G.

                She had always been the most uplifting one of the group. Earthy tones had always covered the optimistic flower-child and she hardly complained about trivial things. A smile tended to stretch across her face, her body was unstill as she yearned for something other than sitting on a couch. Always laughing, always making others laugh, never bringing in negative air. Probably the happiest and healthiest of us.

            But here she was, walking up my stairs in tears, her face red as she wiped the moisture to her hands. I reached out and she quickly accepted the embrace.

            “Everything sucks,” she cried. We moved into the spare room and sat. She continued as I got a good look at her. Normal clothes, her hair pulled back, but something unusual stuck out amongst her usual bracelets. A white cloth covering her wrist. I was shocked. I mean, I’ve had the attention seeking “friends” that would show up with their scratches and stories, pretending to hide what they, apparently, didn’t want people to see. But this was different. She was one to yell at someone for doing that. She would think it was stupid. But here she was, with a medical grade bandage around her wrist. I didn’t bother to ask, because she was about to tell me everything. And she did.

            I already knew about her smoking weed, and I already knew that she had sex before, but that was it. Her parents were divorcing, she had her military boyfriend, went to high school and had a job. None of this is special or surprising. But what came out of her next was news, which perhaps was my fault for just being home all the time. Drugs, sex with friends of friends, and being committed to the local institution for trying to kill herself. These weren’t happening all the time, but they happened about once or twice.

            “You know,” she said after the quick list of what she had done. “He told everyone in his family that I was a crack addict. His own girlfriend. He lied to them all for no reason.” Anger was starting to overcome the tears of pain and sadness. “His family was like mine. His sister is one of my best friends and his mom was way more of a mom to than my own. I don’t know what to do. They all hate me now.”

           

S.

My phone rang and her name flashed across the screen. I answered.

            “Hey,” I simply said. “What’s up?” There was no way she had called to casually chat. Her usual quiet voice started to speak the same familiar story I had heard before.  He was out, and he had been for a while now. The baby was asleep after crying for an hour straight. We both knew that he was going to come back home, most likely smelling like alcohol and maybe bringing people into their house. But for now she was alone, and I knew what was coming. And it did.

"Can you come over?" She was a city away and I honestly couldn't. I felt terrible. I told her I couldn't, and she gave the sad "Okay," but it continued. I stayed on the phone with her and listened, like I usually did, supporting her along the way.

18 years old, 19 in the summer, with an infant child. For now, she was living in an apartment she rented with her fiancé. They had just moved out her mother’s house. The rent was an issue for them, and they were trying to make it work. They had recently moved in, even though it was snowing out. But here she was, alone again, even though they just started something new.

“I’m outside,” she started. “I have been for a while. There’s snow covering me.”

“What about the baby?” I quickly asked, concern hitting me right away.

“She’s asleep.”

“What if she wakes up?”

“Oh, she won’t. She sleeps through the night. We’re pretty lucky.”

I wasn’t really at ease, but then my next issue came out.

“Why are you outside? You’re going to get sick. It’s freezing.”

“Well…” she started. “I was hoped he’d get back soon and see me like this and realize how long he’s been gone. He said two hours, and it’s been five. I just want him to feel bad for something.”

I could understand that reasoning, but there was a baby inside and she is the mother. I knew that she really did love her baby, and was trying to get the father’s attention by doing this, but it still wasn’t the best move.

“Babe,” I said. “You need to get in there and warm up. Check on your daughter. I don’t want you getting sick because of him. If you need some sense knocked into him, I’ll just get him with a baseball bat for you.”

She let out a small laugh.

“I wish that would work,” she said. I could hear the tinge of sadness in her small voice.

“Well, what else is going on?” I asked “How are you two settling in?”

“Oh it’s fine…”she simply said, but I knew her little voice was about to go on a rant. “But he keeps bringing his friends over, like, after they go out drinking and stuff. And he doesn’t even care. And there’s this girl, and she just… She gives me this bad vibe. I don’t know what she wants. But it’s annoying. And when they’re over, he just doesn’t care about our family.” Her quiet little voice was getting louder and angrier.

“You know, he didn’t help unpack. I did a lot of it. Well, his friend helped, but that’s it. I’ve been in the hospital and I was doing all of it. But he gets all mad at me for everything. He even threw me the other day. Just shoved me across the room.”

“That’s it,” I interjected. “I am beating him with a baseball bat.

R.

                       I heard a catch in his voice and I could already tell what was happening. The boy, whom I had thought for the longest time had no soul, was crying. He was crying over the phone. This well put together man was breaking down. It took a bit for reality to come back, but once it finally did, I still didn’t know how to react. I mean, I should have. I knew him better than anyone. But he had never cried before. I didn’t know if he ever had. ­But I tried to pick my next words carefully, so he wouldn’t know that I could hear his tears. He wouldn’t like that.

            “What are you going to do?” It was all I could think of.

            “I don’t know. All I know is that everything is completely overwhelming. I thought I could handle it, but it just feels like too much. My grades are slipping, I can’t keep track of anything… Hell… I don’t even want to do this for the rest of my life!”He paused, and thought.

            “I don’t want the money this career has to offer. Not the house, or the car or anything. The money isn’t even f***ing close to happiness. Hell, I’m not even sure I can tell what happiness is. And it’s all because my emotions have just gotten all out of whack. They keep me up all night, berating my mind. And it’s not just in my head. My body is acting out, too. It starts to tweak at times, I’m restless, my legs bounce; I can’t even sleep anymore without taking cold medicine.”

 He stopped again. I could hear the door open to his room, and then his roommate’s voice. They exchanged a few words, and I heard him say he was going out for a cigarette. He was quiet until he got outside and them he lit his cigarette. I heard him take a drag.

“I’ve been crying,” he blurt out, although still quiet. “Four times this week alone.”

“Really?” I didn’t know it had happened more than just this time.

“Yeah. I’ve even contemplated suicide.” He took another drag. “I've thought about death and how great it would be; no more papers, haircuts, bodily sensations, or anything else to harass my mind. Nothing else to ever worry about again. I just haven’t had a day where I’ve had the means or the balls to do it.”

There was another long pause. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. He had always seemed so put together. But here he was, falling apart.

“This world is so complex that I barely feel like I can get around it at all. Everything confuses me. I don't like the way anything works and I just can't understand it. Throwing school on top of it all is ruining me. I want to feel like I have control of my life. And right now all I feel is the failure to live up to my responsibilities and expectations crashing down on top of me.”

Another drag.

“I just want something simple, now. A nine to five job. I can’t handle anything else at this point.”

Lake on Central Park

 The King surveys his victory upon a great vantage. His swords crossed in salute to the lake-ocean, which lies below his great keep. The rock and stone rise swiftly to meet his titanic tower. Upon the palisades a cool wind roils banners which fan his enemies cold with fear until they quake and fall prostrate, backs bent forward in deference to his godly might. Yet, to be thus is nothing and safely thus is nothing still when, this bank a shoal of time will wash away into the lock and the rock and stone are battered down again by soft winds and rain. When great Birnam wood rises to reclaim the earth from man's fleeting grasp, who will remember the King or his keep?