Frank was the funniest person I knew. So when he killed someone, it came as a surprise. Our friend group called each other, wondering how to sort this into our organization of the universe. He had called Travis from jail after his arrest. Frank began the call saying “you are not going to believe what just happened.” And we didn’t.
He told us he was standing at the pier, having a drink with someone we didn’t know. According to his story, he slapped the man on the back after a good joke, and the man fell into the water. Since they were both drunk, Frank laughed at him being in the water, and the man couldn’t swim to shore. Frank didn’t notice the second part until it was too late. According to police, who wouldn’t release him on bail, Frank followed this person away from the bar, berating them the whole way until a fight broke out. They claimed the man was beaten enough to have been knocked out, then tossed into the ocean by Frank. It was the Subaru all over again.
Travis had a Subaru that Frank borrowed. After, Frank said it hit a pothole and the wheel just came off. The mechanic suggested the car would have had to go 90 miles per hour, over a jump, to sustain the particular kind of damage it did. Frank just said it was funny. But he said everything was funny. Normally, when he said it, we agreed with him. Especially if he said it, in fact. Him being funny and all.
Frank told us his part of the story then, and now, and each time it was funny. But there was still somebody dead. And regardless of the story, Frank had pushed him in one way or the other. So somebody, luckily not us, was going to have to decide which version of the story was correct. We knew which one we hoped for, but not which one we believed.