“It’s been two weeks since I heard from him . . . ” I said as I nervously wrung my hands. I looked at the ugly brown chair I was sitting in. It was my mother’s favorite chair. It made me feel safe and comforted to sit in it. I rubbed my sore red hands on its soft brown material, somehow hoping that it would help.
“He‘ll turn up. I promise, Hun.” I looked up at my best friend, Drew, and saw the worry in his eyes.
I got up and began pacing around the room. “He’s done this before. But I have a bad feeling about this one.” The sound of my socks padding on the sleek hardwood floor and the low grumble of the washing machine was all most therapeutic. It was like white noise: noise to fill the uneasy silence.
“He hasn’t been gone all that long. Maybe he just had a lot to do. He was busy.” He said with an attempt at a smile.
“It feels wrong . . . all wrong.”
My friend John had been missing for two weeks. He would just up and disappear all the time. I was used to it by now. But today was different. I had a gruesome feeling in my gut. He had attempted suicide three times now. I was scared, scared he would try again.
About four months ago, a piercing ring woke me like I was being hit with a brick. I got the call around one o’clock in the morning. I was irritated that someone had the audacity to call at such a ridiculous hour. I answered with a fog floating around in my head.
“Hello . . . hello?”
“Merrilee?”
“Who is this?”
“Merrilee, I can’t take it any more.”
“John? What’s wrong?” I knew immediately something was VERY wrong. Worst case scenarios flittered in and out of my brain like a “CSI” marathon.
“Nothing ever works. They always find me.”
“What? What are you talking about? What did you do? Are you ok?”
“....” I heard him crying though the phone. But I didn’t care. I was so angry at him for being so selfish.
“Answer me ” I screamed angrily.
“I tried to end it, end it all But the damn pills weren’t strong enough.”
“What ” Did he really do what I thought he did? Was he that stupid? Was his life not worth it?
“My step dad found me before I even passed out.” He sounded disappointed.
“God damn it John! Is your life so miserable that you had to end it? Did you even think of what it would have done to your family . . . your friends . . . to me?” He‘s so selfish. How could he have even considered doing something so stupid? Did I not do enough for him? Did I fail him as a friend?
“I’m sorry I love you but . . . ”
“But what?” I screamed as warm tears trickling down my face. “Was I not worth considering?” God, he talks like nothing else matters but him.
I was so angry at him. I couldn’t even fathom the reason for his stupidity. It turned out it was just another one of his depression spikes. He went through these about once a month. But he would never go beyond cutting his wrist. Not that doing that was any smarter, but it was better than death. A nagging part of me always wondered whether the next time his desperation might push him too far.
As Drew was fixing us a cup of chamomile tea, the phone rang. We both froze and stared at the phone. Something in my stomach dropped. Could this be the dreaded “next time”? I reached out a trembling hand, and picked up the phone.
“Hello.” My voice was already shaking, and I didn’t even know who it was. Oh but I do know. I can feel it.
“Hello, is this Merrilee Vickers?” The women said in a very official voice.
“Uh . . . Yea that’s me. Can I help you?” My mind was racing. I was becoming nauseated. God, please . . . not now.
“Yes, this is Doctor Weekly. I am calling in regards to your friend Jonathan Ages.”
My body started shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t speak. My tongue felt like a brick in my mouth. I managed to squeak out a timid “Yes?”
The doctor took a deep breath. “He insisted that I call you. He is not well. He attempted to kill himself. He has deep cuts on his neck and wrists.”
Tears rolled down my face as I dropped the phone onto the counter. Everything started moving in slow motion. He’s not dead He’s not dead He’s not dead Thank God he’s not dead. I sat down on the wobbly stool next to the counter.
“Hello . . . hello, is anyone there?”
Drew scrambled to pick up the phone. “Hello.”
I sat there hardly believing what happened. The room started spinning, and my mind raced. I couldn’t decide if I was sad, mad, or if any of this was even real. My thoughts began to run together Alive . . . cuts . . . dead . . . .
Next thing I knew Drew was dragging me to the passenger side door of my silver Saturn. He helped me in and buckled my seat belt. All I could do was cry. He’s alive But why did he do it? Who found him? Where would he go from here? Drew was speeding. A lot.
“We have to get to the hospital. Now ” The tone in his voice scared me.
“What’s wrong? Why now? Is he ok?” I babbled.
Silence. “He lost a lot of blood.” He said not taking his eye off the road. I sat back in my seat sobbing. Oh my God. He could die. I didn’t think he was that injured. Surely he’ll be fine. Right?
We arrive at the Dyersburg County Hospital 20 minutes later. We ran to the front desk and asked where he was. They directed us to his room. The smell of cleaning chemicals made me sick. I took a deep breath and walked in.
There was blood everywhere. He looked up at me and started crying. Oh my God Blood So much blood My head swooned at the smell of the blood. A sweet copper smell.
“I’m sorry, so sorry.” I laid my head down on his soft stomach and cried. Why, after so many times. . . I thought he was better. Oh God, how can he ever recuperate from this. So many times, so many . . . It seems like an ongoing cycle and the only way to break the cycle is to die. That’s ridiculous. He has to break the cycle. I have to help him. I felt like it was my responsibility to help him.
It’s been 3 months now, and things seemed to straighten out a bit, and John has gotten his life back together. I will always remember that day. That horrifying feeling of dread, of hopelessness. But maybe now we can put it behind us.
I sat in my living room in my mothers brown comfy chair. Drew was making chamomile tea. Then the phone rang. . . .
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