by KL Evans
You had indicated me as your emergency contact, which felt inappropriate—I had been so obsessed with what was appropriate and what wasn’t and why? I’m failing to see the point of propriety now.
But never mind.
Who else did you have? AJ? Esther Harrison? Your “friend” Dave?
And just like the strangely attractive feeling of you yawning against my mouth, it made me feel like I was intimately involved and wholly responsible for you.
But wasn’t I? Hadn’t I already crossed the boundary I’d fought so hard to protect? Had I not made myself responsible for you by calling the ambulance? By going there to check on you in the first place? I did and I had, and there I was; in the small, bare room with two bare beds, with you, while you made circles in your confusion and frustration and mumbled incoherently about wanting your cat and your sister and not wanting to be there.
You were so confused and all I could think to do was lean against a wall and watch you while you vacillated between ignoring and acknowledging me. You went to the door and peered out the small window, reached for the handle and I’d say, “No, Charlie. You can’t leave. They’re not going to let you leave.”
Then you’d ignore me first by throwing yourself onto the bed, thrashing briefly in rage, and then succumbing to more tears. After the tears exhausted you, you acknowledged me by standing up, crossing the room, and latching yourself onto me; dangling yourself from my neck, and giving me no choice but to hold you. I was responsible. I was intimately involved. I was the one there, coaxing you to the bed, sitting you down, stroking your hair.
“Just calm down, Charlie. Just try to relax. This isn’t the end of the world. This could have been so much worse.”
You were still confused and still blubbering. “How could it be worse than this?”
“You could be dead right now. That would be awful.”
Your gray eyes were weepy and red and they didn’t believe me.
I touched your tear-stained cheek. I kissed your frowning lips. I was the one there. I was intimately involved. I was responsible. I wondered what I was supposed to do now that I was responsible for you. Now that I was your emergency contact.
I could, of course, have simply left.
I could leave now, couldn’t I?
But I didn’t and I won’t.
As I sat there with you, I went through all the scenarios of what things would be like on the other side of this. Surely, there would be therapy appointments and prescriptions, but because of the incident you would have to be closely monitored with those prescriptions and in the potential scenarios, that seemed to fall into my lap. Again, who else would do that? Someone had to. It didn’t have to be me, but the longer I sat, the more I realized, actually, yes. It did have to be me. I was responsible. The only reason you were still there was because I had been there and that made me responsible and there was no way I could simply walk away from you and the feeling I felt when I kissed your yawning mouth; the feeling that had nothing to do with your yawning mouth and everything to do with everything that led up to that moment.
I had to leave eventually because visiting hours were over and you clung to me, still confused and blubbering.
“I don’t want to stay here, Seth McCollum. Please don’t leave me here.”
I promised you I’d be back to visit and managed to pull away and leave. I went home and tried and failed to sleep. I went to work and went through my notes. My editor caught wind of your suicide attempt and wanted me to write a follow-up.
“It’s too soon,” I told him. Too soon indeed. “There’s nothing to say about it right now. I’m going to wait ‘til she gets back on her feet.”
He agreed to that and I called a girl from my notes.
Her name was Ava and she was a trust fund baby who chose to live in her car after her boyfriend left her for his ex. Just to spite him. He didn’t care. I didn’t really care either, but it had all the makings of a good human interest piece, so I met her at a bar in Deep Ellum and listened to her talk about Ava’s great adventures in choosing to be homeless—Ava liked to speak in third person—for about an hour. And then she listened to me talk about you for another hour.
“You feel responsible for her because you’re totally in love with her,” she told me.
That was impossible. I barely knew you. “That’s impossible. I barely know her.”
“You just told me her life story, Seth.”
“I know the life story of every person I’ve ever written about.”
“And you spent how many months with her?”
It’s not like I was actually with you all those months. “I really only hung out with her a few times.”
“You can’t lie to Ava, Seth.” I think Ava mostly just loved the sound of her own voice saying her own name—almost as much as she liked being right. “You’re in denial.”
“I’m not in denial and I’m not in love with her. I’m just worried about her.”
“Yeah, because you care about her.”
“I can care about her and not be in love with her.”
“And yet you are.”
I stared into the sparse groupings of patrons, as if their seemingly faceless faces could provide some kind of explanation that would convince Ava otherwise. As if it mattered. As if Ava could be convinced. As if I could be convinced, because right then I wasn’t entirely.
“You mentioned her hair at least fifty-two times,” she added. “And her eyes, about fifty-three. And at least four dozen times you told me how thin she is.”
“You were counting?”
She tapped her temple. “Ava has a photographic memory and is really good at math.” Then she pointed at me in a blatantly accusing manner. “When Alex was still in love with Ava, he never shut up about Ava’s hair and eyes. You’re worried about her because you care, and you care because you’re in love with her.”
“I only mentioned how thin she is because it’s more evidence that something is wrong with her.” I paused because I still wasn’t entirely convinced. “And her hair and eyes are just… like… you know… unique.”
