“Busted”
Will crouched behind the dumpster at the edge of the park, coughing and holding what was probably a broken rib. Hank was all but passed out next to him, wrapping his ripped off sleeve around the gouge in his leg. Will looked around the dumpster to see a cop car drive by far off on the other side of the park without slowing down. Will leaned against the dumpster and slid back down next to Hank with a sigh of relief. “I think we’re good for now” Will wheezed, “but we need to get you to a hospital.”
Will grabbed Hank by his arm and pulled him to his feet. Hank swayed and caught himself on the dumpster. If the run from the cops wore out Will, then it was a miracle that Hank kept going with a gashed leg and, admittedly, a bit of a weight problem. “I guess that’s the power of adrenaline” Will thought as Hank trudged on. They got about half way across the park when they found a picnic table next to a drinking fountain. Without a word, they silently agreed to rest and get a drink.
Hank sat down at the table and just stared at Will for several moments. “Why are you helping me” Hank asked in a voice both strained and confused. Will stared back with an open mouth as if he was going to respond, but couldn’t think of the right words. It was a valid question, and Will had a valid answer. He just didn’t know how to explain it.
Earlier that night, Will had shown up at Vince’s party skeptical. Vince liked to party a bit too much, as did Will… until he got busted four weeks earlier. Vince offered him a beer. Will declined, “no thanks, man. I got five more months of sobriety after that M.I.P. last month.” Vince just shrugged and drank the beer himself. “Good old Vince,” Will thought, “you can be who you are as long as he gets his drink.”
Vince’s apartment was a two bed, two bath meant for a maximum of four people, not the twenty drunken teenagers scattered throughout. The carpet was wet with spilled beer, the tables were marked from an intense quarters game, and the couch was occupied by a blacked-out teen with his shoes on and his face covered in marker. “Your roommate lets you treat the place like this,” Will asked while moving the marker-faced guy’s legs for a spot to sit.
“No, man, it’s cool. Hank knows I’m having a party. I told him I’d be having a few people over tonight.”
“Wait! Hank? Hank James? That’s your new roommate? Dude, he can’t stand drinking. He’s going to flip when he sees this.”
“You guys haven’t been friends for like, seven years. Why do you care?”
Vince had a point. Will and Hank had a falling out after eighth grade, but this wasn’t acceptable for anyone. Vince had a habit of trashing houses, whether it was his or someone else's. It was a bit of a miracle Vince was even able to get a lease. Hank didn’t deserve to get screwed over by Vince, but he should’ve known better.
Will shook his head and found a ladder to the roof out in the main hall of the floor. He decided it would be safer to be alone and away from the beer. There were a few people up there, but it was quiet and a good place to think. “Who would believe I would ever be at a party at Hank James’ house,” Will thought as he stared out at the street.
The apartment below was quiet for awhile. That is until Will heard a door slam and then some yelling between two guys. The yelling went on for a bit, then there was stomping, and the roof hatch flew open to Hank grumbling to himself. Hank pursed his lips and sighed deeply through his nose when he noticed Will. “Of course you’re here, because that makes this whole thing better,” Hank said sarcastically. Will ignored him and continued watching the street. He kept watching the street until he saw a police car turn down it.
Hank stood up from the picnic table in better condition after the short rest. “Maybe we should call someone to come help us,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cracked phone. The phone lit up but wouldn’t show anything but white light. “Of course it’s broken, because that would make my life easier if it was working, and we can’t have that, can we,” Hank quipped. He looked at Will expectantly, but Will just shook his head. “Sorry, my parents stopped paying for my phone when I got busted” Will apologized.
“Of course you can’t help. Why would I expect any help from you anyway?” Will was struck by Hank’s attack but didn’t comment, as he rarely knew how to handle angry people.
