My best friend Kyle called me sounding shaky and panicked. He told me his car got totaled and he needed $6,400 to cover the insurance gap and get a used car so he wouldn’t lose his new Uber job and warehouse side gig. I’d just saved that money to finally move out of my awful basement apartment, a place where the pipes rattled like ghosts and the showerhead sprayed more rust than water, but he promised it was temporary and he’d pay me back in 3 months. I envisioned a brighter future, a small studio with sunlight streaming through the windows and a kitchen where I could actually cook without fear of electrocution. Kyle’s plea tugged at my heartstrings; he was always there for me during tough times, offering a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on when my last relationship imploded like a poorly constructed building. I believed in him. I wired him the money right away, feeling a sense of righteous generosity, imagining the relief washing over his face, and anticipating the day when I could finally leave the subterranean dwelling behind. I even pictured us celebrating my new place with pizza and cheap beer, a testament to our enduring friendship. I never expected what would happen next.
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And after that… he ghosted me. First month, excuses dripped like the leaky faucet in my basement. Second, short replies, terse and impersonal, like I was a telemarketer bothering him during dinner. Third, silence, a deafening void where our constant banter used to be. I started to worry, imagining the worst. Maybe he was in the hospital, or perhaps something even more sinister had occurred. I tried calling, texting, emailing, even reaching out to mutual friends, but all attempts were met with the same chilling response: nothing. My calls went straight to voicemail, my texts remained unread, and my emails bounced back with automated replies. I was starting to panic. Had something terrible happened to him? Or, a more insidious thought began to creep into my mind, had I been played for a fool?
Then a few days later, I saw his Instagram: he was sipping cocktails on a cruise ship with the caption “grind now, shine later.” Grind now, shine later?? He was shining right now on my money! The gall! The audacity! I felt a surge of anger so intense it threatened to shatter my ribcage. Here I was, stuck in my damp, depressing basement, while he was living it up on a luxury cruise, all thanks to my hard-earned savings. The betrayal stung more than a thousand papercuts. The cognitive dissonance was almost unbearable: the friend I thought I knew versus the grinning, sun-kissed stranger on my phone screen.
More posts followed: new car rims that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, fancy brunches at trendy cafes with avocado toast piled high, designer sneakers that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than on someone’s feet. All while I was still stuck in my sketchy rental, trying not to cry every time the ceiling dripped or when I discovered another colony of mold blossoming in the corner. I was crushed, not just by the financial loss, but by the utter disregard he had shown for our friendship and my trust. I had believed in him, sacrificed for him, and he had repaid me with blatant disregard and a social media flex.
I was crushed, but eventually just gave up and told myself karma would handle it. What else could I do? I considered legal action, but the cost of lawyers and the potential for a drawn-out court battle seemed more daunting than simply accepting the loss. I tried to focus on my own life, on saving again, on finding a new apartment that didn’t resemble a dungeon. It was hard, but I persevered, reminding myself that I was a survivor, not a victim. And slowly, painstakingly, I began to rebuild my savings, brick by brick. I started taking extra shifts at work, cutting back on unnecessary expenses, and even selling some of my old belongings online. The dream of a better living situation was still alive, albeit a little dimmer.
And yesterday… she did. I was at work, slogging through a mountain of paperwork, when I got a message that made me go pale. It was from a mutual friend.
It read: “OMG, did you see what happened to Kyle?” attached a news article about a cruise ship accident in the Caribbean. A small fire had broken out in the engine room, causing significant damage and forcing the ship to return to port. Passengers were reportedly stranded, and some had suffered minor injuries. Further down the article, a familiar name caught my eye: Kyle [REDACTED], passenger on board. My jaw dropped. Karma, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humor.
