***************************

December 1993: A Cry For Help

***************************

"Benny...we need to talk." April sat down on the couch like a girl at Sunday school and began fiddling with her nails in her lap. I could tell by her bit lip it was something important. She wouldn't look at me.

"April, what's wrong?" I said, trying to be as sympathetic as I could manage, which was rather awkward for me. She sat there awhile staring at her hands before she softly spoke. Her hands. I didn't remember them being so thin and frail looking. They were shaking.

"Well if someone was to know about something that someone close to them didn't...something big...something bad...and it concerned both of them...do you think they'd be able to get through it together? Or do you think the other person would blame them for ruining their life?" She was being very cryptic. I didn't like that. What was she trying to tell me?

"Jesus, April, you're not pregnant, are you?" I blurted out, "Because we haven't been together since, well you know, and we were safe. You didn't tell Roger, right?" Wait...maybe she should tell Roger, that could break them up...It was just a little fling. She had come home after having a fight with him and one thing led to another...but that was months ago... "I mean, if Roger knew you weren't being honest with him, he'd be very upset," I started rambling, "But then again, honesty would be to tell him, but then he'd probably still leave you high and dry anyway. I mean that's the kind of thing that destroys a guy. It'd be like a death sentence...to your relationship, you know. Either way you'd kill him." Maybe that didn't come out right, but talking about babies made me nervous...especially if it involved me. I turned back towards her. She looked like she was crying.

"No, I'm not pregnant Benny." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Besides, if I was, I don't think I'd tell you...you'd much rather put up with a dog then a baby." Well, that was reassuring. What was bothering her then?

"So what'd you want to tell me?"

"It's just that...never mind. Goodbye Benny." She stood up, grabbed her purse, and with a glance, headed out the door.

*******************

Voice Mail 5/It's Over

*******************

The phone rings.

Happy Holidays from Maureen, Mark, Collins, Benny, and April!...*click*

The phone rings.

Happy Holidays from Maureen, Mark, Collins, Benny, and April! Leave a message and we'll get back to you! Oh, and if you're doing your holiday shopping, I'm a size six! *BEEP*

After a drawn-out pause:

"Umm...hi. It's Roger." *pause* "We're...I'm at the hospital." *pause* "It's April, she..."

Another long pause followed by the click of the receiver.

************************

It Only Hurts When I Breathe

************************

Mark entered the hospital not knowing what to expect. He had come straight from the apartment after hearing the message on the answering machine. Hopefully, this was the right hospital - Roger wasn't one for detail unless it concerned his music. He hated hospitals - the look, the smell, the way the hospital beds could make anyone look so much older. He remembered sitting for hours upon hours just staring at the drip from the bag of Potassium Chloride over his grandfather's head. Something bad must have happened. An accident. He hoped April was okay. Where to go? He headed towards the emergency waiting room.

In the corner sat Roger, at least what Mark thought was Roger. He hadn't seen the guy or April for that matter in a few months ever since she started staying at his place. He looked like a shell of the man Mark had first met at the bar. Something really bad had happened. He sat down in the chair next to him.

"Hey." No response. "I got the message. How is she? She doing okay?"

"Who?" Roger turned his head slightly in Mark's direction. "Oh, umm...no...she died."

Mark started to laugh in disbelief. "What? You're kidding right? Roger, tell me you're kidding!" Roger continued to sit there as if he had to devote all his concentration just to remembering to breathe. "What happened? I'm going to get a doctor..." Mark started to stand but Roger grabbed him by his shirt and sat him back down.

"It won't make a difference. Didn't you hear me?" Roger stammered, "She's dead, she fucking killed herself!" His face started to turn a brilliant scarlet as if he was doing everything in his power not to cry. He turned away and started picking at some of the tinsel on the cheap plastic tree beside him.

"Oh my God..." Mark whispered. "But not April, she..."

"I know," Roger interrupted, "she slit her wrists in the fucking bathroom."

"But why?" Mark continued to shake his head as if it wasn't real.

Roger paused. He knew why...the note she left had been quite clear. "I don't know," he uttered, "I guess we'll never know." He unconsciously started scratching the taped cotton ball on his upper forearm.

"What's that?" Mark inquired.

"Oh, this?" Roger stopped and rolled his sleeve down. "Umm...they had me...umm...I donated blood..." He lied.

"Maybe I should do that too," Mark suggested.

"No, don't worry about it. I need to go home...I don't want to go back there...I can't live there anymore."

"I'll go with you if you want. Just let me call the loft."