There was still a little bit of light outside. I suspect in a week or two, it will be dark outside at 6 p.m. Fall is in full swing and winter is nipping at the edges of the day, anxious to arrive and take over. The temperature was in the mid-forties. I parked my car in the empty K-Mart parking lot, got out and dialed her number.
I sat on the cold, concrete parking bumper. The chill instantly went through my blue jeans. I was shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or everything else.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, what’s going on,” she said. She was in a happy mood. You could tell from the sound in her voice. I momentarily hesitated to speak.
“Hey,” I said.
“Oh my god,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
It was difficult to talk. It took a few seconds for speech to come out of my mouth. My brain was naturally formulating a number of things to say, each fighting for priority.
“Have you got a few minutes to talk?” I said.
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in the old K-Mart parking lot.”
“I will be right there.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t hang up,” she said. “Keep talking to me until I get there.”
I didn’t know what to say. So many thoughts were fighting for attention in my head. I believe I said things like, “I’m not doing well,” and “I don’t know what to do.”
She kept talking to me until her white truck pulled into the parking lot. She got out, came over to me and gave me a long hug.
“What do you need?” she said. “What can I do to help you?”
“I didn’t know.”
I honestly didn’t. My mind was swirling with so many thoughts they were becoming a jumbled mess inside my brain. I was trying to sort them all out, but failing miserably.
I knew I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to try and hike out at Carter Canyon so close to nighttime. I did want to get in my car, drive away, and never come back. I also knew that wasn’t the answer.
I started talking to her about my day and how things had taken a nosedive, especially after therapy. She put her arm around me and gave me a side hug. I sighed deeply.
I ran my fingers through my hair, knowing it would end up looking like I was a member of A Flock of Seagulls. I didn’t care. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and started talking.
There was no coherent path to our discussion. I let the thoughts tumble out of my brain and through my mouth. I couldn’t focus on one thing at a time, so it all came out. It makes for a more confusing conversation, but it was all I was capable of doing at the time.
Eventually, we sat in my car. The cool evening air chilled both of us and it was stupid to sit outside in the cold when a warm car was less than three feet away. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I realized I wasn’t shaking from the chilly weather.
She let me talk, get out what I needed to say. She asked questions and diverted the topic when things got to be too much, too intense, or too overwhelming for me.
Most of all, she listened. She didn’t try to solve anything for me. She’s been here before. I’m not really a complicated person. I just need an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on, and arms to hug me. Sometimes, I need advice and she’s really good at knowing when to give it, when to shut up, and when to ask what I need from her.
She asked me if I had planned to write everything out. Of course I will. Writing is what I know. It’s a solid comfort in a chaotic world. It soothes my soul and helps me focus on the truth instead of the lies whispered in my ears during desperate times.
Most of what I’m going to write over the next few days will not be seen publicly. My therapist told me I needed to get a few things written down. She’s more specific than my friend, who suggests writing every crazy thought in my head. I’m a little more methodical than that.
They’re both right. Whatever form the writing takes, it needs to be done so I can progress forward. Whether it’s pen to paper or fingers at 82 words per minute on a keyboard, I need to write.
It was well after 8 p.m., when she stepped out of the passenger seat of my car. She wasn’t leaving until she was sure I was okay.
I turned on the engine, shifted into reverse, and then into first gear. I reached over and pushed the button to turn the music off. I sighed deeply and drove home in silence. I had heard enough sounds for one day.