Hank pushed forward through the park. He spotted a pay phone next to the playground and limped toward it as fast as he could. He picked up the phone but slammed it down when he realized the cord was cut. He looked at the privacy glass for the familiar message. “Get a fuckin cell” was scratched there as it had been on dozens of other pay phones in the area. “You know, I actually thought that vandal was funny” said Hank as he kept walking.
“You actually found crime funny? Dude, you’re like the straightest arrow ever.”
“Don’t act like you know me anymore. You gave that up years ago.”
Two weeks after eighth grade graduation, Hank walked into Will’s house at about mid-day. Mrs. Dorian came to check the door when she didn’t hear a knock, but saw it was Hank and just smiled and waved. Hank walked back to Will’s room and sat down to play video games with no more than a “hey, ‘sup.” They played for an hour without saying a word.
Hank suggested taking a break and going outside. They had been kicking a soccer ball around for awhile when Hank choked out, “I’ve been wanting to talk about my trip to the hospital.” Will paused for a moment but didn’t say a word. Hank picked up the ball and moved toward Will. “It’s been two months since I tried to kill myself, and you haven’t said a word about it.” They moved to the swings in Will’s backyard and sat on them without swinging. “Well, what do you want me to say,” Will asked emotionless.
“I want to know how you feel about it. I want to know what you did when you found out.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Your best friend attempts suicide, and you don’t know?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Hank grunted and scowled at Will, but Will just looked at his knees. Their friendship didn’t end right there, but it definitely declined. Hank became more and more frustrated because Will rarely talked. Will became more and more frustrated because Hank only wanted to talk. Will didn’t have a problem with listening; he just didn’t have anything to say himself. The decline of their friendship lasted one whole summer, half a semester, and a camping trip.
When Will finally realized that the police car was coming to his location, he bolted to the hatch, slid down the ladder, and stopped outside the apartment door as he heard Vince talking to someone. “Yes, officer, I’ve been drinking” came Vince’s voice from inside the apartment. “Good for him” thought Will, “he’ll be much better off by telling the truth.” “Do you live here,” asked a deep voice that must have belonged to the cop.
“Well, yes sir I do, but I’m not technically on the lease. I’m under occupant on my roommate, Hank James’, lease.”
“And where did you get the alcohol?”
“My buddy, Will Dorian, bought it for me. He just turned 21 a couple weeks ago, as did my roommate.”
“Well, Vincent, you’re looking at a ‘minor in possession’ charge, which can be taken care of if you go on the right program. Your friends, Will and Hank, however, are looking at some more serious charges such as ‘hosting’, ‘distribution to minors’, and ‘contributing to delinquency of minors’. Are they here now?”
“Yes, they're up on the roof.”
What the hell was Vince doing? He was supposed to be a friend. There was no way Will could talk his way out of this, not while he was already on probation. He had to run. As far as the cops knew he wasn’t there. All they had was the word of a drunk teenager. He ran to the end of the hall towards the stairs, but as he passed the ladder, he couldn’t help but think of Hank getting it in the shorts because of his roommate.
Will scrambled up the ladder and almost hit Hank as he threw open the hatch. Hank glared at Will. “What was that all about? You ran down withou-” “We have to get out of here,” Will interrupted.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
“The cops are here.”
“Good! Maybe they’ll get the drunk people out of my house.”
“You don’t understand, man. They’re going to arrest you.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not what Vince told them.”
Hank’s face took on a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear. He stepped around Will and started descending the ladder. “What are you going to do” Will asked, hoping Hank had a good exit strategy. “I’m going to go tell them the truth” Hank stated plainly. Without a word, Will reached through the hatch and yanked Hank back up, which would’ve been quite a feat were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his blood stream. “Are you crazy? Vince and probably the 20 other drunk kids are already blaming you. You really think they’re going to consider your one statement? We have to run.”
