Real Time

Just for this post, I'm stepping out of retelling mode and stepping into real time.

I am so unbelievably fucking horny. I feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

I keep thinking about David and wanting him here with me right now. God, the things I'd do to him...and the things I'd let him do to me! If he were here now with me, we'd be going at it like there's no tomorrow.

I've even written a few "stories" about the two of us, hoping it would be somewhat of an outlet for me...and I'm DYING for him to read and respond to them...but it wouldn't really be appropriate for me to send to him now. He's trying to focus on his recovery and I don't want to distract him or embarrass myself.

But DAMN. I'm about to explode. I can't think of anything else but how our naked bodies felt when we were pressed together, hot and sticky and sweaty. How it feels when we kiss, how his lips gently pull and suck on mine. How he looks when his mouth is wrapped around my breasts. How he stares into my eyes when he thrusts into me.

God.

This is definitely the downside to having an active imagination/creative mind...times like these when it kicks into overdrive and there's no one around to help me out.

Guess there'll be many cold showers in my future. And I guess I'll be forming an even-deeper attachment to my vibrator.

Disgust

Later that night, after I get home, I call David's hospital room to say goodnight.

"I heard what you did, missy," he scolds me lightly.

"What? Aw, man! I told your mom not to tell you until you got discharged. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Well, I talked to her after you dropped off the clothes. Thank you...you didn't have to do that."

"I know. But I wanted to do it. And I'd do it for any of my friends in the same situation."

"You're a sweetheart, you know that?"

I say nothing.

"Oh yeah," he adds, "after you left, I found out there was a meeting going on right under my room. Remember how we both smelled cigarette smoke coming from outside my window? That's what it was from...everyone taking a break on the rooftop."

"A meeting?" I echo stupidly.

"Yeah. I convinced the nurse to let me go down there, and I got some phone numbers. I ran into a guy I knew. And everything is going to be just fine."

Oh....an N.A. meeting. That's what he's talking about.

"Well, that's great!" I say.

"Everything is gonna be fine," he repeats.

We wish each other a good night and I hang up the phone.

Before I get a chance to even digest this latest information, R. comes barreling down the basement stairs. He's just gotten home from his Wednesday night bowling league, and he reeks of beer and sweat.

He spies me sitting behind the computer and wanders over to me, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

I wince and resist the almost overwhelming urge to wipe it off with the back of my hand.

"What?" he says, his breath hanging sourly in the air between us.

I shake my head. "Nothing. I was just going to bed now."

He giggles like a little boy as I stand up from my chair and grabs me from behind around my waist.

"C'mere," he slurs, trying to nuzzle my neck. "I just wanna be loving."

My entire body stiffens as I pull myself out of his grasp. "No thanks...not now. It's bedtime."

"Why are you mad at me?" he persists.

"I'm not mad at you," I counter. "But you stink, and you're drunk. And you've been driving. And I want to go to bed. I'm tired."

He sighs and narrows his bloodshot eyes at me defensively. "I'm not drunk."

"Uh...okay. Whatever you say. I'm not having this conversation with you right now, all right? Goodnight!" I call over my shoulder as I run up the stairs.

Shopping Spree

After I leave the hospital, I head directly to the nearest department store and buy several bags of clothes for David. Mostly basics, like underwear, a package of socks, and some t-shirts, but I also toss in a few pairs of jeans, a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a reversible belt, and two Nike sweatshirts.

There's no question in my mind that this is the right thing to do, but I don't want to get him upset right now, so instead of heading back to the hospital, I decide to drop the clothes off at the restaurant where Lynda works.

Carrying the bags into the lobby, I ask the hostess to page Lynda. When Lynda hears I'm waiting for her, she instructs the hostess to send me down to the basement office.

I descend the stairs and Lynda calls out, "Just follow the sound of my voice, sweetie!"

I enter the office and she is sitting behind one of the desks in the back, reviewing a long list of register tape while she pecks away at an adding machine. Her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose and she looks over the frames at me as I approach her.

"He can't go back to that house," she says quietly.

