Calling All Angels

I need a sign to let me know you're here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know that things are gonna look up
'Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup

When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said

[Chorus:]
And I'm calling all angels
I'm calling all you angels

I won't give up if you don't give up [Repeat x4]

I need a sign to let me know you're here
'Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I'm calling all angels
I'm calling all you angels

I won't give up if you don't give up [Repeat x4]

Chris’ head was spinning. ‘What had gone wrong?’ he wondered. He and Andy had talked ad nauseam about this meeting. He’d told Andy what to do. Everything had gone exactly as planned until Andy‘s outburst. Lost in thought, he continued down the hill towards Andy’s dorm. There had been no sign of his wayward student in the hallway or nearby vicinity. Chris could only hope he’d gone back to his room.

The unnatural silence of the now deserted dorm, as Chris entered, did nothing to settle the terrible sense of foreboding that was beginning to build in his stomach. He made his way up the stairs and down the hall to Andy’s room and knocked on the door. The sharp sound of his knuckles on the wood reverberated in the empty hallway. There was no answer. “Andy,” Chris called through the door, as he shifted his bag on his shoulder, “it’s me.” Still, he got no response. “Come on, open the door. We need to talk.” Nothing. “It’s going to be ok, Andy. We’ll figure everything out. Please, just talk to me.” The silence from inside continued; there was no movement of any kind. Chris frowned. He glanced down at the crack under the door, but could see no lights to indicate there were occupants within. Of course, it was still daylight, so Andy might not have turned the lights on. “Andrew!” Chris knocked again. “Come on! Open the door!” He was starting to feel really anxious now, and his tone reflected his frustration. If Andy wasn’t here, where was he? He turned from the door to peer down each of the two nearby intersecting hallways, hoping for someone, anyone, who might be able to tell him where Andy had gone, but there was no one.

He readjusted his bag once more and then headed back down the hallway towards the stairs. He left the dorm and walked down to the far corner of the building where Andy’s windows were. He looked up, and through the gap in the curtains he could see that there were no lights. ‘He could still be there, though,’ he reminded himself. He had to be sure, either way. He continued to gaze at the darkened windows as he contemplated what to do. He slid his bag off his shoulder, and as he set it on the ground, he caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, of the two giant dorm garbage cans standing by the dorm door. He grimaced as the thought occurred to him, but there seemed to be no other way.

He left his bag sitting on the ground, and one after the other dragged the two enormous plastic cans to a spot directly under Andy’s window. Carefully, cursing under his breath, he climbed first onto his knees and then, with a nerve shattering little wobble, managed to get to his feet. He was now just about eye level with the window sill. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked furtively over his shoulder, almost losing his balance once more. He felt like a criminal, but he had to know if Andy was in his room.

Cautiously, he gripped the edge of the window sill, and biting his lip, prepared to pull himself up.

“Hey! Hey You!” The voice out of nowhere caused his fingers to slip and he lost his balance as the flimsy garbage can he was standing on gave way. With a crash, the cans fell over, and he landed in a heap on top of them. He was unhurt aside from the scrapes on his hands, left by the ledge, but he felt like an idiot.

The feeling was compounded as his friend, Shane, the one who had unwittingly startled him, came up beside him and offered him a hand. “Sorry, Man,” he apologized, helping Chris to his feet. “I didn’t recognize you.” Chris brushed himself off and then, once again aided by his friend, turned to stuff the bags back in the cans and set them upright again. “You all right?” Shane asked, finally.

With a crimson face, Chris confronted his friend’s look of quizzical amusement. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“What were you doing, Man?” Shane inquired in a tone that matched his expression. Chris was known among his colleagues and friends as one of the most put together students on campus. It was, therefore, more than a little odd, from Shane’s perspective, to encounter him in this predicament.

Chris shrugged. “I was looking for a student of mine,” his flush deepened. “I’m just a bit worried about him, and I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

This explanation did jive with everything Shane knew about Chris, so he felt no need to question the circumstances further. “Andrew Grazier?” he inquired instead. “Andy’s your student?”

“Yeah,” Chris acknowledged, relieved not to have to explain the garbage cans further. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Shane replied. “He was a student in Caremontie’s Business Math class this past semester. I was his T.A. Poor kid. He tries so hard, but his math is terrible.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris agreed sorrowfully. “Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, actually,” Shane replied. “I saw him a while ago, headed in the general direction of the art studio. He was really booking it. Everything all right?”

“I hope so,” Chris replied, picking up his bag, and turning in the direction of the art studio. “Thanks, Man.”

“Want me to come with?” Shane asked.