Hank thought about it a moment and said “Fine, your right. We’ll run, but as soon as we make it out of the building, we split up. I’m not running with you.” Will agreed and started down the ladder again when they heard a voice from the hall. “Bush, you go to the roof and see if you can find the two legal friends the kid told us about.” They were cornered. Will zipped back up and whispered “shit! What do we do?” Hank looked around the roof and saw nothing on it but two passed out couples and a couple of air vents. Off of the roof was another story. “When was the last time you climbed a tree” Hank asked.
Will kept following Hank even though it was obvious he was trying to get away from him. They eventually got to a busy street, and Will spotted a gas station. “Look, a gas station. I bet we can use a phone there,” Will said relieved. “Fine, go. It was nice seeing you or whatever, have a nice life” Hank said as he kept walking down the street. Will ran in front of him. “Whoa, man! I can’t let you go on your own. You have to have that leg looked at.” Hank breathed heavily through his nose and scrutinized Will very intently.
“Why do you want to help me so bad? My leg is not that bad. It might need some stitches but it can probably be taken care with simple first aid. I know it, and I know you know it, so why are you so eager to stick with me?”
“We don’t what may have happened to it. It could be-”
“Bullshit! It’s a flesh wound. I didn’t tear any muscle and the bleeding is minimal. There’s no way a sports’ medicine major doesn’t know that.”
Will looked Hank in the eye, but quickly averted his gaze. “I want to help because I feel guilty.” Hank softened his glare and sighed, “it’s not your fault. It was my idea to go down the tree. It could’ve happ-” “I feel guilty because I’m the reason you tried to kill yourself.” And for the first time ever, Hank saw Will cry.
The thrill Hank felt over being allowed to join his brother and his friends on their camping trip was quickly deflating. He had waited so many years until he was in high school when he would be invited on the annual trip. What he thought would be an adventurous weekend of paintballing, swimming, and general fun turned out to be an uncomfortable weekend of sleeping all day until it was time to wake up and drink all night. Hank wasn’t necessarily an innocent kid, but when it came to drugs and alcohol, he was out.
The first night of the trip, he tried his best to be social, but seeing his friends drink made him uncomfortable. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t like it because under-age drinking is illegal, but deep down he knew it was because he felt betrayed. He didn’t care what his brother and his friends did, but seeing Will drink hurt him. In Hank’s mind Will should have known it would make him feel bad and leave it alone. Hank couldn’t handle it any more so he made up an excuse and went to bed early. The next night would be so much worse.
Hank spent the entire next day bored out of his mind. Everyone else slept all day except for a few breaks to eat and go to the bathroom. Once the sun had been out of sight for a while, the drinking started back up again. This time Hank ignored the group and sat quietly by himself staring at the campfire they had made.
He was poking the fire absent-mindedly when Will approached. “Why don’t you stop being such a pussy and just drink,” Will slurred loudly. Hank stared at him silently and was going to respond, but he decided it was better not to argue with a drunk person. “This is why I was your only friend,” Will continued, “because you refuse to socialize just because someone’s doing something that makes you uncomfortable.” Will tried to say more, but the rest of the group came over and guided him away quietly.
Hank walked away from the fire and got in his sleeping bag and cried. He wasn’t crying because Will was drunk, or because he was verbally abused, or because no one else really seemed to care. He was crying because not only did Will say “I ‘was’ your only friend,” but because it was true as well. After that weekend, their friendship stopped declining. Because it couldn’t decline any more.
Hank was speechless. He watched the tears slowly roll down Will’s face. “What are you talking about,” Hank asked confused. Will wiped his face and tried to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. “That suicide attempt had nothing to do with you,” Hank assured him. “I was diagnosed with loads of problems: ADD, SAD, depression, OCD. None of those things were your fault. You were my best friend. You didn’t do anything to hurt me until after the whole fiasco.” Will took a strengthening breath. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter now-”
“I was trying to help you.”
“Help me? How were you trying to help me?”
