(this is my first one I've submitted so I'm not sure if I'm doing it right.)
LIFEGUARD
I woke suddenly to a shooting pain in my jaw, my teeth
clamped tight. I was drowning in sweat and my mouth was
dry. Rolling over, I squinted at the clock next to my
bed. I’d been asleep for forty-five minutes; it was going
to be another restless night. Untangling myself, I slid
out of bed and stumbled down the hall. Feeling along the
wall for the light switch, I missed the two stairs leading
to the kitchen, and fell to the cold tile floor.
Adrenaline rushed through me and waves of dizziness
blinded me as I tried to stand. Frustrated, I crawled
across the room, hard crumbs and uneven tiles digging into
my bare knees, and collapsed against the icy window that
met the floor. The moon shined through the glass and cast
dark shadows of table legs and chair legs and hanging pots
across the room. In its glow I saw smears of ink across my
palm. Tiny letters and numbers blurred by sweat and sleep,
they were the location and phone number of the new room my
best friend would be staying in the next few months. The
times I would be allowed to call, if I ever wanted to, and
the visiting hours. But the numbers were lost now, and I
would never call, would never visit. And somehow in that
moment I felt relief. I looked back on the past year, at
the pain, fear, and chaos that came with it. Tilting my
head back, I felt hope, and I felt free, because in that
moment, I decided to put an end to it all. I decided to
save myself.
*
One year earlier:
A warm, June breeze carried a small, white feather
past my face. Flopping down between my two best friends, I
rolled over onto my back and shielded my eyes from the
sun. I gazed up at the seagulls, gently soaring and
laughing in the breeze, and dug my toes into the hot
sand. Suddenly Emily jumped up and dashed towards the
lake, kicking up sand and giggling as she ran. She stopped
when she reached the water and called for Stephanie and me
to join her. Moments later we were at her side, shrieking
from the cold and hopping up and down in anticipation. On
the count of three we dove into the icy water and quickly
resurfaced, scrambling for our towels, and huddling
together for warmth. We sat there the rest of the day,
eating, reading, singing, and talking until the sun set.
It was the summer before we started high school, and the
last day together before Emily spent the rest of vacation
in Arizona living with her aunt and uncle. Looking back,
this is the last truly happy, peaceful moment I can recall
of us three together.
*
It was only the end of October and I was already looking
forward to break. It had been a long day at school and all
I really wanted to do was sleep. After dinner I made
myself a bowl of ice cream, and went up to my room to do
homework. I shut the door, put my hair up, and sprawled
out on my bed. I’d only finished about four math problems
when I heard the phone ring. Jumping from my bed, I
sprinted down the hall to the phone, grabbing it seconds
before my mom got there.
“Renee is that you? Renee, Emily’s in the hospital,”
Stephanie said.
My breath caught in my throat for a second and I felt
empty, the kind of empty you feel after being sick for a
week and everything inside of you has been drained to the
point where you can barely stand. My sight was blurry and
my throat throbbed from holding back tears.
“Well, why, what happened?” I finally asked. My ears were
ringing and they became red and sore from pressing the
phone so hard against my head, but through that ringing I
heard the answer to the question I wish I’d never asked,
"Renee, she’s in the psych ward.”
“But…wait. I don’t understand. She’s in the psych ward?
Isn’t that for…crazy people? Emily’s not crazy. Why would
someone think that?” I asked
“Well…Emily’s mom called me,” she answered, “She said that
Emily had an episode.”
“An episode? What the hell is that suppose to mean?
There’s no way Emily’s crazy. Let’s go visit her right
now. Can we call her? What’s the phone number? Wait, she
had an episode? Like, she went crazy for a moment?
Whatever, everyone does crazy things Stephanie.” Suddenly
Stephanie started crying and I stopped, shocked. Stephanie
struggled to explain through her sobs.
“Emily was hearing voices Renee. She heard voices that no
one else could hear, and they told her to kill herself.
She’s been hearing voices and seeing things for a long
time now. We just didn’t know…how didn’t we know?”
How didn’t we know? I stretched the phone cord into the
hall bathroom and shut the door behind me and listened to
Stephanie cry. I slid to the cold linoleum floor and sat
with my back against the hard wood door. My hands shook
as I reached in my pockets for the notes that Emily,
Stephanie and I had wrote each other that day at school. I
was looking for anything that would have explained why one
of my best friends was suddenly “crazy.” But there were no
answers in the notes, or in the way she had acted in
school. It was a secret she had kept from us.
