Support

by Scott Hefflon

“I want to get some air,” she said, holding onto my arm. I squeezed her shoulder and nodded. Even though I was really groovin’ to the band, I could understand how all the smoke, the noise, and the packed crowd could freak you out if you’re not used to it. She and her friends had been drinking pretty heavily even before I got there. So I pushed our way through the swaying masses with my arm around her. Not that it was really my right to be so touchy-feely. I lost that right long ago. But she clung to my arm and it felt good to have her hold me again.

We stood on the sidewalk outside the club and I realized she was leaning onto me pretty heavily. In the crush of the crowd I hadn’t really noticed it. But now, alone on the sidewalk, I found she was pretty trashed. Great, I thought, this is exactly the kind of reunion I was hoping for. We’ve all been on both sides of this sympathy.

Yeah, I’ve been the pathetic waste case that some friend has to walk out to a car and dump in the backseat and drive home. And yeah, I’ve been the burden on my friends that needs stuffing into a cab and carrying up the stairs by the roommates.

Another night passed out on the bathroom floor mat using towels as a pillow and blanket and waking every now and then to vomit bile and stomach fluids and drool on myself. Wishing I could just fucking die and get it over with. So it seemed like tonight would be dues-paying night. Partial payback on a backed up debt. Tonight I selflessly console a sick friend, tend to their needs, and probably getting puked on before the night is done. As they say, payback’s a bitch.

I sat her down on the concrete base to the railing and squatted down in front of her, holding her knees. Her head hung down and her hair tumbled across her face so she didn’t have to look at me. Gently, I brushed my fingers across her cheek and asked if she was OK. It took her a few seconds to raise her head and look at me. Her head wobbled and seemed to roll slightly and her eyes were glassy and unfocused as if she didn’t really see me. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. She tried to say something more, but it lost it’s way before reaching her lips. Her head slowly drifted back down again and I put my arms around her.

She leaned her head on my shoulder and I cupped her hands in mine in her lap. She swayed a bit and I was there to steady her. Time seemed to elongate. Action and sounds were distant and meaningless. Motion stretched and took longer than usual and the space was filled with memories pouring in. Cramming each nook and cranny of each plodding moment forcing it to expand. Memories of the way it used to be. Back when we used to be friends. What some people might have called lovers, though we never thought of it that way.

It was just being close to someone. It was just good clean fun. Then things started to change. Things always change, and you can’t seem to stop them, maybe you shouldn’t even try. It just wasn’t fun anymore. It was a habit and a tired routine that was slowly being phased out. Time passed and soon the routine was filled with other things. All that’s left is memories of good times shrouded by the question of, “Whatever happened?” And even that is covered over in time. Until now. In your arms, you hold what only meant so much but was written off as a loss long ago.

Now. In your arms.

When her friends came to take her home, I knew I wouldn’t go with her. I’d done my part and the rest was up to her current friends. My job was done, so I walked away. I decided to walk the long way home. Perhaps the walk would let me sleep well tonight. Without dreams of what was and what could have been. It should be left dead and in peace.