Out of Love

         She thought her heart had stopped. There he was, lying on the floor surrounded by beer bottles as if he were a dog that had been abused by a drunk for twenty lifetimes. He was supposed to be invincible, the one she could turn to when she was hurt, but now...Now, he was a broken toy, someone she was afraid she couldn’t fix.
          I have to help him…And I will , the resolution in her heart was filled with a determination that was stronger than the largest diamond. He was killing himself to lose a pain that only intensified every moment of every day that he lived.
         “David,” She whispered, he turned his head to stare at her, “You’re my best friend, you always will be and…and you’ve always been there for me.” She paused, unsure of how to continue, “Deep down, I’ve always been grateful, but now I’m going to repay the favor. You’re dad is gone forever and that’s a pain I will never truly comprehend, but in the end I’ll always be here for you, okay?”
         Behind the dark glass that shadowed his eyes, a glint of hope seemed to flicker as dull as a candle striving to stay lit in a tsunami. There was hope and she knew she had a chance to make him understand what she was doing and why she was doing it.
         “I’m calling your mom, she needs to decide what’s best for you, but…I’m doing this out of love,” She said.
         He kept his head up, staring at her without any liveliness, “Sarah…” he croaked and then he turned back to the bottle of alcohol and tossed it across the room.
         She went into the kitchen, the room closest to the living room, and dialed the number she had memorized in her heart since she was only seven years old. Her foot tapped of its own accord, creating noticeable noise in the ever silent home of her fifteen year old friend, David.
         “Hello?” came a curious and soft voice on the other end.
         “Hello Mrs. Gadson, it’s Sarah,” her voice was as frail as she was pale and her friend’s mom quickly picked up on it.
         “Sarah, what’s going on? Why are you calling from my house? Are you okay?” Mrs. Gadson asked quickly; she didn’t understand; this phone call was about her son.
         “No, it’s not me you should be worried about…It’s David,” at the mention of her friend Sarah’s voice broke, “He’s…drinking and I mean he’s really drinking,” a choking sob escaped from her lips, from her controlled composure.
         The other end was complete silence as the two women contemplated the situation, one reviewing the details, the other soaking them in until finally, Mrs. Gadson said, “I’ll be right over, stay with him, please.”
         With an almost inaudible click the line went dead and static filled Sarah’s ear before she finally set the phone back in its holder and went to sit on the couch in the living room. David hadn’t moved and from the quietness of his breath he was either sleeping or passed out. She assumed the second of the two choices.
         It was merely ten minutes before Mrs. Gadson, her golden hair shining, her tan skin all the more obvious in the ever darkening winter weather, was rushing in through the front door of the small house.
         “My god….” She murmured, eyes widened in shock, in pity, in emotions that cannot fully be explained in the written word, “He’s…He’s been drinking,” the words seemed to clarify the reality for her.
         “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner…I’d thought at first to give him space and then I finally dropped that tactic and came over, the door was open and when I came in I found him like this,” Sarah told her, answering a question that needn’t be spoken.
         “Thank you, Sarah, I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Gadson whispered, “When my husband committed suicide that day…I thought that would be the worst of it. Never in my life could I have imagined repercussions as serious as this,” a few tears dripped down her make-up coated face and a million more stayed piled in her pool blue eyes.
         “I’m sorry,” Sarah said again, bowing her head and clenching her hands, I’m sorry I was so inadequate at taking care of your son…of my best friend.          
         “You did more than anyone, Sarah,” Mrs. Gadson said as she stumbled to her son and sat next to him, stroking his blonde curls that greatly resembled her own. “He always praised you for being a great best friend for life. David, my David,” She smiled slightly, shaking her head at a long ago memory, “He used to speak of you as if you were a Greek goddess, applauding your ability to listen to how he felt, understand his needs and wants, trust him and everyone else. He used to say that you were the kind of person who would ‘push aside all prejudices to help that bully that had given you a black eye’…He loved you as much as any of his family.”
         The speech touched Sarah to her very core, the very center of her heart; it struck a nerve so deep that when Mrs. Gadson had finished Sarah broke down into a series of sobs, shouts, cries and tears that could rival any and all mental collapses.
         Together the two sat, young adult and wise business woman, both crying over the depression and ripping apart of their loved one. Even though he was not gone, even though he had only drunk himself into a stupor, it was still as though someone had ripped open their insides and yanked every organ, every bone, every muscle, out of their system, slowly and painfully.
          When they finally stood, their faces were clear of tears, revealing little of the grief or inner strife to compose and contain their emotions. They helped each other carry David to Mrs. Gadson’s car and into the hospital where the healing process was to begin.