Hard decisions

(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.