She Knew I Had to

         My friend Eliza and I are alike in many ways. We both occasionally harbor antisocial opinions against the opposite sex (her more than me). We're both involved in long distance relationships, which also serves to bring us closer together. We're odd, quirky, and a duo not to be taken too seriously, for the most part.
         Our similarities initially drew us together, but it's our differences that allow our friendship to grow. Eliza's parents are divorced, mine are happily on their 23rd year. She has seen the unsavory side of life; I have a somewhat sheltered view of the world. Eliza is depressed and takes medications just so she can get up in the morning. She has tried to commit suicide, and I have not. She could have died that night, had she not called me.
         She messaged me online one afternoon with starkly misspelled words:
         "i trid to cal u, but u didn't asnwr. i left a messge."
         I typed out, "What happened?"
         "can u com ovr?" That same misspelled type came back to me.
         "I'll be there in a few," I haphazardly typed out to Eliza, who was waiting for an answer.
         I grabbed my keys and cell phone and sped the five blocks to her house in my parents' car. I knew her parents weren't home, so I let myself in the front door.
         All at once a lightheadedness seemed to blanket my consciousness. I was watching what was going on through outsider eyes. I could see Eliza walking out of her computer room, crying, looking unsteady, but I observed with a sort of insensitivity that allowed me to not panic.
         "What happened? What did you do?" I asked calmly, catching her arm to steady her.
         Through tears, she answered me: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I took too many Ibuprofen."
         "How many?" I asked gently. I knew that if I didn't take control of the situation, things wouldn't go well.
         "I don't know, I didn't count. Half a bottle?" She looked dizzy, so I sat her down on the foyer floor.
         "So what, like fifty pills?" I needed to know if I had to take her to the hospital.
         "Yeah, I guess." She was leaning, putting some of her weight on me. "I didn't want to live." She cried harder and began rocking back and forth.
         The tune of my cell phone interrupted us. It was my mom asking what the problem was. In order to prevent another argument, I compromised to take Eliza home with me.
         "Eliza? We have to go to my house. My parents won't let me stay here. Are you okay enough to walk?"
         She stood, and was more stable this time. "Yeah, I'm okay."
         We rode back those five minutes more or less in silence. I took her into my room and sat her down on my bed. She had developed an odd, spaced out persona. She was floating, and I could tell.
         "Eliza, you have to stay awake" I didn't know how I knew this. Maybe it was the one episode of ER I've seen, or the semester of Health I took in the eighth grade, but I knew I could not let her sleep.
         "Aww, why not? I'm tired." She was mock whining.
         "I don't know, you just can't." I needed something for her to do. "Read," I handed her a Bible. We're both not very religious, but it seemed an appropriate thing to read at a time of crisis.
         "Mm, okay. What’d you want me to read?" She looked at me with five-year-old eyes.
         "I don't care. How about this?" I flipped through the book and stopped at Psalms. My novice knowledge of the Bible told me that this was one of the happier of the books.
         "Okay..." She trailed off as she read aloud excerpts.
         "Eliza? What should I do here? Do you need to go to the hospital or something?"
         The mention of "hospital" placed a panic in her eyes. "No! I don't like doctors. Don’t take me to the hospital!"
         "Alright, then what do I do? Should I call Poison Control and ask them?" I was searching for something to do to make everything right.
         "Mm, okay. Sure. I know the number." She spaced out again. This girl who couldn't remember her own locker combination knew the Poison Control number?
         She rattled off a number that I dialed. An operator with a distant, unbiased voice picked up.
         "Poison Control, can I help you?" She said.
         I swallowed and spoke calmly. "Yes, my friend swallowed maybe fifty Ibuprofens—"
         "Okay, she needs to go to the hospital." She said it matter-of-factly. I felt like an idiot because I didn't know what to do if my friend overdosed on Ibuprofen.
         "Okay, thank you," I told her and hung up the phone. I switched my attention to Eliza, who was still diligently reciting verses from the Bible. "She said you have to go to the hospital." I was blank. I didn't have a car and couldn’t take her myself.
         Her eyes got large. I thought she was about to have a panic attack. "Don't make me go. Don't take me to the doctor."
         I didn't know what else to do, besides include my parents on what was going on. My only other choice would be to tell my parents. They'll know what to do."
         I left the room and told both of my parents what was going on. When we returned to my room, she looked up at my mom and started to sob again.
         "Please, please don't tell my parents." She was panicking.
         "You know I have to, sweetie." My mom slid Eliza's cell phone out of her hand and scrolled through the names. She walked out of the room to call both of Eliza's parents.
         "Don't take me to the hospital. I hate the hospital." She was crying harder now.
         I sat next to her, almost crying along with her. She was rocking us back and forth when my mom came back in.
         "Come on guys, we've got to go to the doctor." The situation was now thankfully out of my control.
         My mom, my dad, and I had to drag Eliza out to the car. Once we got her there and buckled up, she quieted almost instantly. I think she then knew it was inevitable that she was going to the hospital. The ride to the Emergency Room was a silent one.
         Eliza's mom, dad, and step mom arrived looking frantic.
         Every few minutes, one of the five parents present would commend me on the maturities I displayed. That I "did the right thing". It didn't feel like the right thing to do when I was deliberately going against my best friend’s wishes because she needed help. It didn't feel like the right thing when she was having a panic attack on my bed because I mentioned a doctor. But apparently it was. My moments of slight indecisions all added up to the right outcome? I know now that they did. I know now that I did do the right thing, regardless of what someone else, even someone as influential as a best friend, will think.
         She told me just recently that she knows for a fact that she would not be alive today had it not been for me. That particular instance may not have killed her, but she would have found another way. One of the most profound things someone can tell you is that they would be dead, if not for you, when all you were was a friend.