why do we call who we call in these kinds of situations

[Note: I’m feeling weary and bleary and I’ve only just begun. Please excuse the general wreck this place has become. The template itself is enough to make me never want to read this blog again. Sub-note: Work on the template soonish.]

I’ve wedged myself between the front driver’s side tire and the armoire we no longer have room for in the house. Cell phone, dirty oil stained cement, a long distance hysterical Jules and I’m hiding out in the garage. Whispering comforting words across the miles and hoping that anything I say or do will pull him out of this place. I know it well – the place. And I’ve made the same call. When all you can do is sob until you think your lungs might collapse. I don’t do it anymore. I can’t. But I remember all too clearly how it feels.

I said everything I could. Assured my devotion, love, support, unwavering friendship, but there wasn’t anything I could do or say. It’s something that’s broken inside of him that only he can fix. And I’ll be there and I’ll help as much as he’ll allow. I say these things over and over again until I too am sobbing. Inconsolable. Until we both simply weep for each other and for the things we don’t ever say and want to say but can’t.

Maybe it’s what we both needed. To freak out for a minute without retribution. With the assurance that the person on the other end would know. Could know. Maybe we’re both just pathetic. Moronic. I don’t really know.

When Jules finally pulled himself back together, I asked him to tell me what was going on. He muttered some crazy things that I know aren’t true – about a job and a girl and going on the road. These are the excuses he always offers. They are his version of my, everything’s fine, and he knows that I know it. I ask him if he’s been taking drugs again. He’s sworn that he hasn’t used for a long time, but I know this kind of sporadic behavior. And it scares me. He swears he doesn’t do those kinds of things any more. Swears on Bryan’s memory that he doesn’t. And I want so badly to believe him.

It’s in these moments that I wish it were possible to touch the people I love. To hold them against me and feel their breath – their heart – any reminder that we’re both still alive. There’s electricity in that for me. A healing that doesn’t come as easily through pixels or fiber optics. There have been times when I’ve been in those kinds of embraces and I thought the world might just make sense. And I want that right now for Jules. I need that for him and from him. [Selfishly, I need that for me right now something awful.]

Man, I’m sad. I had forgotten, really, how it feels to be lonely.
But enough. Off to bed and to dream about birds.