I wasn’t prepared for the phone call that night.  I guess no one can ever be prepared for a call like that.  All I could do was listen as Jeff told me between sobs that he was planning on taking his own life.  There didn’t seem to be anything I could say to convince him that he still had a lot to offer the world.  I felt helpless to do anything and it was killing me.

Jeff had always been one of those guys every other guy aspired to be like and I was no exception.  He had the looks and the talent and the poise of a winner.  How was I supposed to know that only he considered himself a loser?

He was my best friend and had been since we’d met all those years ago in the eight-grade art class that threw us together for the first time.  I’d come to find that we had pretty much the same interests, same goals, same likes and dislikes and almost an identical sense of humor.  We could have been entries in one of those separated-at-birth books.

Throughout our teen years we were inseparable.  Jeff had become closer to me than either of my own brothers and when it came my time to choose a best man for my wedding, I didn’t have to think twice.  Jeff was there by my side when I first said, “I do.”

Jeff and I had spent two decades enjoying each other’s company.  Over the years, however, our paths had taken two different turns.  While I had married and settled down early in life, Jeff remained single, never satisfied with any woman he’d become involved with.  Jeff’s self-conscious attitude kept him from accepting himself as an individual or as half of a team with any woman.  It had bothered him and he’d told me as much over many a drink.

When it came to a work history, Jeff fared no better.  He’d hopped from job to job, never satisfied with the manual labor positions he’d held since dropping out of high school.

He often compared his dreary existence of solitude with the life I had—a life that he wanted desperately.  I guess in a way he’d come to resent me and my lifestyle but that wasn’t my doing.  He’d chosen his own paths in life and it wasn’t within my power to guide him though his life.

I’d arranged with my employer to hire Jeff for a clerical position that I was sure he could handle.  At least it wasn’t another manual labor position.  Jeff lasted exactly four hours on that job.  He’d lasted until lunch before he told his supervisor that the job wasn’t for him.

None of that mattered now.  He was on the other end of the phone calling out for help, indirectly or not.  As strange as Jeff had become lately, he was still my best friend and I didn’t want to lose him now.

“Calm down,” I told him, trying to sound calm myself.  “Things can’t be as bad as you make them sound.”

“You don’t know,” he said between sobs.

“Jeff,” I said.  

He didn’t answer.  

“Jeff,” I nearly yelled into the phone.  “Talk to me, buddy.  I’m here for ya.  You know you can tell me anything.”

He still didn’t say anything but I knew that he was listening because I could still hear him trying to control his erratic breathing.

“I just wanted to say good-bye,” he said, still sobbing.

“No, don’t do it,” I yelled.

“I’ll be dead before you get here so don’t bother,” he said.

Jeff knew I couldn’t get there soon enough.  My right leg was still in a cast from the last time Jeff and I had been together.  We were acting foolish one night after a few drinks at our favorite bar and Jeff had pushed me off the three-step stoop that served as the bar’s entrance.  It was stupid, he admitted, but I ended up with a broken femur nonetheless.

“Now just wait, Jeff.”  I said.  “Think this through before you do anything we’ll all regret.

He hesitated for a moment.  “I have thought it over.  There’s no reason to drag this out any longer.  Life just isn’t worth living if I have to go on living it like this.”

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound upbeat, “remember that night we both sneaked out of the house and met on the streets of our old neighborhood.  What were we?  Thirteen?  Fourteen?  Our folks never even knew we’d slipped out our windows.  Hell, we were back in our beds before anyone knew we were gone.  Remember?  We walked the streets just talking and sharing experiences.”

There was another rapid intake of air from his end, but no response.

“Seems to me you were nuts about some girl name Barb, weren’t you?” I said.  “And I was telling you about my experiences with Chris, if you can call them experiences.  Hell, it’d be another couple of years before I really got experienced, if you catch my drift.”

That must have struck a familiar cord with Jeff.  He dragged the words out.  “I remember.”

“And how about Peggy?  Remember Peggy?  She and I went steady for a couple of months and after we broke up I saw you cruising Main Street one night and there she was sitting next to you.  Animal magnetism.  I think that was how you described it to me the next day when I asked you about it.  I remember that smirk you had on your face because you had one up on me after that.”

“Yeah, Peggy,” Jeff said.  “Wonder what she’s doin’ right now.”

“Last I heard she had four kids and couldn’t fit into her high school cheerleading outfit if her life depended on it.”  I immediately bit my lip and wished I could take back words like that.  I switched the subject.  “Hey, whatever happened to Barb?”

No answer.

“Jeff?” I said.  “You think she’s still around somewhere?”

Jeff sighed.  “I don’t know. What does it matter?  I gotta go now.”

“No, wait,” I said quickly.  “I need to talk to you.  I…”

The line went dead.  I quickly redialed Jeff’s number and held my breath.  After several rings he picked it up.

“What?”