*
It’s strange how the mind tends to overlook certain
things. Like the socks we forget to take off before
jumping in the shower, the keys we walk past six times
before finding, the bruise we discover and realize we must
have gotten weeks ago. Kind of like a blind spot on our
memories, the mind just fills in what’s not there. That
seemed to be how it was with Emily. No one ever noticed
anything different with her until it was bluntly obvious
that something had to have been different—bruises don’t
just appear.
After spending so much time wondering when things had gone
wrong and how something like this could have gone
undetected, I realized for the first time that something
had seemed slightly out of place was when Emily returned
from Arizona that summer. It was nothing very drastic at
first, and maybe that’s why we didn’t notice. First it was
just a change in her style. She cut her long, wavy brown
hair into short choppy layers that hit right below her
shoulder. Thick, black lines suddenly encircled her deep,
brown eyes, with clouds of dark blues, greens, and purples
on her eyelids. She’d gained weight over the summer, her
acne was worse, and her petite clothes clung to her now
round body. There were weeks when all she wore was black.
She wore the same oversized, black sweatshirt for so many
days that it grew holes and the pocket fell off. Then she
went from wearing black clothes and makeup for weeks to
wearing bright clothes and glittery, colorful makeup. Her
clothes were so random sometimes that we really should
have realized something was wrong, but we were inattentive
and naïve. Besides, everyone was changing and experiencing
new things. We just didn’t realize how unique her
experiences were.
*
Stephanie and I talked for a long time about Emily. We
tried to understand what was happening with her and why
she had tried to hide it for so long. We talked until
there was nothing left to say and so we sat in silence,
exhausted. I found a pen in the pocket of my mom’s jeans,
left lying on the floor, and wrote the number to Emily’s
room on the back of one of the notes Emily had wrote me in
school that day. I hung up the phone and walked back to my
room in a daze. Unsure of what to do next, I waded through
the piles of clothes and blankets and loose papers and sat
on the edge of my bed. I dumped the soggy mounds of melted
ice cream into the garbage, shoved my unfinished homework
onto the floor and stretched out on my bed, burrowing deep
under the mass of blankets and pillows. Music and laughter
drifted through the walls and dark red and orange leaves
floated past the window. I wanted to sleep so badly, but
so many thoughts were running through my head. I needed to
talk to Emily so bad, but calling hours didn’t start until
8:00, so I waited. Resting my head on my folded arms, I
stared at a mosquito smeared against the wall until my
head ached and the room grew dark.
Finally it was calling hours. I picked up the phone and
slowly dialed the numbers. A nurse answered and my call
was forwarded to her room. Emily answered. She sounded
tired and our voices shook as we talked. I cried as she
told me about what was happening to her. She told me she
didn’t know who she was anymore, or who she wanted to be.
She said there were times when she felt so depressed that
she wanted to die, and times she felt so happy that it
hurt to be alive. She didn’t understand what was happening
to her, or why. She told me about the voices she would
hear, and how much they scared her. They tried to tell her
everything that was wrong with her. They told her what she
should change and who she should be, and that if she
didn’t want to listen, then she should kill herself. She
said that she tried not to listen, but that sometimes it
just seemed easier to give in. I made her promise that
night that she would never give in; that no matter what
voices she was hearing, she’d always listen to mine, and
I’d bring her to safety.
*
Emily was released from the hospital a few weeks later and
everything seemed fine.
“What’s it like to be back in school?” Stephanie
asked.
“Oh God, It feels amazing; so nice to be back with
you normal people,” Emily said, crossing her eyes and
sticking her tongue out at her. She spun around and
skipped ahead down the empty hall. Stephanie and I glanced
at each other and shrugged. At least she was happy.
“I’m almost caught up on all my work, so do you
guys want to sleep over my house this weekend? We haven’t
done that in a long time.” Emily yelled over her shoulder.
“Sure!” Stephanie and I yelled back. We hadn’t
done anything together in a long time. Emily skipped back
toward us, running her ringed hand along the row of
lockers. She circled around and squeezed between us,
linking arms.
