Almost Easy

I strolled through my front door just after eleven. I’d made a couple of stops along the way, one for snacks and the other for cigarettes. The latter was frustrating because had I known that I’d needed more smokes, I could have purchased them at my first stop. This made my second stop an inconvenience. I muddled through despite my self-loathing.
Once home, I set my bags down on the kitchen counter and forced myself into the shower. The salt water was drying out my skin and it had started to get itchy.
The water was warm and relaxing. It took everything I had not to stay underneath it’s comforting wetness forever. Brian had flooded my mind from the second he’d left my sights.
I hadn’t had such a genuinely good time in many, many moons. There was nothing negative to take away from the experience; it was undeniably an incredible first date. I hoped that there would be a second in the very near future.
I hoped that Brian had as good of a time as I did—what if I was too boring? Too standoffish? He had a lot of questions about my childhood…a lot of questions that I wasn’t entirely comfortable answering yet. It had taken me years to move past the embarrassment and fear of sympathy that I’d been harboring since the day my parents died.
I hated being pitied.
Once I’d figured that my fingers were wrinkled enough, I shut off the water and stepped out into the chill air. I wrapped a black towel around my damp body and headed to the bedroom.
My answering machine was flickering a red light against the wall behind it.
I figured it was probably Tyler calling to yell—or to apologize. Maybe it was another band member calling to give me a hard time about leaving early.
Whoever it was, I decided they’d wait until I was at least dressed. I was floating on a high and had no interest in coming down.
I slipped into my favourite red flannel pajama bottoms and a Metallica tank. I ran a brush through my hair a couple of times, still thinking about Brian. Always thinking about Brian.
His hair, his eyes, that motherfucking grin.
He’d cast a spell on me, that was for sure. I was addicted.
I thought then of Brian’s messages he’d left before. He’d hardly waited twenty minutes to leave them—maybe he was the flashing red light on my machine.
Setting the brush down rapidly, I hurried myself into the living room and over to the machine.
And then I pressed play.
Blair.
It was Tyler.
Are you there? Pick up if you’re there.
I wasn’t there. He hung up.
Deleted.
Blair, seriously pick up. There’s no way you’re still out with that fucking guy.
Anger was rising—I’d honestly anticipated an apology message. This was clearly not an apology. This was the fight all over again.
Anxiety pulsed in my chest.
I need to talk to you. Call me back.
Deleted.
Blair, please. I’m sorry that we fought. I’m sorry that I’m a crazy person. You’re right, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry. Please pick up. Please. Please pick up.
There was a tone of panic building in his voice.
I was suddenly uneasy.
Next message.
You’re not home. Maybe it’s better that way. You told me to call you any time, so I called. It’s going to be okay now. I’m sorry.
Panic beat into my blood as I fumbled to hit the button to bring me to my last new message.
“Tyler,” I grumbled to myself, “what are you doing?...”
Next message.
I just wanted to tell you that you’re wonderful. You’ve been the best friend to me the last—you’re a great person…You’re better to me than I deserve. You’ve always been better…You’re going to be okay. I know you’re going to be okay.
I was already grabbing my keys.
I’m sorry, I just—I’m sorry. I needed to say goodbye. I love you, Blair. I’m sorry.
It was times like these that I told myself that I needed to get a cell phone. If I had a cell phone, I could be calling as I sprinted down the stairs to my car. But here I was, chained to my house phone.
I dialed Tyler’s number as quickly as my fingers would allow.
It rang.
And rang.
“Come on, Ty,” I said aloud, biting at my nails uncontrollably.
“Hey, you’ve reached Tyler—”
I tried again.
It rang.
And fucking rang.
“Hey, you’ve reached—”
Instinctively, I dialed the only other number that I knew to call in situations like this.
It rang.
“Hello, you’ve reached emergency dispatch, how can I direct your call?”
“Hi,” I managed weakly, fumbling over my thoughts; tripping on my panic. “My friend—I, um…fuck. My friend left some really concerning messages on my machine—I don’t know how long ago…I think he’s going to commit suicide. I need help.”
The woman on the phone was calm, this only made me panic more, “Okay, Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down.”
“I need to go,” I snapped. “His name is Tyler Brody. He, uh—he has a history of m-mental illness and suicide, um, attempts. He lives in apartment six, East Twenty-Second street. Can you please send someone? Please, please send someone.”
“Ma’am—” the voice tried again but I’d already slammed the phone down and taken off out the door and into the street to my car.
The drive felt like it took an eternity. My knuckles were white and I’d been grinding my teeth. I tried my best to focus on the road as I drove but I was fucking scared. He’d never left a message like that before.
He’d never said goodbye.
Fuck why didn’t I stay home.
I tried to push that out of my mind. I needed to believe that he was cooped up in his bed—he didn’t hear the phone. He’d in a stupor.
He’s okay.
The dispatch lady hadn’t been empathetic but she had been efficient. By time I pulled up to Tyler’s apartment complex, there were already assorted emergency vehicles outside. One ambulance for sure.
Their lights reflected off of the neighbours windows, where faces had already begun to gather to check out the spectacle. I hated them all.