Ava snorted. “Okay. So if you’re not totally in love with her, then why did we meet here to talk about Ava’s homeless adventures and we’ve now been talking about you and her for…” She made a big show of checking the time on her phone. “…seventy-four minutes. And counting.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, so a gulp of whiskey went in. And then, of course, I thought of you on my lap and your open robe. And then I thought of the feeling of you yawning against my lips, and—of course—the feeling I associated with that feeling.
Ava threw her head back and laughed. “See? Ava fucking knows.”
Conveniently, it was then 5:45 in the evening and if I left at that exact moment I’d make it to the psyche ward in time for the visiting hours.
I arrived early, and by 6:36 PM I was making my way across the fenced-in courtyard where you were seated on a bench in institution-issued pajamas, alone, and staring at the parking lot.
“Hey, Charlie.” I sat down next to you, but you didn’t speak to me. Not yet. It was chilly out and so much anger was rolling off your body that it should’ve materialized in steam.
“Charlie,” I tried again, even though it was obvious that you didn’t want to talk to me or anyone. “How’d it go today?”
That was when you slapped me.
And then I sat there with my mouth hanging open like it was about an hour earlier when I couldn’t figure out how to explain to Ava that I wasn’t in love with you.
I still couldn’t put words together as I watched your gray eyes flash and your jaw set, and as tired and confused as you were the previous time I saw you, that’s how ferocious you became. You were suddenly an entirely different person and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit you were scary right then. Little you, with your too-slight frame and cascades of hair, were now a demonic kitsune in human form, with silver, foxlike eyes and on the cusp of sprouting claws to stab me i
n the brain.
Before you had a chance to extract my pituitary glands, however, two members of the staff jogged over, grabbed you by the elbows and forcefully escorted you back behind the plate glass doors fortified with prison bars. Another staff member asked if I wanted to press charges or file a complaint and I almost told them yes because I was so pissed off and appalled.
But I didn’t and I left, silently congratulating myself for taking the high road.
Good job, Seth. You didn’t make her shitty ordeal even shittier. You deserve a medal.
I also told myself I wasn’t going to come back, but we both know how that turned out.
Hour Eighteen
I still wasn’t sleeping much. I feel like I’ve aged ten years between when I first met you and now. I wonder if I end up leaving here without you if I’ll ever be able to get a full night’s sleep again.
You’ve kind of ruined me and you can’t even be bothered by that.
You used me and abused me and just decided to check out when it suited you.
I never should have followed you after I saw you in the pharmacy and I wish I’d never seen you in the first place. I don’t even care if that makes me an asshole because you don’t give a shit about that either because you’re an asshole too. We’re so fucking perfect for each other and I wish I’d never met you.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Charlie, and I just want to fix this.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.
I can’t just go home. What would I do there?
I can’t work because I can’t focus because I haven’t slept in way too long.
I can’t go cry to my parents because I’m twenty-nine years old and they still don’t even know you exist.
What exactly am I supposed to do right now, after I’ve already talked ‘til I’m blue in the face? It’s not doing any good.
Throw me a fucking bone. Help me, so I can help you, so I can help us.
I don’t think I can do this anymore. You’re not helping, and you clearly don’t give a fuck, so why should I?
I can’t do this anymore.
If you suddenly decide that you give a fuck, you can call me.
Hour Nineteen
Hour Twenty
Hour Twenty-One
Okay.
Okay, let’s try this again.
About two days after you slapped me, you started calling. Apparently, there were specific times during the day when you were allowed to use the no-charge payphone in the hallway next to your room, and that’s when you would call me. From 10:00 AM until 11:00 AM and in the evenings from 5:00 until 8:00, my phone rang every five minutes and I didn’t pick up. I was pissed at you, and you were a fucking nuisance, and I seriously considered changing my number.
Instead, I just started turning off my phone when I figured out the call schedule.
While I ignored your calls, I spent a lot of time with Ava on her great adventures of homelessness. Ava’s “homelessness” was a fucking joke. Once again, Ava was a trust fund baby, so her homelessness consisted of her living in her E-class Mercedes. When she got hungry, she’d stop at one of the higher-end restaurants in Dallas. When she needed a shower, she’d go to the luxurious gym where she had a membership. She dropped her clothes off at a laundry service and several times a week she slept in one of the four-star hotels around the city.
“Why don’t you just get an apartment or something?” I asked her more than once, this particular occasion being at a five-star tapas joint over a late afternoon snack, for which she insisted upon footing the bill.
“That would defeat the purpose of showing Alex that he forced Ava into a life of homelessness.”
I gestured with a crystal glass at the white linen table cloths and solo guitarist in the corner. “You do realize this isn’t real homelessness, right?”
“It is too real homelessness, Seth. Homelessness and houselessness are two very different things. A house is just a place where you live and it can be an apartment, or a car, or a hotel, or an actual house. A home is a place you share with people you love and he stole that from Ava.”