Chris paused to reflect. He felt shaken by his fall, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach still hadn’t settled. His friend’s open and easy-going manner was just the balm he needed right now to sooth his fretful nerves. Besides, he hadn’t seen Shane in a long time. They had both been so busy this past semester, and Chris had missed talking to him. Now seemed like as good a time as any to catch up. If Andy was still at the studio, he and Shane could part ways, then. He knew he could count on Shane to take a hint without asking too many questions. “Sure,” he replied at last.

“So where’ve you been all semester?” Shane queried as they started off, side by side.

“Class, work, class,” Chris replied sardonically.

“Are you doing ok?” Shane pressed. “Because you look like crap!”

Chris smiled a little, despite himself. Only Shane. The guy had a real way with words. “Yeah, man,” he responded, now. “I’m doing ok. It’s just been a long semester.”

“Well, don’t forget to take some time for yourself,” Shane cautioned. “This life isn’t worth your health.”

“I know,” Chris sighed. “So what have you been up to?” he asked in an effort to change the subject.

“Oh well, you know me,” Shane grinned as they continued to walk. “It’d be easier to tell you what I haven’t been up to. It has been a pretty busy semester school wise, what with the T.A. job and all, but I’ve still been doing quite a bit of skiing and snowboarding. I’m keeping up the ice-hockey thing too, on the weekends . . .”

Chris’s mind drifted as his friend continued to talk. He no longer heard the words Shane was saying, but became focused instead on the ruddy color of his friend’s face and the vivacious gestures that expressed a clear zest for life; it was an enthusiasm Chris had left behind long ago. Maybe everyone was right he thought; maybe he did need to make more time for himself.

They had come to the door of the art studio by now, and Shane stopped talking. “Should I come in with you?” he asked. “Or is this something you need to do alone?”

“You may as well come in,” Chris responded, admiring silently once again his friend’s propensity for forthrightness, “at least until we determine whether he’s here.” The seemingly off hand decision was one that Chris would remember and be grateful for the rest of his life.

“Andy,” Chris called out as he opened the door into the small studio. The sun had shifted, leaving the building recently in the shade, and it was growing dim inside, now, so Chris reached to the left of the door and flipped the switch, illuminating the main hallway. Shane followed him inside, and down the short hallway to the large main room. The hallway was lined on either side with offices, but they all belonged to upper classmen, so Chris and Shane paid them little attention. They were all dark and closed up, anyway. Underclassmen were required to share a space. Each had an allotted portion of the room for their work and supplies, some of which they typically owned, and some of which they garnered from the art department’s large supply closet also located in the main room.

Chris once again threw the switch as the two grad students entered the enormous room, and then they stopped, standing stock still, aghast at the sight before them. “Andy!” Chris shrieked as Shane continued to gape at the slashed paintings strewn on the floor from one end of the room to the other. All of Andy’s beautiful work had been destroyed. “Andy!” Chris called frantically once more, already rushing towards the cracked door of the supply closet at the far end of the room.

“Chris . . . .” The weak response emanated from within.

Chris reached the door and pulled it wide. “Andy!” he screamed. “No! No! Oh my God! No!” He dropped to his knees and gathered his young partner into his arms. “Shane, call an ambulance!” he sobbed. “Why, Andy? Why?”

Andy was barely clinging to consciousness as blood pooled in a slow stream from both his wrists. “Hurry Shane! Tell them to hurry!” Chris begged as he looked up to find his horrified friend in the doorway, his cell phone to his ear. “God, Andy! Why did you do this?” Chris demanded futilely once more. He was desperately trying to stem the flow of blood with his fingers now.

Just a few moments later Shane hung up the phone. “The ambulance is on it’s way,” he said. “Here, let’s use these.” He grabbed a pile of clean, absorbent rags from the top supply shelf by the door and knelt beside Chris and Andy. He took hold of Andy’s right wrist, and slowly Chris removed his thumb as Shane replaced it with a rag and tied it snugly. Chris then replaced his thumb, raising Andy’s arm up and pressing firmly. Shane turned his attention to the other wrist.

“Chris . . .,” Andy murmured.

“I’m here, Andy, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Andy managed before he slipped into unconsciousness.

“No! Andy, no! Stay with me! You’ve got to stay with me!” Chris pleaded as he heard the distant wail of sirens. Shane tied off the other wrist and then sat quietly down beside his friend, his back against the shelves.

“Andy, please,” Chris sobbed, hugging his young love to his chest and rocking him. “Please,” he whispered into Andy’s hair as he felt Shane’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t leave me.”