I drop the bags at her feet. "I know. He knows, too."

"What's this?" she asks, motioning to the bags.

"Well, when I saw him tonight, I asked him if there's anything irreplaceable to him at Christine's house. He told me there wasn't, other than a few bags of his clothes. So these are for him. I had to guess his sizes and his taste..it's been a long time since I've bought him clothes...but I got gift receipts for everything, and they're in there, too, if he doesn't like what I got or if something doesn't fit him. So now he doesn't have to go back to her house at all."

Lynda closes her eyes and just nods.

"You take care of yourself, okay?" I tell her. "I gotta get home."

"Thank you, sweetie," she says.

Epiphany

After work, I head down to the hospital to visit David. I have no idea what to expect.

I call him as I’m pulling into the parking garage.

“I’m here.”

“Oh! Uh, okay…” he trails off.

“Everything okay?” I ask. “Christine’s not coming tonight, is she?”

“No, she’s not coming. I’ll see you soon. Room three fifty-five, okay?” he says hurriedly, and hangs up on me.

Unbelievable! He hung up on me! I roll my eyes as I get into the elevator.

I ride up to the third floor and follow the signs to his room. As I approach, I notice a large black lady sitting in a chair outside his door.

“Hello,” I smile at her. “I’m here to see David.”

She smiles back at me and gives me the once-over, then calls into the room, “Your visitor’s here!” Turning back to me, she says, “You can go ahead in there.”

“Thank you,” I murmur as I pass through the door.

I slowly walk into the room but David’s nowhere to be seen. His bed is neatly made, and his backpack and boots are lined up on the floor against the far wall of the room. The scent of his cologne hangs heavily in the air. Where is he?

Just then, he sneaks up behind me and grabs me around the waist.

“Boo!” he growls into my ear, pulling me into him and laughing.

I whirl around and hug him tightly, and he hangs on to me for a long moment.

“Hi there,” I whisper into his chest.

“Hi, Kitten,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Thank you so much for coming tonight.”

He offers me a seat in the visitor’s chair next to the window and sinks down onto the bed across from me.

I smile at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he says. “I’m kind of an emotional wreck, though…I have to warn you about that. I haven’t had a cigarette in a week and they won’t let me leave my room. They gave me the patch but it ain’t doing shit for me. And I can still feel all the pills I took pumping through my blood. I feel a little…off. But it’s getting better. And of course I’m very happy that you’re here.”

He smiles broadly at me and I eye him carefully. He looks better than last week, but he’s still way too thin. His color’s healthier, though, and his clothes—a white t-shirt and light blue jeans—are clean and pressed.

For the next hour, we talk about my new job, his family, and the situation with Christine.

“I can’t go back there,” he admits to me. Finally. “If I go back there, I’m going to wind up dead. I know that.”

“Then don’t,” I reply. “Is there anything at that house that’s absolutely irreplaceable to you?”

He thinks for a moment. “Irreplaceable? Not really. A couple bags of my clothes, my TV, and my bed. But they can be replaced.”

“Well, then you don’t ever have to go back there again, sweetheart.”

My cell phone rings, and it’s a work call that I have to take.

“Excuse me for a moment, please,” I tell him as I reach for the phone.

As I talk to my client, David slides my sandal off my left foot and begins gently massaging my toes. His hands are warm and strong. I raise my eyes to him and we smile at each other.

I hang up my cell and we resume our conversation.

“So how’s your mom?” I ask.

He stares down at the floor. “She’s okay. She’s working tonight but she called earlier today to talk to me.” He softly laughs out loud to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

He bites his lip. “When we were on the phone earlier—my mom and I—I was telling her that you might visit me tonight, and I was…I was crying a little bit…I told you I’ve been really emotional, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nod.

“Well, I was crying on the phone with her and I told her, ‘I really want to be with Lori.’” He glances at me to check my reaction, and I give him what I hope is a sympathetic yet encouraging smile.

He continues, “And she…she just laughed a little and said, ‘Well, I don’t think her husband would appreciate that.’ And I had to laugh with her. I said, ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’”

“Oh, sweetie,” I say as I stand up and cross the floor between us. “I love you so much. And I’m so glad to be here and see you tonight. Give me a hug.”