“Okay. Fine. I see what you’re saying, but he doesn’t care that you’re doing this and it’s not going to make him come back to you.”
“Ava doesn’t want him back.”
Ava was full of shit, but I humored her. “Then what’s the point?”
“The point is he made a choice for Ava, so Ava gets to make a choice in response to that.”
“I’m not following.”
The guitarist broke into Boccherini’s Minuet and Ava looked at me like I was a petulant five-year-old. “When he chose to go back to his ex, he chose to take away Ava’s home. So Ava’s choice is to never have another home again. Ava chose homelessness.”
“No offense, but that’s a stupid choice.”
She turned to me with a long, slow glare as she sipped from her pomegranate mimosa. “I don’t care if you think it’s stupid. I don’t even care if he thinks it’s stupid. It’s my choice.”
“Don’t you mean it’s Ava’s choice?” I asked, pointing at her with a slice of bruschetta. I couldn’t help myself, and she never spoke in third person again, so I call that a win.
“You’re an asshole, Seth. Charlie was right to slap you.”
Yes, even though I was ignoring you, I still managed to dominate half the conversation with musings about what was going on with us. Or rather, what wasn’t going on with us. As if there was an us.
“No. She wasn’t. She’s insane. Literally. Hence why she’s currently in a psyche ward.”
“Insane,” Ava mocked, “as in she’s crazy about you.”
“Please.”
“Seriously. Her behavior is that of a woman driven mad by love.”
“Ava, you are obsessed with the idea of love because you’re a hopeless romantic,” I said as a waiter picked up my empty plate and slid a crumb scraper across the linen in front of me. “Despite what you think, my life is not a romance novel and neither is yours. There’s not some kind of happy ending waiting for either of us.”
“I don’t think either of our lives are a romance novel. But you told me she literally said she loved you. And she said she was in love with you. And right now you both are acting like a pair of jilted lovers, driven crazy by longing.”
“Yeah, she said she loved me when she was shit-faced and after knowing me all of one day.”
“You’re telling me you don’t believe in love at first sight?”
“No. Of course not. In fact, I think believing in love at first sight cheapens real love.”
Ava scoffed. “I don’t think you even know what love is.”
“Of course I do, and it’s not that.”
“Well, have you ever been in love?”
For the third time, my jaw hung open and nothing came out.
“See, Seth? You don’t know what love is. Charlie’s in love with you and you’re in love with her, and when she gets out of there you guys need to fuck. Like immediately.”
I had to laugh and I couldn’t tell if it was from being embarrassed, appalled, or if… I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.
“She’s a virgin. I’m pretty sure virgins don’t fuck.”
“Well.” She snorted. “They do if someone gives them a chance. You should give her a chance.”
“And have a legally insane, suicidal person get permanently attached to me? No thanks.”
“I don’t think she’s insane. I think she’s sad. She has nobody and feels like she has nothing to live for. You should be her somebody and give her something to live for.”
“It’s not my job to save her.”
“But you did save her, Seth.”
My extremities began tingling and that rage tugged at the back of my throat again. “I found her unconscious after she’d overdosed on pills and alcohol. What in the hell was I supposed to do?”
“She obviously wanted to die,” Ava said, and Ava was so fucking flippant,
and I was suddenly so fucking angry. “You said she’d been saving up those pills for months like she’d been planning to do that as soon as her sister died. She didn’t just have a bad day and say, ‘fuck it, I’m out.’ That is a person who has thought things through and made a heavy-ass decision about what they really wanted. And if she really wanted to die, who did you save her for? Not for her. She’d made her choice. Not for her family, because her family’s all dead. Not for her friends, because you said she has no friends. So who did you save her for?”
“I saved her because I’m not heartless and it was the right thing to do!” I said through my teeth and trying not to shout above the guitar strumming Hungarian Rhapsody Number Two.
“Right for whom?”
“Right for… just… just because it was the right thing to do!”
“I think it was for you because you are either in love with her or you couldn’t live with the guilt of just walking away from that situation. Or both. And I think it’s probably both.”
“You’re saying that if you found someone who had overdosed, you would just leave them to die?”
“No, but I wouldn’t kid myself and pretend like I was doing it for their benefit. I, like you, wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. Altruism doesn’t exist, Seth. Everything we do is motivated by selfish reasons on some level.”
“Ava.” I found myself shaking my head because what the actual fuck was I listening to? “No offense, but you live on an alternate plane of reality. Truthfully.”
“No, I don’t. I think you live in a bubble governed by your own brand of ethics. And I think you can’t admit you’re selfish.”
“How am I selfish? Suicide is selfish.”
“Maybe it’s selfish if you leave people who love you and depend on you. Who does Charlie have? You’re making it perfectly clear she doesn’t have you, so who does she have? Nobody. You kept her from dying and you refuse to let yourself be what she has to live for. I think that’s pretty selfish.”