“Listen! That week you were in the hospital under suicide watch was one of the worst weeks of my life. My best friend tried to kill himself. How do you think I felt? I was fourteen years old, and my mom woke me up one morning to tell me my best friend had been found passed out on the floor with painkillers in his hand. The kid who promised everyone he would go his whole life without drugs and alcohol had overdosed on painkillers. And you want to know what the first thing I said to myself was? Huh? ‘Why would my best friend want to hurt me like that?’”
Will’s face was drenched in tears now, and his voice was strained with seven years of pent up feelings. Hank felt numb. He had never heard the story of how Will found out, and now he wish he hadn’t. “I wasn’t thinking of you when I tried to kill myself,” Hank said calmly. “No, obviously you weren’t,” Will cut back.
“The day my mom told me about your attempt, I went to the library to look up all these different disorders that you had mentioned but I never asked about. And every single book I looked at said that the number one way to help someone with those problems was to be supportive and to listen. At that moment, I realized not once had I ever talked about feelings with you. You would try to initiate something, but I just didn’t know how to do it. So I decided the best thing to do was to let you find better friends. I was only making things worse.”
Hank leaned against a nearby fire hydrant. “So, you let our friendship fade away because you were trying to save me?”
Will shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I figured it was the best thing for you.”
“And the camping trip when you insulted me and told me why I’m a loser,” Hank asked tentatively.
“A night of black-out drunkenness, that I’m glad I don’t remember.”
After a long time of silence, Hank eventually agreed to let Will take him to a late night urgent care center. Hank’s leg was fixed up pretty quickly, but he couldn’t exactly go back to his apartment. Will took him to his place where they both slept off the long grueling night.
After the cops couldn’t find any one over twenty-one on the roof, they went back to the apartment to question Vince again. There, they found a collage of pictures of Vince showing off his handiwork of cutting payphone lines and scratching “get a fuckin phone” in the sides. That vandalism charge on top of several other charges involving alcohol, minors, and large amount of pot found on his person got Vince a bit of jail time.
With his roommate in jail, Hank was without an affordable place to live. Luckily, he had an old friend that was able to help him out.
Will crouched behind the dumpster at the edge of the park, coughing and holding what was probably a broken rib. Hank was all but passed out next to him, wrapping his ripped off sleeve around the gouge in his leg. Will looked around the dumpster to see a cop car drive by far off on the other side of the park without slowing down. Will leaned against the dumpster and slid back down next to Hank with a sigh of relief. “I think we’re good for now” Will wheezed, “but we need to get you to a hospital.”
Will grabbed Hank by his arm and pulled him to his feet. Hank swayed and caught himself on the dumpster. If the run from the cops wore out Will, then it was a miracle that Hank kept going with a gashed leg and, admittedly, a bit of a weight problem. “I guess that’s the power of adrenaline” Will thought as Hank trudged on. They got about half way across the park when they found a picnic table next to a drinking fountain. Without a word, they silently agreed to rest and get a drink.
Hank sat down at the table and just stared at Will for several moments. “Why are you helping me” Hank asked in a voice both strained and confused. Will stared back with an open mouth as if he was going to respond, but couldn’t think of the right words. It was a valid question, and Will had a valid answer. He just didn’t know how to explain it.
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Earlier that night, Will had shown up at Vince’s party skeptical. Vince liked to party a bit too much, as did Will… until he got busted four weeks earlier. Vince offered him a beer. Will declined, “no thanks, man. I got five more months of sobriety after that M.I.P. last month.” Vince just shrugged and drank the beer himself. “Good old Vince,” Will thought, “you can be who you are as long as he gets his drink.”
Vince’s apartment was a two bed, two bath meant for a maximum of four people, not the twenty drunken teenagers scattered throughout. The carpet was wet with spilled beer, the tables were marked from an intense quarters game, and the couch was occupied by a blacked-out teen with his shoes on and his face covered in marker. “Your roommate lets you treat the place like this,” Will asked while moving the marker-faced guy’s legs for a spot to sit.
“No, man, it’s cool. Hank knows I’m having a party. I told him I’d be having a few people over tonight.”