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze him as he clutches me and begins crying into my neck. Kissing his temple, I softly rub his back and rock him back and forth, trying to soothe him but not really knowing how.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and composes himself. I pull back from him and return to my chair.

“I’m really sorry,” he says mournfully.

“About what?”

“I’m sorry that I’m such a complete fuck-up. It’s sad, isn’t it?! After ten years, you still have to see me as a total fuck-up. I wish I weren’t. I wish I could be something different for you.”

“Listen to me,” I lean forward on my knees and stare at him. “You are NOT a fuck-up. Okay? You’re not. You’re my friend, and I’m your friend, and I will always, always be here for you. I don’t waste my time on fuck-ups. You’re a good person, David. I love you and I would never think you’re a fuck-up. But you need to fix yourself. You need to get out of this rut you’re in.”

He nods. “I know. I need help. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t drink anymore. I can’t do drugs anymore. I’m done. I know it.”

“Good,” I reply. “You know what you need to do, then, right?”

“Yeah. I need to start going to meetings, get a sponsor, work a program…maybe get into rehab.”

“That’s right. And you’re the only one who can do it for yourself. I can’t do it for you. I can only give you as much support as you need to do it…but you have to want to do this yourself.”

Just then, his brother Chris and his brother’s girlfriend walk into the room. I haven’t seen Chris in seven years, and he looks shocked to see me. But he recovers quickly and gives me a brief hug.

“Lori! How you doing?”

“Hey, Chris…good to see you.” I glance at his girlfriend. “Hi, I’m Lori…David’s friend.”

“Hi,” the girl responds. “I’m Michelle.”

I jump out of my chair and offer it to her. “Here you go, sit down. Please.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” she demurs. “I’ll stand. It’s okay.”

I remain standing also, leaning against the radiator below the window. David rises from his bed and joins me.

Chris and Michelle stay for about a half-hour, and during their visit, I have an epiphany that comes seemingly out of thin air. David and I are standing side by side against the radiator, companionably close, and David is talking and laughing with his brother. I look up at David, watching him as he speaks, smiling at his animated expression, his voice, his typical expansive hand gestures. I know him so well; he feels like my other half. Suddenly, the realization that I have been trying so hard to deny for the past six months rises to the surface of my consciousness and strikes me so definitely and unquestionably that I pause, wondering if I’ve actually spoken it aloud to everyone else in the room.

I belong here.

That’s it; just those three simple words that simultaneously elate me and cause my heart to sink to my stomach.

I belong here with David.

Now what?

The Letter

I wrote this a week before David attempted suicide. It still gives me chills when I read it. I'm a skeptical person naturally, but sometimes I really do believe is precognition.

3/13/2007

I dreamt of you two nights ago and it was so, so real. When I woke up, I was actually looking around my bedroom for you. I've been thinking about it constantly; it's almost like it really happened.

In my dream, you finally called me. It's been over two months since I've heard from you, you know. You called my cell phone and the first words out of my mouth were, "I love you and I'm so glad to hear from you! How have you been?"

You told me that you've been struggling, that you feel trapped, that you are so depressed. You said that you're angry at yourself, that most of the time you hate yourself, but you don't know what to do. You keep trying to find a way out but it seems impossible.

I told you that I still see a glimmer of hope for you, but that I'm seriously afraid for the first time in my life that you are going to die out there. I've never felt that way in the ten years I've known you. Not until now.

Then I asked you if you've read any of the letters or cards I've been sending you. I told you I felt like an idiot sometimes for sending you all this stuff, and that your mom and your Nan probably think I'm psychotic but I didn't care, because it just felt like the right thing to do. I wanted to show you that someone in this world really cares about you. And to hell with what anyone else thinks.

You told me you read my letters all the time and that you felt just a little bit better whenever you looked at them.

I asked you why you hadn't called me and you said you've been feeling so hopeless and alone and empty that you could barely get out of bed in the morning, and that you just didn't have the strength to call me. You said you didn't want me to see you feeling so bad, and that you didn't want me to worry about you. You said you felt embarrassed and ashamed.