“Sure does feel nice to be back here guys,” Emily
sighed. It was one of those times when you really
appreciative everything that you have, because you know
what it’s like to not have it.
*
It was a surprisingly warm December day and the snow
became thick and wet from the sun. The snow was melting,
puddles formed on the sidewalks and in the streets, and
people took to walking to school instead of driving. We
all blamed the weather, but everyone seemed to be in the
best mood that day, and to top things off, the school was
throwing us an ice cream social after lunch.
Stephanie pulled open one of the heavy metal doors to the
gymnasium and we were blasted by music and laughter.
Yelling over the noise, she led Emily and me to a long,
white plastic table in the far corner of the room. We
placed our things on the metal folding chairs and weaved
our way through the tables, chairs, and people to the end
of the line. The line moved slowly and my feet ached by
the time my sundae was made. Keeping my eyes on my ice
cream and on the ground in front of me, I worked my way
back to our table. I finally made it through the crowd and
placed my bowl on the edge of the table. But as I raised
my eyes to my friends I knew, once again, that I would not
get to eat my ice cream.
They were huddled together and their faces were
veiled by dark strands of hair that swirled against the
white plastic table. Emily’s ring-covered fingers squeezed
her red, swollen face, and her long black nails dug into
the skin below her bulging eyes. Stephanie sat stunned
beside her, desperately flinging her tiny arms around her
friend, petting and soothing, tears streaming down her
face. Chairs banged together as I shoved them aside and
made my way to other side of the table where they sat.
Emily continued to stare ahead and muttered something to
us but words were indistinguishable from the roar of the
crowd. Frantically we looked around for someone to help,
but everyone seemed oblivious to what was going on. No one
was watching and we were alone. Stephanie yelled for me to
stay, and ran off to get help. I felt more alone than ever
and pulled Emily to me, wrapping my arms around her. Our
bodies shook together, and my heart and mind raced.
Finally Stephanie returned with the school counselor. He
walked briskly to the table and pulled Emily to her feet.
Her hands gripped at his starch, white shirt and she
slouched against his dumpy body as he quietly led her
away. There was nothing we could do.
*
Weeks went by, and Emily was still in the
hospital. We weren’t allowed to visit her at all now, but
there were certain days and hours that we could call. It
wasn't very early or very late, but sometimes when I tried
to call the nurse would tell me she was sleeping. I still
wonder if that's true. When I did get a chance to talk to
her it was strange. Both of us were nervous and our voices
shook.
“Hey Em, how’s it going? I tried to call you yesterday,
but they said you were asleep.”
“Oh yeah…probably,” she replied.
“So…how is everything?” I asked.
“Umm…okay. I have to go to these group things everyday
where we just have to sit around and talk. There are some
real creepers here.” She tried to joke.
“Oh, umm, interesting…what else do you do?” I asked,
trying to avoid the joke.
“Not much really.” she replied. “It depends on the day. I
meet with different people, different doctors. I go to
therapy, umm…write and draw. They think I have Bipolar
disorder because of my mood swings and stuff. You know,
the highs and lows and everything. But they’re not sure.”
Bipolar disorder, do people with bipolar disorder see and
hear things that aren’t there too? I wondered.
“Oh okay…have you met anyone new?” I asked
“A few people, but…I don’t know…I don’t leave my room
much,” she replied.
“Yeah I suppose,” I said.
“Well…tell me about school,” she said.
“Oh you know, same thing different day.”
“Yeah…I know.”
I was going to school, learning new things, making new
friends; experiencing everything people our age normally
do. But she was in the hospital, stuck. What was there to
talk about? Neither of us knew quite what to say, and I
felt us drifting apart. I didn't really understand the
kind of things they do there, the kind of people she would
meet.
I’d been busy, and almost a week and a half had passed
since I’d last talked to her. I brought the phone into my
room and stood at the window. Leaning against the hard
wood frame I picked at the dead flies and ladybugs on the
window sill as she talked. When she was in the hospital
she became an entirely different person. She seemed
excited, and upbeat, but I assumed it was just another of
her “highs.” She told me all about the new friends she was
making and the activities they were making her do, the new
drugs, and the new doctor. I remember her telling me about
a friend she had made, an obese red-head with a deep
voice, a girl who’d been there for four months. It was
like she had a new best friend, and already I was afraid
of losing her.