“Wait! Hank? Hank James? That’s your new roommate? Dude, he can’t stand drinking. He’s going to flip when he sees this.”
“You guys haven’t been friends for like, seven years. Why do you care?”
Vince had a point. Will and Hank had a falling out after eighth grade, but this wasn’t acceptable for anyone. Vince had a habit of trashing houses, whether it was his or someone else's. It was a bit of a miracle Vince was even able to get a lease. Hank didn’t deserve to get screwed over by Vince, but he should’ve known better.
Will shook his head and found a ladder to the roof out in the main hall of the floor. He decided it would be safer to be alone and away from the beer. There were a few people up there, but it was quiet and a good place to think. “Who would believe I would ever be at a party at Hank James’ house,” Will thought as he stared out at the street.
The apartment below was quiet for awhile. That is until Will heard a door slam and then some yelling between two guys. The yelling went on for a bit, then there was stomping, and the roof hatch flew open to Hank grumbling to himself. Hank pursed his lips and sighed deeply through his nose when he noticed Will. “Of course you’re here, because that makes this whole thing better,” Hank said sarcastically. Will ignored him and continued watching the street. He kept watching the street until he saw a police car turn down it.
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Hank stood up from the picnic table in better condition after the short rest. “Maybe we should call someone to come help us,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cracked phone. The phone lit up but wouldn’t show anything but white light. “Of course it’s broken, because that would make my life easier if it was working, and we can’t have that, can we,” Hank quipped. He looked at Will expectantly, but Will just shook his head. “Sorry, my parents stopped paying for my phone when I got busted” Will apologized.
“Of course you can’t help. Why would I expect any help from you anyway?” Will was struck by Hank’s attack but didn’t comment, as he rarely knew how to handle angry people.
Hank pushed forward through the park. He spotted a pay phone next to the playground and limped toward it as fast as he could. He picked up the phone but slammed it down when he realized the cord was cut. He looked at the privacy glass for the familiar message. “Get a fuckin cell” was scratched there as it had been on dozens of other pay phones in the area. “You know, I actually thought that vandal was funny” said Hank as he kept walking.
“You actually found crime funny? Dude, you’re like the straightest arrow ever.”
“Don’t act like you know me anymore. You gave that up years ago.”
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Two weeks after eighth grade graduation, Hank walked into Will’s house at about mid-day. Mrs. Dorian came to check the door when she didn’t hear a knock, but saw it was Hank and just smiled and waved. Hank walked back to Will’s room and sat down to play video games with no more than a “hey, ‘sup.” They played for an hour without saying a word.
Hank suggested taking a break and going outside. They had been kicking a soccer ball around for awhile when Hank choked out, “I’ve been wanting to talk about my trip to the hospital.” Will paused for a moment but didn’t say a word. Hank picked up the ball and moved toward Will. “It’s been two months since I tried to kill myself, and you haven’t said a word about it.” They moved to the swings in Will’s backyard and sat on them without swinging. “Well, what do you want me to say,” Will asked emotionless.
“I want to know how you feel about it. I want to know what you did when you found out.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Your best friend attempts suicide, and you don’t know?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Hank grunted and scowled at Will, but Will just looked at his knees. Their friendship didn’t end right there, but it definitely declined. Hank became more and more frustrated because Will rarely talked. Will became more and more frustrated because Hank only wanted to talk. Will didn’t have a problem with listening; he just didn’t have anything to say himself. The decline of their friendship lasted one whole summer, half a semester, and a camping trip.
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When Will finally realized that the police car was coming to his location, he bolted to the hatch, slid down the ladder, and stopped outside the apartment door as he heard Vince talking to someone. “Yes, officer, I’ve been drinking” came Vince’s voice from inside the apartment. “Good for him” thought Will, “he’ll be much better off by telling the truth.” “Do you live here,” asked a deep voice that must have belonged to the cop.
