“Aeron, you out here?”
I round the last bend, past the overgrown hedges, and a bench comes into view under a hanging tree lantern.
I see a body slumped over, one arm hanging off the edge, fingers almost touching the ground. I squint and realize the shape looks like Aeron.
I rush forward.
“Aeron.” I grab his shoulders and shake him. His body is limp like a rag doll. “Aeron. Hey. Wake up.”
Lantern light falls over his face. His skin has a bluish tint that doesn’t belong to a living person. I press my fingers to his neck and find a pulse hammering erratically, too fast for someone who is passed out. His breathing is so slow I have to put my cheek near his mouth to confirm he’s breathing at all.
I glance at the ground, trying to make sense of the scene, and find two vodka bottles in the dirt, one empty and one nearly empty. There are also small plastic bags scattered around. I pick one up and hold it under the lantern. There’s white residue along the seam. I don’t know what it is. It could be cocaine or speed or crushed pills. It could be anything.
I shake him harder and his head rolls to the side. His body is here, but he isn’t. The disconnect is so complete it makes my hands go numb.
I pull out my phone. My fingers are shaking so bad I miss the screen twice before I get 911 dialed.
The female operator’s voice is calm. I am not calm. I give the address. I say he’s barely breathing and not waking up and his pulse is racing faster than it should. I say I don’t know what hetook. The operator tells me to stay on the line, and I do, but I’m already pulling Aeron off the bench, lowering him to the ground, tilting his head back, checking his airway.
I put my phone on speaker and lay it down so I can start CPR because his breathing keeps getting shallower. I do compressions. Count. Breathe for him. Count. His body lies there and takes what I give it, but offers nothing back. My arms are trembling, and my vision is narrowing, and I can hear myself talking to him. Come on. Stay here. Don’t do this. Aeron wake up. Please wake up.
The operator says the paramedics are almost to the address, and I tell her Aeron’s in the backyard, all the way in the back, in the garden. Then I text Carter:garden emergency
I go back to compressions. The hard ground digs into my knees. The lantern sways in a breeze.
Don’t. Aeron. Don’t.
Carter comes at a sprint, rounding the hedges. He sees Aeron on the ground and the color leaves his face completely. He drops to his knees beside me.
“What… what…” His hands reach for Aeron and freeze, hovering, because he doesn’t know what to do with them. “What happened?” His voice is high, which is the wrong register for Carter.
“He took something. I don’t know what. Paramedics are coming.”
We try together. Carter shaking Aeron, calling his name. Me doing compressions, counting. Aeron’s face stays the same. Blue. Lifeless.
I check his breath. Still breathing. Still has a heartbeat.
You have to wake up.
The paramedics arrive in a blur of radio static and flashlights. They take over and I stumble backward. My knees are wet from the ground. My hands won’t stop shaking so I shove them undermy arms. Carter is standing beside me, his face so bloodless I wonder if his pulse has stopped.
They load Aeron onto a gurney and secure an oxygen mask. They roll him around the crowds that have gathered. Carter and I follow. I can’t look away from his hand hanging off the gurney. Limp. The hand that holds a pencil with so much skill, that sketches faces that haunt you long after you’ve looked away, that handed me a joint an hour ago.
Wake up wake up wake up
“We have to follow them,” I say.
Carter nods. He only had one beer tonight, so he can drive.
Minutes later, we’re in the car, racing along behind the ambulance. He’s gripping the wheel so hard the tendons stand out across the backs of his hands.
“June told me to watch him.” His voice is shaking and doesn’t sound like himself at all. “To keep him safe. I was supposed to watch him. Keep him safe. She told me. She told me I should?—”
He continues on, and I lean my head against the window. Me too. I should’ve watched him. I should’ve checked sooner. My stomach lurches and I bend forward just in time to puke between my feet. Carter doesn’t even glance over. I roll the window down to fight against the vomit smell. He keeps driving, keeps talking.
“Why didn’t I check on him? Why didn’t I go look for him? I was… I was…”
I want to tell him it wasn’t him. I didn’t check either. I knew Aeron had been acting down lately. I knew he must’ve gotten rejected. I knew he had a fight with June and pushed her and was retreating from the world. I knew, and I didn’t make sure he was truly okay. Not only at the party. Before. I haven’t been asking how he feels, man to man, or if he wants to talk.