I left the keys in my ignition and I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would take me. Past the police officers, past the paramedics readying a stretcher. I ran up the stairs.
I could see three men waiting outside of Tyler’s apartment. They looked solemn and surprised to see me.
They wouldn’t let me pass. They met me halfway down the hallway, blocking my entry with their bodies.
“Can we help you?” the tallest one spoke, sticking his notepad into his back pocket.
I tried to look beyond them but couldn’t, “I—My…I called you. My friend…” I tried to look again, “Is he okay?”
The officers looked to each other and then back to me. Their faces said more than I could have ever needed to know.
I broke then.
“Is he fucking okay?” I demanded, tears welling up in my panicked eyes.
The officer in the middle, who’s name tag read Phillips, took a step toward me, placing his hand gently on the back of my arm.
“Could you come with me?” he eased. “I have a couple of questions and I think you could help.”
“I need—” I took a deep breath, “I need to know that Tyler’s alright. Can you please just tell me that he’s alright?”
He pursed his lips, looking down at me sympathetically.
“Please,” he insisted lightly, “come with me.”
I had no choice but to comply. What was I going to do, take on three burly men and then have the energy to sprint to Tyler’s apartment without being caught? They obviously weren’t going to let me pass.
I knew why.
But I couldn’t admit it.
The officer escorted me to the stairwell where he encouraged me to sit with him. It was private while still being close enough to Tyler’s door to ease my passion. I thought I might have a heart attack.
More deep breaths.
“My name is Eric,” the officer said to me. “What’s yours?”
“Blair,” I said, wiping at my teary eyes. “Blair Peterson.”
“When’s the last time you spoke with your friend, Blair?”
I thought about it, “I don’t know…um…this afternoon. I’m not sure what time it was.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” he replied gently. “You told the dispatcher that your friend’s name is Tyler Brody, is that right?”
I only nodded. It took all of my might not to throw up.
“How well do you know Tyler?” he asked.
I looked at him, pain rising up and spilling out, I swallowed hard, “He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other forever.”
“You also said that your friend has a history of mental illness?”
I nodded again, “He has some form of depression—uh…I can’t think of what it’s called. I know this…fuck…it’s…”
He placed his hand gently on my knee to steady me, “It’s alright, Blair.”
“Can I smoke?” I blurted. “I really need to smoke.”
He nodded in authorization and I wasted no time lighting one of the cigarettes in my pocket. The smoke hit my lungs hard and I coughed a little.
“Has Tyler tried to commit suicide before?” the officer continued, this time making notes in his little blue book.
I looked at him from the sides of my eyes, “Yeah.”
“How many times?” he asked oddly.
I guess it was an odd question.
“This year?”
The officer gave me a look that I can’t describe. It was a mixture, I guess, of confusion and of sympathy. It bewildered some people to learn of others’ pain. It was hardly news to me.
“This year?” I asked again, this time turning to face him.
He tried to smile, “In total.”
“Oh…I don’t know…” I tried not to cry. “At least thirty—no, that can’t be right…It’s gotta be more than that…”
“That’s fine,” the officer said, probably out of habit. “Tyler called you tonight?”
“Yes,” I answered sheepishly.
I was ashamed that I hadn’t been home. Fuck, I’d taken my sweet ass time getting to his messages. Maybe if I’d gotten to them sooner…
“Do you know approximately what time?”
I shook my head, “No.”
“Blair, could I get you to write down your information? I might need to get in contact with you this week,” he said as kindly as he could, given the circumstances.
I scribbled my number down messily, pulling at the cigarette between my lips as I did.
“Can you do me a favor, Blair?” he asked once he’d snapped his book shut.
I looked at him.
“Could you go talk to the officers downstairs? I’m going to speak candidly with you, they’re getting ready to bring the stretcher upstairs to move your friend downstairs. I don’t think that you need to see that. It would really be doing me a favor if you’d go downstairs.”
My mind went into shock. The officer was talking but I couldn’t make out a word he was saying. My vision was blurry—I thought that I might faint.
And then I did.
When I came to, I was staring up at the California stars. They were twinkling and oddly visible—something that rarely happened in the parts where I lived.
“Ms. Peterson?” a voice repeated, getting clearer and clearer as I blinked at the sky.
“Yeah?” I said finally, rubbing at my temples.
“Are you alright?”
A hand appeared and helped to pull me up. I was in the midst of all of the red and blue lights—my trembling body cast a shadow against the building. I forced two big gulps of air into my chest.
“I’m fine.”
“You fainted,” an unfamiliar man told me. “Officer Phillips carried you down. I’m a paramedic. Are you sure that you’re alright?”
My eyes flickered past the handsome paramedic and caught sight of a stretcher being wheeled from the front complex doors and headed toward the ambulance. The stretcher was covered in black.
“Is that a fucking body bag?” I managed in disbelief.
The paramedic obviously didn’t know what to do. So, he did what any normal human being would do.
He answered my fucking question.
“Yes,” he said oddly. “I’m sorry, your friend—”
My stomach immediately released its contents. It was vicious and it was violent. I struggled to catch my breath, shaking uncontrollably from the sheer weight of the revelation.
That was the moment that I knew it and couldn’t deny it.
That was the moment that I knew that Tyler had died.

Notes

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