1 post tagged “friends”
Six weeks ago I woke up to four missed calls on my cell phone. Co-worker. Wife. Co-worker. Work. I thought it strange, considering I hardly ever get four calls in a WEEK, let alone in a night. "Sara, it's Jeff. Call me when you get a chance."
"Hey, it's me. Call me as soon as you can."
"Sara, it's Rhonda. Where are you? Call me."
"Hey, it's me again. CALL ME!!!!"
I tried calling my wife, but she didn't answer. I called Rhonda next.
"Hey.. did you hear about Jamie?"
"No? What's wrong?"
"He was jumped last night..."
"WHAT?"
"...I'm not sure of a lot of details. He's at the hospital.. Denver General."
"Okay," I breathed. "Let me call you back."
I called my wife. "Did you hear about Jamie," she asked.
"Sort of.. I'm still confused. I'm going to head down to the hospital."
"Are you okay," she said, gently. It wasn't a question, really, because she knew I wouldn't be.
"Yeah... let me call you back, after I've seen him, or know more.. something."
"Okay. Call me later."
I stumbled into the shower, and called our friend Jeff when I got out.
"He was jumped outside his apartment... stabbed 8 times. He's in the ICU."
I felt the tears sting my eyes, the blood rush out of my face. I forgot how to breathe, and was halfway up the stairs before I realized I only had one shoe on.
"I'm going to go to the hospital. I'll be in later."
"Call us."
Jamie had been jumped. Stabbed. Was in the hospital. The words were knocking around in my head, back and forth, up and down, and I was struggling to understand a single one of them. I called Brett, and got no answer. Sent him a text, no response. I needed to get to the hospital. Needed to see him. Needed to know if what I'd heard was over exaggerated, or not exaggerated enough.
I walked in, asked the man behind the desk where my friend could be found, and forced myself to climb the stairs to the Surgical ICU. The lady behind the desk had me sign in, and told me to take a seat. "Two at a time," she said, "And two of your friends just went in." I sat down, and immediately stood back up. Who can sit down when their BFF is laying in a hospital, the victim of some insane random attack of malicious nonsense? A couple co-workers of ours walked out, and I rushed them. "How is he? Did you see him? WHAT HAPPENED?"
"Shhh.. we saw him. He just got out of surgery. K-Mart and Jesse are in there now."
I sat with them, feet tapping, head in my hands, desperate to see my friend, and afraid to see him so vulnerable. Finally Kevin and Jesse came out of the SICU. "Hi," I said to Kevin, wrapping him in a hug. "Hey," seemed to be all he could say. "Are you okay," I heard myself stupidly ask him. Of course he wasn't. He'd been at the hospital for the last 4 hours. He'd just come out of the Surgical Intensive Care Unit, having seen his best friend recovering from something that until then had been unimaginable in our small world. We'd been hurt, we'd struggled with life, but one of our friends clinging to life? Not us.
It was my turn. Our friend Shannon held my hand as we walked down the hall. We walked into his room, and I felt the tears again. There was my friend, beaten and bloody and bruised. My beautiful friend
, so genuine and sweet and loving, looking unlike I've ever seen someone I love look. They kicked out some of his teeth. They broke his big, thick emo glasses. His hair was a mess. He had IVs and tubes running everywhere. I was afraid to hold his hand; too afraid I'd cause him more pain.
"Hi, sweetie," I whispered. He opened his eyes, muttered an almost silent "Hey." Shannon talked to him for a few minutes before she said we should get going. The number of people waiting outside to see him was growing bigger and bigger, a testament to this boy man, to his impact on his friends.
We decided to leave, and I started to cry. "Don't worry about work," I said, stupidly. He nodded. I kissed his hand, his arm, afraid to leave, but knowing I couldn't stay without turning into a puddle of tears, unable to move from the corner of his room.
I said my good-byes to my friends, and went back to work in a daze. Everyone [or so it seemed] asked me how Jamie was doing. I didn't know what to say. He's okay? Turns out he's struggling, on account of how he was stabbed a half dozen times, one of which punctured his diaphragm, and another of which tore a hole in his small intestine? He's not really coherent? All I could do was tell them he was doing all right when I saw him, but that was after he'd just gotten out of a 6-hour surgery to save his life. I spent the majority of the day staring at a computer screen, unable to work, too afraid to be anywhere else.
The next few days went by in a blur. The questions became more sporadic, which was good for me. I had gotten to the point where I couldn't think about my friend without either wanting to go up on a bell tower and murder everyone who looked like some asshole son of a bitch, so unconscious of the value of human life -- particularly that of my friend -- that they would try to KILL someone for some shoes? Money? Whatever. Either that.. or breaking down into a sobbing, pathetic mess, unable to put into words the broken heart I held in my tear-soaked hands.
Jamie and I have always been BFF. There has never been that awkward "I wonder if he/she likes me?" point of our friendship. We are simply friends. Until he was so close to being just a memory, I hadn't realized what he had become to me. The man I depend on for so much. The first man I can say I truly LOVE, in all the best ways. The man who has changed my life by supporting me, making me laugh, trusting me, and believing in me. The man who has also changed my life by never lying to me, even when his words made me cry, cringe and cuss. The man who tells me he's writing a song about me, and when I ask him if it will be mean, he looks me in the eye and without skipping a beat says, "It will be honest. It might be mean, but it will have lots of good stuff, too."
I've come to love him. Some time in the last two years he has become the boy I count on for everything. I can tell him I love him, kiss him on the cheek, and know that neither of us is going to go home and overanalyze the night, the moments, the words, the looks. We have the best kind of love. The kind that is built on respect and trust and friendship. The kind that can't be damaged by breaking up or breaking down. The kind that I have yet to find in any boyfriend or relationship I've been in before.
And it took seeing him in a hospital room for me to realize that. Stupid, stupid. I guess the thing about it is.. as shitty as it was of me to have to see my friend in such a heartbreaking, devastating way to recognize what he means to me.. I now have the opportunity to love him better. To be a better friend. To give back to him what he has given to me.
He came back to work last week. He doesn't have his teeth fixed yet, but he is still as important as he ever was. He bosses people around, talks to customers when they are mad. It still makes me giggle whenever I think about my beautiful, emo-glasses wearing, toothless friend with a YooHoo belt buckle going to calm down an irate customer. He is back, mostly the same boy I knew before.
Occasionally I see a change in him. A different tone of voice, a phrase I'd never heard. I watch, trying to keep tabs on him, hoping to catch him if he starts to fall. I pray that his strength, his spirit, his heart will get him through this day. And the next, and the next.
He may never be the innocent, hopeful boy he was before. But if he's anything, he's resiliant. And some day I know he'll be better. Stronger, even more awesome than he was before, than he is now. And on that day, like so many days before, I hope I'll be there to hug my friend, my strength, my reason. And I'll tell him that I love him, only in the good ways.