*
When Emily finally came back to school, her mom told us
she was better, but to us not much had changed. Truth be
told, she seemed worse than before. She no longer tried to
control herself; she didn’t try to hide anything anymore.
Emily told us she was on this new medication to control
the hallucinations, voices, and mood swings, but they
didn't control her very well and they made her hands
shake. She always seemed depressed now and there was
really no "swing" in her moods anymore. I knew that
the “highs” she experienced was really just a part of the
sickness, but it had been nice to be able to pretend that
things were okay for a while.
She was in and out of the hospital the entire year and
Stephanie and I were forbidden by her mom and the school
counselor to tell anyone what was happening; we were to
just say that she was sick. But it wasn’t long before the
rest of the school forgot about her and the only friends
she had left we were me and Stephanie.
*
It was May, the first day back after the accident. The
night before a friend of mine had called to tell me that
there had been an accident after prom and a junior named
Cory had been killed. Even we freshman knew who he was. He
was a one of the star players on our basketball team and
all the teachers were always talking about how amazing he
was. I didn’t know him very well, but it was nice to talk
to someone about something other than Emily.
A picture from prom night was taped to Cory’s locker, and
people sat in front of it for hours and cried. For days
the picture remained there, and more were taped up, along
with poems and letters, and flowers. People I never
expected to cry were bawling. The basketball players and
football players were hugging and crying so hard that they
couldn't stand up. I remember at the start of the first
day, one of Cory’s friends stood at his locker. He was one
of the football players, one of the toughest, most stone-
faced guys you'd ever meet. And he was bawling. He had a
muscular arm up in the doorway and the other on Cory’s
locker, and he was so tall he almost reached the grey-
metal door frame. His head was thrown back and tears were
streaming down his cheeks and into his mouth and ears,
dripping onto the floor. He was shaking, and silently
screaming.
A slide show of pictures was shown in the auditorium, and
for the first few days no one had to go to class. Greif
counselors stood solemnly at the end of the halls,
watching. There was so much love, and so much pain, and so
many people that cared, and somehow I found myself
wondering, would this many people care if Emily died? And
I immediately felt guilty.
The first day went by slowly and by the end I was glad to
go home. Stephanie and I escaped the misery filled school
and walked outside to sit by a large rock and wait for the
buses to line up. We were miserable and quiet, and sat
pulling at the grass, not saying much. Suddenly Emily was
behind us. She handed each of us a note. They were both
written on thick, purple, wide-ruled paper, and folded
into tiny squares. She shoved them into our hands and,
without a word, walked away. Stephanie and I look at each
other confused and quickly unfolded our notes. It became
obvious what they were right away. I scanned the note fast
and my hands shook as my eyes skipped to the underlined
words—God, Life, Pain, Friendship, Death, and Goodbye. I
was more afraid in that moment than I’d ever been before.
I met Stephanie’s shocked look and we jumped up and raced
back into the school and before long, Emily was back in
the hospital again.
After that, we learned that it didn’t take much to trigger
an episode. A sudden change in weather, a bad grade, or a
harmless joke could set it off. Nothing was the same
anymore, and though we loved her, it was exhausting to be
her friend. Life became an exercise of walking on egg
shells. We never knew what was going to happen, and
because of that we couldn’t treat her same as we had
before. Each day was full of obligation and waiting.
*
The year ended, and summer passed, and it wasn’t long
before we were back in school again. Eventually I grew
accustomed to the fear I’d feel each day, not knowing if
I’d finally hear the news I was most afraid of. I hated
Emily for being in the hospital, but I felt she was safer
there, and maybe even happier. I tried so hard to be a
good friend to her, because I was so afraid that if I
wasn’t, the voices would win.
Early October and almost a year had passed since Emily’s
first episode. I received the news that Leanne had hung
herself from her loft with a belt. She was a beautiful,
popular sophomore, and a star basketball player. She had
lots of friends and a good attitude about life, and then
suddenly she was gone, and like with Cory, so many people
cared.
That day at school went by in a blur and the entire time
all I could think about was Emily. I was so drained by the
time I got home that I went straight upstairs, darkened my
room, and climbed in bed. It had been such a long time
since I was able to fall asleep so effortlessly, but it
didn’t last long. I woke from a dream and must have been
half asleep, because I saw Leanne standing in my doorway.