“Jeff,” I said.  “Please don’t hang up.  Talk to me.”

“It’s no use, Squeezer,” he said.  He always called me Squeezer.  It was a nickname someone tagged on me in grade school.  I never got the connection but the name stuck and Jeff thought it was funny.

“Squeezer,” I said.  “Geez, I haven’t thought about that name since grade school.  Who started that?”

“Look,” Jeff said, exhausted, “I know what you’re trying to do but it’s no good.  It has to be this way.  I just can’t go on like this.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I said.  “It doesn’t have to be like this at all.  We can…”

“We?  This isn’t your problem.  You’ve got it made with that big house and two cars and a fat bankroll.  What have I got to live for?”

“They’re just material things,” I said.  “They don’t mean squat without friends.  And I consider you my best friend, you know that.  We’ve been friends since Gertie Hake’s class.  I recall one day when she made the two of us stay after class for making a disturbance or whatever.  We were supposed to stay until four o’clock but she had to leave the room for a while.  Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, sounding bored.  “I stood up on the chair and turned the clock ahead.  You bring this same story up every time you see me.  We can’t always be living in the past.  We’re grown ups now.”

“I know,” I said, on the verge of crying myself.  “I just look back on those years as a fun part of my life because you were there.  You kept me from getting beat up more than once.  I owe you.”

“Forget it,” Jeff said.

“Can you use some company?” I said, as much for myself as for Jeff.

“Huh?”

“Can I come over?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff said.  “It’s not a good time.  Maybe…”

“Come on,” I insisted.  “I want you to teach me that guitar lick you always play.”

“What?”

“You know the one,” I said.  “That same one that Tommy’s mom heard you playing on her porch when we were fifteen.  What was the name of that?”

Something in Jeff’s voice sounded better, more hopeful.  “Wildwood Flower,” he said.  “She heard me playing that and came out on the porch and said, ‘teach my Tommy that’, remember?”

“Tommy,” I laughed.  “He was ‘My Tommy’ from that day on.  He hated it.”

We were both silent for a few seconds before I said, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Will you teach me that?”

More silence and then I thought I heard muffled crying and then sniffing.  He came back on and said, “Oh, all right.  Get your ass over here and I’ll teach you the lick.  Can you make it on your own?”

Jeff knew I had trouble getting around in my wheelchair with one leg up in the air in a cast.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m just down the street.  I can be there in five minutes.”

“Come on,” Jeff said.

“Five minutes,” I repeated.  “You won’t do anything until I get there, will you?”

For the first time since he’d called, I detected a faint laugh.  “Just get your ass over here, Squeezer.  I’ve got my guitar here.  You don’t have to bring yours.”

“I’ll be right over.  Hang on.”

“Squeeze?” Jeff said.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated.  “Thanks.”

“Just sit tight,” I said.  “I’m on my way.”

“I’m gonna be all right,” he said.  “You’ve made me think about it and I don’t want to die just yet.  I’m gonna get through this and find my purpose.”

I quickly wheeled over to my front door and pulled it open, maneuvering the wheelchair through the door and down the one step to the sidewalk.  Jeff’s apartment was just two blocks away and I wheeled myself as fast as my arms would go.  I made it in just three minutes.  I stopped directly across from Jeff’s apartment.

Jeff grabbed the drapes at his front window and pulled them back.  He looked out at me sitting there across the street.  He let them drop again and soon appeared at the front door to his apartment.  He waved at me and managed a smile.

I waved back and turned my chair toward him and started to wheel toward the curb.

Jeff yelled across to me, “Wait right there. I’ll come over there and push you across.”

I was always the impatient, independent type and couldn’t wait.  I started across the street, my gaze fixed on Jeff’s face.

He ran toward me yelling, “Squeezer.  Get back.”  He waved both hands at me, motioning me back to the curb.  I hadn’t seen the truck but Jeff had.  Just as Jeff pushed my wheelchair back out of the way, the truck hit him in his left hip and sent him sailing back up on the lawn in front of his apartment.  The truck squealed to a stop as I screamed.  My chair hit the curb and sent me over backwards, my cast sticking straight up in the air.

I managed to climb back into the chair and wheel across the street.  I fell out of my chair next to Jeff’s mangled body.  He opened his eyes and looked at me with a forced, painful smile.

“Squeezer,” he said, and closed his eyes.

I held him close and cried like a baby.  This wasn’t fair.  I’d saved him from wasting his life and the last thing he did in this world was to save me.

He’d found his purpose.

Author Bio
 
Bill Bernico is the author of more than 150 short stories and one novel.  For four years he wrote a weekly humor column for his hometown newspaper, The Sheboygan Press.  Bill's advice columns for computer enthusiasts have appeared in various magazines around the world.  These days Bill writes an online advice column for musicians.  Bill is a songwriter and has won several songwriting contests.  He is also a working musician and has been playing live shows since 1966.