I told you it was okay…that I'm not mad at you…that I will always worry about you because I love you, even when you don't love yourself, and there's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I told you that I will always be here for you to turn to, no matter what. And I told you that I don't take your behavior personally, because it really isn't about me. I finally understand.

Then I woke up, alone, desperately wanting you to be next to me so that I could just look in your eyes again and tell you how much I love you, how highly I think of you, and what a beautiful person you are….what a good, strong, decent, funny, smart as hell, wonderful man I know you are.

Because I really believe that, David. I see you. I know you. I believe in you. I believe that things can change. It's not too late! I believe that you can be, and deserve to be, happy. I believe that you don't want your life to be this way. I believe that you have the strength inside of you to make those changes for yourself. If you want help, you know what to do. I can't do it for you, as much as I wish I could. The only thing I can do is be here for you. I will always be here as your friend and your biggest cheerleader, and you can call me whenever you want to talk. If R. doesn't like it, tough…he'll just have to learn to deal with it. You're my friend before anything else, and nobody loves you like I do. Believe it.

28 March 2007

Wednesday morning comes and it's been over a week since I've heard from David.

The funny thing is that I've been experiencing a sudden sense of peace since that day last week with him. A sense of letting go. It's a situation that I cannot control or improve, and I think I've finally realized it.

I'm getting ready to walk out the door to my car this morning, and I glance at my cell phone in my purse. I've missed a call and I have a new voicemail.

It's only 7:50 a.m. I never get calls this early in the morning. This can't be about anything good.

First, I scroll through my missed calls list and see a number that I don't recognize. It must be him.

I play through my voicemail menu and sure enough, I hear David's low voice. He sounds completely zonked.

"Hi Lori...it's David. Um, just wanted to call and speak with you...I had a little accident, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay, and that I'm still thinking about you. It's just that things aren't that good right now...as you could tell from the other day. Um, but I'll try to give you a call a little later on. Hope your day is going well, hope you enjoyed the beautiful day yesterday. And I wish I could've been out there spending it with you. But anyway, all's well, and I'll try to give you a call a little later on, all right? Enjoy your day. Bye."

Oh my god...what kind of accident is he talking about? I redial the phone number on my missed call list but I just get a rapid busy signal.

I get into my SUV and back out of my garage, my mind whirring with all the possibilities of his accident. A car accident? A bar brawl? A domestic dispute gone wrong with his crazy crackhead girlfriend?

I drive down the highway and listen twice more to the message. I can hear noise in the background--either a television or radio, I can't tell--and I decide to call the hospital closest to his house.

"Patient information," the woman intones in a bored voice.

"Uh, yes...I was just calling to see if you have anyone there by the name of David XXXXX."

She pauses. "Yes, he's here. One moment and I will connect you."

My heartrate shoots into hyperspeed just as he answers the phone.

"Hello?"

"Honey, it's me. What happened to you? Are you okay? What kind of accident did you have?" I blurt out all at once.

"Aww, it's nothing. It's..."

"Come on, just tell me. If it's nothing, you wouldn't be there right now. What happened?"

"Well...I took some pills. And I almost died."

I inhale sharply. "What kind of pills? Whose pills?"

"Christine's son Adrian's pills. I took thirty-six of his lithiums and thirty-two of his Serzones."

"Oh my god, babe," I gulp, trying to sound calm for his sake, although my voice has already cracked. "Why? Why did you do that? When did this happen?"

"Last Thursday. Christine's other son, Tristan--he's nine--they got into an argument and he attacked her with a knife. Almost cut her whole finger right off. I came home from trying to find a job that day and she was bleeding all over the place, screaming. I went with her to the ER to get her finger stitched back up, and left her there. When I got back to the house, I pretty much decided that things weren't gonna get any better, and that I was done. I thought, 'Fuck it, I'm outta here,' and just started eating Adrian's pills."

"Oh, sweetie," I say helplessly. "Then what?"

