schweblog

It is a nice, beautiful Friday night. The air is cool and the wind is blowing off of the alfalfa fields. You can smell the dust and flowers and crops and moisture blow together. I’m out at my parents’ house to see my aunts that are visiting. It finally quieted down enough and I’m talking with my mom in the living room when I get a phone call. I step outside.

“This is Jesse.”

“Tell her I love her, Andrew…”

“Who is this?”

“Jesse, this is Mary.”

“Oh, hi Mary.”

“Chris just called me. She took some pills. She won’t tell me how many. She just hung up on Andrew.”

“OK…call some paramedics. I’ll be there soon. I’m about 40 minutes away.”

I leave the house. The car is quiet. I drive. Fast. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I make a few phone calls, getting my friend Dan at the apartment complex to check on her. I call her. I pray. I pray hard. I don’t usually pray this hard. God. Please. Fuck. Please. Please. I need to drive. Get her through this. Phone: They’re taking her to Kaseman Hospital. I am there in 30 minutes, at most.

Wait. Wait. Waiting. 1 hour. 2 hours. 3 fucking hours. What’s taking them so long? We go in. She’s small on the bed, tired and groggy. Full of questions. Worried about getting fired. Worried about her dad’s birthday party scheduled for the evening. Mary tells her goodnight. Her parents leave. We’re left alone and I sleep in the room that night. Or at least try.

I shouldn’t have left her. I should have stayed. Brought her with me. She’s so small. I could take care of her. She can have my stomach. I’ll carry the burden, those pills. I’ll be depressed for awhile so she can have a rest. I’m here. I’ll always be here.

She wakes up at 5:30 that morning. We talk. She goes back to sleep. Her parents get there. More waiting. I go home to take a shower and eat something. They evaluate her. She’s alright to go home. I drive her home. The apartment is not clean. I should have found time to get it clean. Get some flowers on the table. Cleaned up that barf outside of the elevator so she wouldn’t have to see it while we walked to the door.

We lay down and sleep. Sleep away the afternoon. The night. Wake up at 5:00 AM–we’ve slept about 15 hours. She is awake. She’s alright. She smiles. We plant some plants. I get her some flowers for the apartment. It’s OK. I breathe. We’re alright. She’ll be OK. We’ll beat this thing. I promise her that we’ll beat it.