The phone was ringing, an incessant musical bark in the earliest hours. I couldn’t believe it was impinging on my sleep. I had just drifted off. The heat of Chicago made it hard to sleep. No air conditioning to speak of and no breeze through the apartment, even with all the windows open. Ringing without surcease.
“What”
“It’s Claudia, sorry to call so early. Jimmy’s laying on the couch talking about killing himself. He has got a gun. I think he is serious.”
“What did he say?”
"Just there was nothing to live for anymore and he’s done."
Jimmy, my friend, drinking and drug buddy, was the gentlest guy I know. Lots of darkness caught up inside, but light in the world. He was a strike breaker for Jimmy Hoffa, before Hoffa disappeared. They would call him, sometimes in the middle of the night, to go kick ass and break heads at rogue strikes. All Jimmy wanted was be an English literature teacher.
“I’ll be right over.”
"I can’t stay“ she said ”I’m afraid."
"Okay, leave the door open so I can get in."
I started the car and drove like the crazy man, but it was early and traffic was very light. The air was oppressive though. It was my old Pacer wagon, also no AC. I couldn’t catch a cool breath to speak.
It took no more than ten minutes to get there, up three flights to his bare bones apartment. He never had much, odd assortment of furniture, lots of books stacked everywhere, beer cans and empty bottles tossed about, like the aftermath of a party I knew hadn’t happened.
“Jimmy…Jimmy” No answer. God, I thought, he has already done it. I’ll see brains, have to call the police, fill out a million forms, maybe get arrested. “Jimmy!”
“What” bleak from the next room. The living room was also awash in the detritus of his life…laundry, cigarette butts and dirty ashtrays. The TV was on, but to a dead channel. Jimmy lay on the couch, with a 38 revolver in his hand and some shells lying on the table.
“She called you, didn’t she?”
“Yes”
“What, now, you supposed to come and tell me not to do this. Not much chance you’ll convince me. It’s fucked, my friend and I can’t see any way out. I am failing school, they keep calling me to work, I hate going, but can’t get out of it. I’m done. Soooo, how you going to convince me not to kill myself.”
“I’m not. I didn’t come for that.”
“What” he sat up.
“Look, I can’t convince you of shit. But I hate unfinished things. I would have hated you and me if we never finished this off and said good-bye. You are my friend, but I can’t say life will get better. I just wanted the chance to tell you I love you and say good-by.”
I walked up, gave him a hug, a kiss on the forehead and walked out the door. An unfired gun is such a terrible temptation.
Two days later, he called…