The Bottom?

1:58 p.m. on Tuesday, March 20, 2007.

My cell phone vibrates on my desk at work. I don't recognize the number. But I've had a very strong feeling all day that I would hear from David. Don't ask me how.

I flip open the phone.

"Hello?"

"Lori." His voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Hello?"

"I'm in trouble. Such trouble," he sobs.

I immediately leave my office suite and head outside to the parking lot, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

"Honey, what kind of trouble?"

"I did something bad. Real bad." His voice cracks.

Slowly, I ask, "Did you kill someone?"

He sniffles. "No, I would never kill anyone."

"Well, then it can't be too bad. David, nothing you could ever say or do will make me love you any less than I do now. So tell me what happened, okay?"

"I got caught stealing checks from my old boss. Because I can't live like this anymore! In this house...it's terrible! Twenty degrees outside and no heat...no food...I can't do this anymore. And I knew in the back of my mind, subconsciously, that I would get caught. I told her what I was going to do, and I told her that I would get caught, but I didn't care, because I'm finally going to be able to get away from here. This is my last day here. I'm going down tomorrow. I'm going to go away for a really long time for this. I just needed to tell you. I am sorry...so sorry...for dragging you into this."

My mouth hangs open. He continues babbling incoherently and wailing. I have NEVER heard him like this before. He is terrified, and that scares me.

"David, where are you right now?"

"Home," he gulps.

"Home as in your mom's house, or as in Christine's house?"

"Christine's. She's out with her kid right now at some psychological appointment. She'll be home soon. And she won't know about this phone call."

"Listen," I tell him. "I want you to listen to me. I'm leaving work right now and I will be down there within a half-hour. I want to see you, and I think you might need to see me...to be around someone who is not involved in all this. Can I come see you?"

"No, you don't have to do that," he whimpers. "I don't want you to get in trouble. This is my last twenty four hours of freedom and I have to stay here. If she knows I'm seeing you, it's all over."

"WHAT?" I screech. "All those times when we were together and you just up and left on me without any reason to go get high? And you're telling me you can't do the same thing right now to her? PLEASE."

"I know...right?" he agrees in a melancholy voice.

"I'm not going to get in trouble at work. I'm going to tell them it's a family crisis and that I have to leave now. Because it IS a family crisis. Okay? I'll be there real soon."

I hang up and leave work immediately, flying down the highway in my SUV as though his life hangs in the balance.

When I get about five minutes' away from his house, I call him back. To my horror, Christine answers.

"HELLO?"

"Hello?" I repeat.

"Who's THIS?" she snaps, although I know she knows it's me.

Taking on a sugary-sweet tone, I reply, "This is Lori...who's this?"

"Oh, hello LORI...this is Christine. David's girlfriend." She goes silent, daring me to continue.

"Oh, hey Christine, how ya doing? Hey listen, is David there? I'd like to talk to him."

I hear her cover the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand and bellow, "What the FUCK is this FUCKING CUNT doing calling MY fucking house?"

I smile grimly to myself. What a classy chick she is.

David gets on the line. "Lori! How did you get this number?"

I figure she's listening in, so I play along. "Your mom gave it to me. How are you?"

"Oooh, not good...not good at all. Bad timing right now. I can't really talk...got some things I have to do right now. Sorry!"

"Okay, then...I just wanted to let you know that I was going to be eating dinner at Pica's in FIVE MINUTES...in the PARKING LOT...and I wanted to see if you were hungry..."

"Sorry!" he repeats. "Can't do that. It was nice talking to you, though."

"Goodbye," I say.

"Later," he says mournfully.

I spend the last few minutes of the ride to the restaurant kicking myself. Here I am, going out of my way to come be a good friend to him, and he totally blows me off.

I decide to go to the parking lot anyway and see if he shows up. I'll give him a half-hour. If he doesn't show up, it's done.

I pull my car up to the restaurant and get out. Nobody is there.

