Intervention

So…I've been working late, lately, getting out around 6:30 or 7:00 in the evenings. Tonight I had to run by Wal-Mart to grab a prescription refill, so I didn't get home until after 7:30, almost 8:00. Chris and Kate are on vacation in Edisto this week, so I've been doing stuff I generally don't: keeping the cats fed, watered and let out; making sure the air-conditioner's not running all the time; checking phone messages—all the stuff that a family of three can take care of without any input from their lodger. I get in and see that there are two messages on the machine, so I grab a pad and a pen and get ready to do a quick transcription. Honestly, I don't expect it to be anything important because anyone of importance knows that Chris and Kate are on vacation, while anyone needing to get in touch with me knows my cell number.

The messages are from an old friend of Chris's, whom I've only just met (he's played D&D with us, once). From here on out, I'll just refer to him as "Dude." The first message begs Chris to come pick Dude up because Dude's father has "gone insane." Dude assures Chris that this is "no joke." The second message is time-stamped just a few minutes later. In this message, Dude calls not only on Chris, but on me as well, saying that he really needs somebody, anybody's help. I do what any responsible person in my position would do when faced by a call for help from the friend of a friend who is, to me, also a complete stranger: I call Chris and Kate to get a read on this guy. When I'm unable to get in touch with them (phones around Edisto are, apparently, not very good) I call Dude back. He tells me that he's had to leave his parents' house and is wandering down a nearby road. I agree to go get him and head in that direction.

When I get to him, it turns out that Dude is about as drunk as any person I've ever seen. His parents have kicked him out of the house because he is so drunk and is, seemingly, unwilling to listen to reason. He asks me to take him back to his parents' house so he can pick up some clothes. At this point I'm pretty damn wary. As I said, I don't know Dude very well. As would follow, I don't know his parents at all. My impression when I hopped in the car had been that something terribly bad had happened. This impression had, by the time I'd picked him up, changed considerably: nothing especially bad has happened, I'm just caught up in teen-angst drama. Unfortunately, the "teen" in question is in his early 30s.

Reluctantly, I agree to take him back to his parents house; I'm honestly hoping that he'll end up staying there. On the way back, he asks me if he can crash at Chris and Kate's house for a bit. I tell him, honestly, that it isn't my house and I'll have to check with them. He says he understands and that, no matter what, he's going to need to stop and get some cigarettes, liquor and beer. I tell him that, all things considered, he may want to lay off for a bit. He snorts as if I'd just suggested that he nail his scrotum to a board. We pull up in front of his house, where his parents are standing in the front yard. He hops out of the car and goes to get his stuff.

God help me, I should've spun the car around and taken off. I didn't, however. So, when his father comes up to the car, I get this wonderful bit of dialog:

DUDE'S DAD: You know what you're getting yourself into?

ME: Honestly, sir, I don't. He's a friend of a friend who called to say he needs help.

DUDE'S DAD: Well, if you take him, don't bring his ass back here.

ME: ….

DUDE'S DAD: You're going to have to call 9-1-1 for that boy, the way he is….

At which point Dude's Dad gives me a pointed look and wanders away. Shortly thereafter, Dude reappears, gets in the car, and we're off.

On the way home, I'm regaled as a hero for a bit, until we get close to a convenience store; then it is key that I stop for beer. "Dude," I counter "you're shit-faced now, the last thing you need is beer. If you feel like you really want some later, there's a convenience store about a mile from the house. You'll have to walk." Dude says he can see what I'm saying and he respects my decision. Hopefully, that's it.

Once we get back to the house, I manage to get in touch with Chris and explain the situation to him. I tell him that I'm really not comfortable with Dude staying here, because I don't know him and he's self-destructively wasted. However, he's not my friend, so I'm willing to do whatever Chris feels best. Chris tells me that Dude needs to grow up and get his shit together, because he's not in high school anymore. I agree and we decide that Dude can stay one night but that when I go to work, he's on his own. Phone conversation ends, and I go back in the house to deal with a drunken, thirty-something adolescent.

We converse for a bit. I really can't get a decent read on Dude: he's drunk, he's depressed, he's talking to his uncle on the phone, he doesn't know me very well to tell me what's going on. Basically, it's a total mess. We go outside so Dude can smoke. Dude produces a flask of rum he's brought with him from home. I sigh deeply and settle in. We talk and it's more of the same drunken gibberish. Dude runs out of cigarettes. "Let's go to the store and get more smokes," Dude says. I agree, as one of my tires has been running chronically low on air and I'm getting the feeling I won't have time to stop and fill it up in the morning.

All the way to the store, the conversation takes a darker turn, with Dude telling me that there's no point to living and he'd really like to die. I'm not really able to get into a conversation about this, because the store's only a mile away and the drive there is pretty short. As we pull up, Dude tells me he's going to pick up some beer. I tell Dude that if he buys beer, he's walking home. Dude buys beer. I leave him there.

When I get home, I put in another call and talk to Kate. After apologizing, again, for interrupting their vacation, I explain my major concern: I've just abandoned a thoroughly trashed Dude one mile from the house. He's toting a case of beer, is apparently suicidal and is definitely wandering through a quiet residential neighborhood after dark. Is there anything to this suicide thing? Because if there is, I'm going to call the cops and have him picked up. After all, he should be pretty easy to spot. Kate tells me she doesn't know but she will pose the question to Chris when he gets back from a much-needed, stress-relieving walk. I tell her that if Chris isn't worried about Dude going through with this suicide stuff, not to bother calling me. She agrees and I close up my phone.

An hour-and-a-half of worry later, after two phone calls for directions and untold irritated neighbors, Dude staggers up the walk. We hang outside for a bit (I'd rather not have the beer in the house) while Dude drinks and smokes and talks. I bite my tongue and make a conscious decision not to say anything about how I'd told him he'd be walking home if he bought beer. I succeed. Dude tells me about his life in the non-sequential and tangential way that only drunk, depressed people can. I listen. I try to give honest, non-cliche advice when it seems appropriate. Eventually, Dude decides he wants to go in and watch the DVD he brought from home. We pop it in. He passes out.

That brings us up to present time, more or less. Dude's crashed. I think his phone is going off regularly, because I keep hearing a low buzz I associate with a phone set to "vibrate." The varmints are still exploding on the TV (rockchucks, at this point; the guy with the gun claims they "explode like watermelons") but I'm not watching them because, frankly, it's fucking appalling. I've had the weirdest god-damned night of my life in at least 10 years. Dude looks like he probably won't puke, so I'm about to crash out.

Oh…I have just one more thing to say: I've been sensitive, yet masculine, and patient and understanding all night, but I only quit drinking two weeks ago and I really, honestly and, most importantly, selfishly believe that's too fucking soon to be "facilitating" a god-damned "intervention," or however the psychobabble goes!

That is all. John out.