"Well, Christine finally got back from the ER that night and that's when she found me and called 911. I wasn't breathing, my lips were blue, my skin was gray...she thought I was dead for sure. I was on a ventilator for four days here. They thought my kidneys failed and they were going to put me on dialysis, but thankfully I'm okay now. They pumped my stomach but I can still feel all the medication running through my veins even now."

"How long will you be there?" I ask him.

"Indefinitely. They're trying to get me a bed in a rehab. I need help, Lori. I finally understand that. I need help, and I can't do it by myself anymore. I need to quit drinking. I'm sorry to drag you into this."

"Don't you EVER apologize to me about dragging me into your life!" I bark. "I can't believe your mom didn't call me to let me know about this."

"Well, I just got off the ventilator yesterday afternoon and it didn't go very well at all. They had me restrained in the hospital bed, and I'm under 24/7 surveillance. I guess they have to watch me to make sure I'm not a danger to myself. And your new cell phone number...I couldn't remember it worth a damn. I still keep wanting to call 610-405-4xxx...but you changed that a few months ago, right? And I still don't have the new number memorized."

"Then how did you finally remember it today?" I ask.

He chuckles, and I am eternally grateful to hear him laugh again. "I have it written on a scrap of paper, hidden in the heel of one of my workboots. It's the only place I could think of to hide it where Christine wouldn't think to look for it. And she only just brought me my boots last night. I practically begged her to bring them here to me. She couldn't understand why, but at least she did something I asked her, for once. But she was here last night visiting me, so this morning is the first chance I've had to call you."

I take a deep breath. "David, I love you so much and I am so happy to hear from you. I'm so sorry that you felt you had to do this. You're so important to me and I would've been devastated if you had succeeded. I can't imagine how bad things have really been for you to even think of this."

He is silent.

"Can I come visit you tonight? I'm free all night," I tell him.

"Mmm-hmmm. Lori...don't take this the wrong way...but you've been the ONLY person I've wanted to come visit me since I've been here. I would love to see you if you're sure you want to come."

"I am positive that I want to come, as long as it won't upset you," I say.

"Nothing would make me happier than seeing you," he replies. "I need you."

"Okay, then. I'll be there right after work." By this time, I've pulled into my office lot and I'm sitting in my idling car.

"I would love that," he says. "But I need to make sure she's not planning on coming tonight. I would hate for the two of you to cross paths. It wouldn't be good."

"Then call me later," I tell him. "Let me know if tonight's still a good time for me to come see you."

"Okay."

"David...I love you. More than anything."

"I love you too, and I'm so, so sorry about this."

"Don't be sorry. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you."

I press End on my cell phone, take a moment to collect myself, and walk into my office. I'm still in shock, I know that much for sure...and I frankly don't know how long it'll be before all of this really hits me.

Wawa

We sit in the front seat of my SUV and he sobs to me, speaking in a high, hoarse voice. Most of what he says is incoherent to me.

I finally tell him that I need to get a hot chocolate. He follows me into the store like a puppy. I buy him a hoagie and a bottle of water, but when we get back out to my car, he refuses both. And then begins crying again.

"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up," he sniffles. "Why do you even like me?"

"David, you're absolutely not a fuck-up. And I like you--no, I love you--just because I do. Because I know you. I know who you are."

"But I do so many bad things!" he wails.

"Yes, you've done some bad things," I concede. "But I know you, and you are not a bad person. You're a good person. A good man. And I love you so, so much...no matter what."

I pull him into my arms and hold him for a long time.

Finally, we break away when he asks me to take him home.

I pull onto the road and he begins to cry again, his shoulders hitching violently.

I drop him off in the parking lot of Pica's, and by this time, he's calmed down a bit.

"This isn't our last encounter," he tells me.

"I know, sweetheart. You just keep me posted, okay? Keep me in the loop. I'm always here to talk to. And I love you. I really, really love you, David."

We hug again and he walks back toward her house, his entire posture slumped.

This whole situation is enough to make an atheist pray, and I take a moment just now to close my eyes and focus my energy on David getting well again.