Sometimes it was really bad, with his body shaking and twitching, his feet kicking under the sheets like he was running from something. I woke him from his dream, put my arms around him, smoothed his sweaty brow with my hand and let him fall asleep on my chest.
I was dead asleep when the phone rang, shocking me awake.
I looked at the clock. It was ten.
The phone rang, again.
And again.
It was going to ring twice more before the machine picked up.
Oh, hell, maybe it was Heather or Brian telling me that Steve was playing football with the computers, again.
Ever the coffee house manager, I picked up the phone and answered, absently, "Mocha Daze."
"Mocha Daze?" The voice sounded small, child-like, but I still recognized it.
"Greg?"
"Yes. I'm calling from the hospital. It's not that early, is it?"
"Uh, huh." I was in no mood to pick up our friendship where it left off, as if nothing had happened between us.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking like a little girl's. I could tell he was crying and trying to hide it, the soft whimpering obvious in his muffled breathing.
"You don't have to cry, Greg. I needed to get up, anyway."
His sob broke and scattered with a laugh. I'd hoped to make him feel a little better, but it made him sound worse. "You know what happened to me?"
"Fran told me. You should have talked about it with somebody. What you did was stupid."
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Yes."
I let there be a few moments of silence and then I got antsy. "It's your dime, Greg. I didn't call you."
Slowly, deliberately-- I could tell he'd thought about this for a while. "I've made a lot of mistakes. With Steve."
"So he says."
"Fran said you talked with him. What has he said about me?"
"I don't want to talk about Steve, Greg. Why are you calling me? Sending me weird mail? Pictures of my high school pep squad?"
"I thought it would help you. Steve had it...I-I read his diaries, his journals..."
"So you're adding invasion of privacy to lying and bad faith, huh?"
"Steve isn't to be trusted, Hugo."
I couldn't help but laugh at that one. "That's the pot calling the kettle black!"
"I'm sorry! I made a mistake. Jesus Christ, what else do you want from me, Hugo?" He started to cry, again.
"Greg, I'm sorry you have the problems you do. If there's anything I can..."
"Be my friend! Please! I'll do anything!"
This was getting pathetic. "I'll do what I can, Greg, but that might be pushing it. Give me some time and..."
"Yes? Yes?" he said, eagerly.
"And get some help while you're in the hospital. You need to do some work before we can go any further with this."
"Yes. Thank you, Hugo. Thank you. I won't let you down."
