are more apt to speak. Can I blame them for now feeling more comfortable? There is definitely less tension now that our grievances are exposed. Where before were knots in all our stomachs, there is the release of a bowel movement, and now we have to wait and see how big and how much trouble it will cause us. /// Mr. FWTIIF is quick to go over all our points. In the end, it comes down to a decision he has to make, and he knows this. He tries bargaining: "Can someone have oversight over me?" In other words, can someone else be responsible with me if I fall on my ass? Quickly and firmly I tell him no; this is his decision and his responsibility alone. All failure or praise belongs to him at this point. He ponders this a while. If it were me, I'd want more time to think about it. I'd want to weigh the feasibility of changing my patterned ways versus the likelihood of continual disappointment; I'd want to know if there was any other way; to be honest, I'd want to know how big of a screw-up I've been, and if there's anything I can do about it. But Mr. FWTIIF doesn't want more time. He thinks out loud right in front of us. /// He wants to continue being our DM, and like anyone, he wants to believe he'll change his ways to do so. But at the same time, he knows something. He knows he's made promises before and broken them; he knows the kind of flaky person he is, and knows what will happen if our expectations are not met--whether it be the next time we play, or six months down the line. He knows we're at the end of our patience; to come to his house, as a group, and show him the faults we've witnessed, studied, and experienced, is to truly and definitively show what frustrations we've put up with, and with what cold hearts we will cut him off with. He tells us he knows all this, and still he thinks. /// Then, he tells us. It comes faster and is much more anti-climatic than I imagined, like anything in life we imagine vaguely and with fear. But, now I can say, finally, we know. "I don't think I can do it," he says. He will no longer be our DM. /// I ask him if he's sure, and with timidness but also with a hint of certainty, he tells us again. "No, I don't think I can do it." Everyone exhales. This is the news we've wanted, but to hear it out loud from the only person who can say it, is to bruise the arm we've been flexing for so long. Should one be happy or sad? Or, perhaps, disappointed? /// While everyone is busy defining their feelings, something unexpected happens. Now that the fighting tension is gone and the blood pumps away from our faces, we sit back, relax, and suddenly we begin smiling. Everyone is tired; everyone is mentally drained. No one wants hurt feelings, so let's not hurt feelings, we seem to agree. To smile is to feel relief for the first time in days, at least for me. I'm haunted no more; I'm anxious no more. What I dreaded I have seen; what misery I held I now release from my heart and feel the peace of the storm after. In the end, no one is hurt more than a scratch and a bruise. We laugh; our past selves seem afraid for increasingly fewer and fewer reasons. Grins spread all around, and when everything is said and done, only an hour has past. An hour gone in a few moments.

epilogue: we drove to get something to eat at Carl's Jr. There, we needed to decide on a new DM (Mr. FWTIIF would still join us as a player). No one jumped at the opportunity; no one wanted it. The people who did want to do it seemed motivated only by the fact that no one else wanted to do it. It was awkward and desperate. I had enough of the timidness for one night. You know how I told you sometimes I feel like the only one able to step-up and become the leader? Right then, I felt like the group needed a leader, and I saw my friends as helpless. So I stepped-up, and said I wanted to be Dungeon Master. When asked how much I wanted to do it, I replied, "Completely." If no one would want (or admit) to desiring the job, then I would. We then had a vote. There was an easy agreement. In a second the voting finished, and I had become Dungeon Master.