The Note On My Desk.
A year ago today, I sat for hours in a motel room with a friend while he held a loaded gun in his hand and I begged him not to kill himself. I still have this note sitting on my desk a year later. “This is where I went. Motel 6. NLR.” I scribbled those words onto a sticky note before slipping away from work to try to save his life. I didn’t know what I was walking into, and something in me felt the need to leave behind where I had gone. Before I left, we spent hours texting about his demons. He didn’t want to talk on the phone. That felt too personal. He refused to tell me where he was, but I knew he was somewhere alone, drunk, and holding a loaded gun. Sprinkled throughout our text thread, I would randomly text: “Where are you?” He finally answered me: Him: “I want to feel like I can trust you, but I don’t want to tell you because I don’t trust anyone to not get cops involved, especially now that I’ve mentioned a gun.” Me: “So if I’m hearing you right, you are saying for me to q...