“Well, yes sir I do, but I’m not technically on the lease. I’m under occupant on my roommate, Hank James’, lease.”
“And where did you get the alcohol?”
“My buddy, Will Dorian, bought it for me. He just turned 21 a couple weeks ago, as did my roommate.”
“Well, Vincent, you’re looking at a ‘minor in possession’ charge, which can be taken care of if you go on the right program. Your friends, Will and Hank, however, are looking at some more serious charges such as ‘hosting’, ‘distribution to minors’, and ‘contributing to delinquency of minors’. Are they here now?”
“Yes, they're up on the roof.”
What the hell was Vince doing? He was supposed to be a friend. There was no way Will could talk his way out of this, not while he was already on probation. He had to run. As far as the cops knew he wasn’t there. All they had was the word of a drunk teenager. He ran to the end of the hall towards the stairs, but as he passed the ladder, he couldn’t help but think of Hank getting it in the shorts because of his roommate.
Will scrambled up the ladder and almost hit Hank as he threw open the hatch. Hank glared at Will. “What was that all about? You ran down withou-” “We have to get out of here,” Will interrupted.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
“The cops are here.”
“Good! Maybe they’ll get the drunk people out of my house.”
“You don’t understand, man. They’re going to arrest you.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not what Vince told them.”
Hank’s face took on a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear. He stepped around Will and started descending the ladder. “What are you going to do” Will asked, hoping Hank had a good exit strategy. “I’m going to go tell them the truth” Hank stated plainly. Without a word, Will reached through the hatch and yanked Hank back up, which would’ve been quite a feat were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his blood stream. “Are you crazy? Vince and probably the 20 other drunk kids are already blaming you. You really think they’re going to consider your one statement? We have to run.”
Hank thought about it a moment and said “Fine, your right. We’ll run, but as soon as we make it out of the building, we split up. I’m not running with you.” Will agreed and started down the ladder again when they heard a voice from the hall. “Bush, you go to the roof and see if you can find the two legal friends the kid told us about.” They were cornered. Will zipped back up and whispered “shit! What do we do?” Hank looked around the roof and saw nothing on it but two passed out couples and a couple of air vents. Off of the roof was another story. “When was the last time you climbed a tree” Hank asked.
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Will kept following Hank even though it was obvious he was trying to get away from him. They eventually got to a busy street, and Will spotted a gas station. “Look, a gas station. I bet we can use a phone there,” Will said relieved. “Fine, go. It was nice seeing you or whatever, have a nice life” Hank said as he kept walking down the street. Will ran in front of him. “Whoa, man! I can’t let you go on your own. You have to have that leg looked at.” Hank breathed heavily through his nose and scrutinized Will very intently.
“Why do you want to help me so bad? My leg is not that bad. It might need some stitches but it can probably be taken care with simple first aid. I know it, and I know you know it, so why are you so eager to stick with me?”
“We don’t what may have happened to it. It could be-”
“Bullshit! It’s a flesh wound. I didn’t tear any muscle and the bleeding is minimal. There’s no way a sports’ medicine major doesn’t know that.”
Will looked Hank in the eye, but quickly averted his gaze. “I want to help because I feel guilty.” Hank softened his glare and sighed, “it’s not your fault. It was my idea to go down the tree. It could’ve happ-” “I feel guilty because I’m the reason you tried to kill yourself.” And for the first time ever, Hank saw Will cry.
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The thrill Hank felt over being allowed to join his brother and his friends on their camping trip was quickly deflating. He had waited so many years until he was in high school when he would be invited on the annual trip. What he thought would be an adventurous weekend of paintballing, swimming, and general fun turned out to be an uncomfortable weekend of sleeping all day until it was time to wake up and drink all night. Hank wasn’t necessarily an innocent kid, but when it came to drugs and alcohol, he was out.
