Dan had previously informed me of his many "existential crises." And I had thought he was exaggerating. I mean, didn't we all have those deep, introspective thoughts about ourselves and the universe? I had even thought them to be humorous, the way Dan described them. But then I had to actually deal with one. I opened the door, plastic shopping bags dangling from my hands. "Dan, I bought food and
detergent!" I called, kicking the door shut behind me. There was no reply, "Hello?" He was obviously home, but I figured he just had his headphones on and couldn't hear
me. I shrugged and headed towards the kitchen to put the grocery bags on the counter. But when I exited, I saw a tall, thin figure lying on the ground. A jolt of fear pierced my stomach and I ran to him, hoping he was all right, "Dan?" My voice came out shaky and an octave higher than my normal timbre, and I knelt and put my hand on his back. I was honestly scared for a moment, since I couldn't feel him breathing at first, but then he twitched, "Dan, what are you doing?" He didn't say anything. I lay down on the floor next to him, and turned my face so our noses were
almost touching. His eyes opened, slowly as honey pouring out of a jar. That simple movement was enough to scare me witless.
"Do I need to call someone?" I asked him quietly, my voice shaky.
His eyelids fluttered closed. "It's alright, Phil," he finally said, his voice no louder than a murmur.
"You know... I told you... existential crisis."
Horrible realization flowed through me. So this is what they looked like. No comic rolling around, moaning philosophically about life and death. Just lying on the floor, barely moving, and scaring the shit out of me. Dan sighed, a long, heavy sound, and I could see his jaw working, the subtlety of bone and muscle moving under the skin.
"Can I get you anything, Dan?" I asked, hoisting myself up. "What do you need?"
He was silent for a moment, then mumbled, "I don't know."
And this hurt. It really hurt, seeing my best friend lying in a pit of despair, not knowing what I could do to help. But I was a Brit, and what do the British do in a crisis? Make tea. So I made Dan's favorite, ginger with a drop of honey. When I went back into the hallway with a cup of steaming tea in my hand, Dan was in the exact same position. I sighed and sat cross-legged by his still form, careful not to drop the hot liquid in
my hand.
"I made you some tea," I said gently, awkwardly touching his shoulder. "Ginger, your favorite."
Eventually: "Thanks, Phil."
I hesitated, not knowing what to say, really. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"
"...No."
So I stayed with him. It took about an hour before he felt better, and was able to sit up and sip the now-cold tea. I didn't mind sitting there. It was almost therapeutic, listening to Dan breathe in and out and in and out, like the waves on the beach. When he finally stirred and sat up, he wouldn't
meet my eyes, even when I asked him if he was okay.
"'M fine," he mumbles, staring into his tea.
I changed the subject, seeing that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Want some chocolate?"
He looked up at me, a small glimmer of life starting to return to his eyes. "Thank you, Phil. I-I really appreciate--" Dan seemed to struggle for the next words, and I put a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly telling him that he didn't need to continue, that I understood. He sighed, and tension
melted off his bent shoulders. I swallowed, fighting down a lump in my throat that just... appeared at the sight of him looking
so...lonely and grateful and lost. "No problem."
I got up and grabbed a box of Maltesers, Dan's favorite. We ate the whole thing together, like absolute hogs, but it was clear we both needed some chocolate comfort. Dan appeared to be feeling much better, and relief spilled over me, mixed with the underlying worry I felt for him.
Were existential crises a word Dan put in place of something bigger, something much more serious? I hoped, hoped to God that this would pass and he wouldn't have to deal with anything really bad. Also, seeing Dan in this much pain was the worst thing in the world.
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A/N:
*what do you think? Hopefully it isn't total trash.
*more soon!