Perching myself on a large wooden planter on the side of the pike, I look at my watch. 2:45 p.m.

After ten minutes pass, I suddenly have the urge to take a stroll down the street where his mother lives, right behind the restaurant. I doubt I'll see him, but I figure it can't hurt.

His mother's front door is open but there is no sign of activity within that I can see. I keep walking to the end of the block and stop at the next cross street.

This is so stupid. Why am I even here?

I turn around to walk back up the street, back to my car, when I see two people leaving his mother's house. A man and a woman, and the man is holding the hand of a little boy--maybe around three or four years old. Fascinated, I stop in the middle of the street and cower behind a parked pickup truck, wondering if David is up there with them.

Suddenly, I hear a hoarse whistle behind me. I whirl around and there he is, approaching me from the next block. He's wearing a long-sleeved thermal undershirt and charcoal nylon track pants, and his work boots are so dirty that they are almost black. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes.

He knows me so well that I don't even have to ask him how he got there behind me, seemingly out of thin air. He just walks up to me and mutters, "Come on, just keep on walking this way."

I hurry alongside of him, trying to keep up with his long strides.

"Can I hold your hand?" I ask.

"Absolutely," he says, and offers his right hand to me.

I take his hand and together we walk up the street toward his mother's house. The man, woman, and little boy are now crossing the street in front of us to get into their car. They stop when they see us approaching, and David says to me in a low voice, "You remember this guy, right?"

I pull off my sunglasses to take a better look at the man standing in front of me and realize that it's David's uncle Jude, who is only a year or two older than David.

Jude stares at me, startled. "Lori?"

I break out into a wide grin. "Jude! How've ya been?"

"I'm great," he says, still staring at me. He has no idea what the hell is happening now. We haven't seen each other in almost a decade.

I glance down at the little boy whose hand Jude is clutching. "And who is this?"

"This is my son, Jude," he explains.

I crouch down in front of the little boy. "Hi, Jude!"

The little boy looks up at Jude, unsure of what to say to me.

"Say hello to Lori," Jude prompts his son.

"Hello!" the junior Jude bellows cheerfully.

I look up at big Jude from my crouch. "He's beautiful!"

"Oh my God!" comes a female voice from the left of us. The five of us glance up at David's mother's house to see David's grandmother standing on the front patio. She is also staring at me, her hands to her mouth, in disbelief that I am there with David.

"Gotta get the hell outta Dodge," David murmurs to me.

Jude gives David a strange look. "You all right, bro?"

David quickly nods and motions to me to follow him again as he starts off up the street to my car.

"It was great to see you, Jude! And nice to meet you, Jude!" I add to the little boy.

"Say goodbye to Lori," big Jude prompts his son.

"Goodbye!" the little boy shouts joyfully.

"Take care, Lori," Jude Sr. adds.

By this time, David is climbing the steps of the loading dock and is standing in the doorway of the restaurant.

I stop at the bottom of the concrete steps and shake my head.

"I am NOT going to cut through the kitchen!" I hiss at David, but he dismisses my concern with a wave of his hand and motions for me to just move.

Sighing, I run up the steps and together we weave our way around the dishroom and the kitchen of Pica's. The cooks behind the line don't even look up at us as we walk past.

David opens the swinging door for me and we go out into the dining room.

"Let's get a table here so we can talk, okay?" he asks me. He pulls off his sunglasses for the first time and it takes all of my willpower not to gasp.

David...my gorgeous David...has moved beyond thinness and is now simply gaunt. His cheekbones, which have always been enviably high and well-defined, jut out of his face like boulders off a cliff. He's almost 6'3 tall and probably weighs about 120 pounds. His skin is gray, his lips split and flaky. He looks exhausted and ill. Dirty, like an old beat-up alley cat with fleas. His eyes are wild and empty-looking. For a crazy moment, I am reminded of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

I cannot stop staring at him, though I desperately hope that the extent of my horror at his appearance is not that evident to him.