The first night of the trip, he tried his best to be social, but seeing his friends drink made him uncomfortable. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t like it because under-age drinking is illegal, but deep down he knew it was because he felt betrayed. He didn’t care what his brother and his friends did, but seeing Will drink hurt him. In Hank’s mind Will should have known it would make him feel bad and leave it alone. Hank couldn’t handle it any more so he made up an excuse and went to bed early. The next night would be so much worse.
Hank spent the entire next day bored out of his mind. Everyone else slept all day except for a few breaks to eat and go to the bathroom. Once the sun had been out of sight for a while, the drinking started back up again. This time Hank ignored the group and sat quietly by himself staring at the campfire they had made.
He was poking the fire absent-mindedly when Will approached. “Why don’t you stop being such a pussy and just drink,” Will slurred loudly. Hank stared at him silently and was going to respond, but he decided it was better not to argue with a drunk person. “This is why I was your only friend,” Will continued, “because you refuse to socialize just because someone’s doing something that makes you uncomfortable.” Will tried to say more, but the rest of the group came over and guided him away quietly.
Hank walked away from the fire and got in his sleeping bag and cried. He wasn’t crying because Will was drunk, or because he was verbally abused, or because no one else really seemed to care. He was crying because not only did Will say “I ‘was’ your only friend,” but because it was true as well. After that weekend, their friendship stopped declining. Because it couldn’t decline any more.
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Hank was speechless. He watched the tears slowly roll down Will’s face. “What are you talking about,” Hank asked confused. Will wiped his face and tried to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. “That suicide attempt had nothing to do with you,” Hank assured him. “I was diagnosed with loads of problems: ADD, SAD, depression, OCD. None of those things were your fault. You were my best friend. You didn’t do anything to hurt me until after the whole fiasco.” Will took a strengthening breath. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter now-”
“I was trying to help you.”
“Help me? How were you trying to help me?”
“Listen! That week you were in the hospital under suicide watch was one of the worst weeks of my life. My best friend tried to kill himself. How do you think I felt? I was fourteen years old, and my mom woke me up one morning to tell me my best friend had been found passed out on the floor with painkillers in his hand. The kid who promised everyone he would go his whole life without drugs and alcohol had overdosed on painkillers. And you want to know what the first thing I said to myself was? Huh? ‘Why would my best friend want to hurt me like that?’”
Will’s face was drenched in tears now, and his voice was strained with seven years of pent up feelings. Hank felt numb. He had never heard the story of how Will found out, and now he wish he hadn’t. “I wasn’t thinking of you when I tried to kill myself,” Hank said calmly. “No, obviously you weren’t,” Will cut back.
“The day my mom told me about your attempt, I went to the library to look up all these different disorders that you had mentioned but I never asked about. And every single book I looked at said that the number one way to help someone with those problems was to be supportive and to listen. At that moment, I realized not once had I ever talked about feelings with you. You would try to initiate something, but I just didn’t know how to do it. So I decided the best thing to do was to let you find better friends. I was only making things worse.”
Hank leaned against a nearby fire hydrant. “So, you let our friendship fade away because you were trying to save me?”
Will shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I figured it was the best thing for you.”
“And the camping trip when you insulted me and told me why I’m a loser,” Hank asked tentatively.
“A night of black-out drunkenness, that I’m glad I don’t remember.”
After a long time of silence, Hank eventually agreed to let Will take him to a late night urgent care center. Hank’s leg was fixed up pretty quickly, but he couldn’t exactly go back to his apartment. Will took him to his place where they both slept off the long grueling night.
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After the cops couldn’t find any one over twenty-one on the roof, they went back to the apartment to question Vince again. There, they found a collage of pictures of Vince showing off his handiwork of cutting payphone lines and scratching “get a fuckin phone” in the sides. That vandalism charge on top of several other charges involving alcohol, minors, and large amount of pot found on his person got Vince a bit of jail time.
With his roommate in jail, Hank was without an affordable place to live. Luckily, he had an old friend that was able to help him out.