The heavy blanket I’d hung across the window to block the
light had fallen and the moon cast strange shadows across
the room. The house was oddly quiet and I sat frozen in my
bed as Leanne walked toward me. Her eyes were sunken into
her pale face that seemed to sag and hang from her bones.
A belt hung limp from her purple, swollen neck and her
fingers moved to loosen it. She turned around and reached
into the dark for something I couldn’t see and pulled it
to her. Something metal flickered in the moonlight and
suddenly I saw her fingers wrap around a tiny, ring-
covered hand. Then she was gone.
I couldn’t sleep for weeks after that because every time I
closed my eyes I’d see the cold, dead hand gripping my
best friend’s. I found that I couldn’t handle the stress
anymore. My grades were slipping, and I was always
depressed, or angry. I felt so sick sometimes that I
wouldn’t go to school or I would find myself in a daze,
simply going through the motions. Pretty soon it began to
affect me physically. I developed bruxism, where I would
grind my teeth in my sleep from the stress. It became so
bad that, even with a night guard, that I eventually put
so much force on my teeth that I needed a root canal. Each
day became harder and harder. I was so sure that Emily was
going to give in to the voices that I almost felt relief
instead of fear when the phone would ring. I found myself
wondering what I would feel when it did happen. Would I
feel devastated and guilty for having done nothing to
prevent it? Or would I feel relief, knowing that the wait
was over, that I could have my life back. Then one
sleepless night I woke up drowning in sweat and decided I
couldn’t do it anymore. I decided to save myself. It was
the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but slowly, I broke
away from her.
Stephanie and I talked to Emily less and less, and without
anything to come to school for anymore, Emily dropped out.
As the years passed we got older and experienced new
things. We went to prom, and sporting events; lived the
lives a normal teenager should. Emily didn’t seem to go
anywhere. She was stuck at that age, in that life, sinking
in a world of voices and fear.
We lost contact with each other over the years and I
wonder sometimes what she’s doing with her life now. I
talked to her once after graduation. It was a warm summer
day and I had slept over Stephanie’s house the night
before. We were riding our bikes downtown to get breakfast
when we ran into her leaving a gas station on her bike.
“Renee! Stephanie!” She yelled across the street. We
joined her on other side and made small talk for a while.
It was awkward, after all that had happened between us,
and how close we had all been. So much time had passed
since we’d last seen her, but for as much as Stephanie and
I had changed, she hadn’t changed at all. Her hair was
pulled into a messy bun with sharpened black pencils
sticking through it and she wore thick black makeup around
her eyes. She wore a long sleeve black mesh shirt over a
short black skirt and torn black tights. Our small talk
dwindled but I could tell there was still more that needed
to be said. Finally I broke the ice.
“Are you really doing okay Emily?” I asked.
“Yeah…it’s been hard without you guys, but I feel like I’m
getting better.” She replied
“I feel like we left you when you needed us the most. Do
you totally hate us now?” Stephanie asked. We parted for
two kids to pass on skateboards and Stephanie and I stood
waiting as Emily looked at the ground and played with the
rings on her fingers. Finally she answered,
“You know, for a long time I hated you guys. I missed you
so much, but you guys needed to leave. There wasn’t much
you could do for me anymore. There’s not much anyone can
do. I need to not be afraid of myself anymore.”
In retrospect, I feel less guilty each day. I’ve realized
now that sometimes you have to put yourself first, as hard
as it is. I’ve learned that people come and go and you’re
changed by all of them. You never stop loving the ones
that you’ve lost, but the pain does fade. Sometimes there
isn’t much you can do for a person; they have to learn to
help themselves.
The cold glass felt good against my sweaty back and I
scrapped the ice from the window sill and watched it melt
in my hands, erasing completely the numbers I would never
call. Finally I rose to my feet and brushed the crumbs
from the back of my legs. I made my way back to my room
and sat on the edge of my bed. I knew things were going to
get better, I felt it. After all, Emily was right. No one
could have saved her. I’d exhausted myself to the point
where, if I didn’t leave, I would have drowned with her.
It hurts to watch someone you love helplessly destroy
themselves, but there’s no point in sacrificing two lives.
There comes a point when you have to let go of their
hands, and swim back to shore.
