Whispers of the River: A Cry for Help?

I was strolling along the deserted riverbank one Saturday afternoon, enjoying a rare moment of solitude and tranquility. As I ambled down the wooded path worn smooth by thousands of footsteps over countless years, my mind wandered to memories of college days when afternoons often meant boisterous card games and impromptu pizza parties with friends.

Lately though, nostalgia had taken a somber turn, ever since reconnecting with my old buddy Alex a few months prior. Back in school, Alex had been that friend everyone wanted to be around - captain of intramural basketball, master of outrageous dare stunts, always surrounded by a glowing coterie of peers hanging spellbound on his every word at parties. His charisma and confidence made him seem bound for greatness once unleashed upon the wider world.

I remembered how Alex and I had drifted apart after graduation like so many childhood friends do. It was nobody's fault really - just a natural unraveling as career paths diverged and new relationships dominated our limited free time. Until that fateful phone call.

After nearly fifteen years with only a rare social media “like” passing between us, I had picked up the phone one night to hear Alex’s voice crackling softly through the receiver.

He spoke hesitantly about wanting to maybe grab lunch sometime if I happened to be in town. I was surprised but readily agreed - noting a meetup on my calendar for the coming Saturday around noon.

When entering the chosen cafe and scanning the room for Alex’s familiar smiling face though, what I discovered sent an icy chill straight to my gut. Gone was the gregarious showman, replaced by a gaunt, hollowed man who flinched slightly when I said his name.

His complexion had faded to an ashen pallor that lent his eyes a sunken, haunted quality. What in God’s name had happened to reduce my once ebullient companion to this skittish shell?

As I eased into the rickety chair across from Alex, the story soon unfurled in halting words amid lengthy pauses. Hushed revelations of unexpected divorce, losing his high-paying consulting job, feeling adrift and increasingly drawn to alcohol and opioids as a coping mechanism.

There was a profound loneliness in Alex’s voice - like he was chronicling events from a great distance...or perhaps from the midst of a stormy sea that kept threatening to pull him under despite mightiest efforts to stay afloat.

I sat listening intently, interjecting occasional murmurs of support whenever Alex raised his reddened eyes to briefly meet my worried gaze. When at last the torrent of words ebbed, we sat wordless for a time as I scrambled to process it all. My heart broke imagining Alex battling such formidable demons largely alone all this time with scant lifelines left to grasp at.

In that suspended moment I glimpsed a scene that would be seared into memory for years to come. Through the cafe’s rain-streaked window, I noticed a man across the street flailing about in the river’s swift current after apparently falling in.

A bystander leaned over the concrete ledge, extending a branch toward the man while shouting reassurances that help was surely coming soon. For now, grasping the bobbing branch with panic-stricken relief was likely all that kept the man’s head precariously above water as he sputtered against the relentless waves.

Meanwhile inside our sheltered cafe nestled comfortably inland from the river’s fury, I turned my attention back to Alex staring miserably into the cold dregs of his untouched coffee.

In that instant, I knew I needed to become the steadfast branch reaching out to Alex amid stormy adversity...Or at minimum a listening ear sharing firm ground beyond the floodwaters that threatened to pull him under at times.

After an awkward goodbye embrace and promises to check on each other regularly going forward, I watched Alex shuffle out the door into the rain hugging his tattered jacket tightly in protection from the elements he’d so recently shared about feeling at the mercy of all too often.

As chilling droplets pelted the window obscuring Alex’s retreating silhouette, I silently prayed the branch would hold fast across the street until emergency crews tossed the flailing man a rescue rope. Surely soon the waters would recede from their peaks leaving both on wet but blessedly still solid ground again.

All they needed were a few faithful lifelines and anchors in the interim when swelling tides collided with inner demons and the bedrock below first slipped from sight.

As I ambled pensively along the river’s edge, echoes of Alex’s voice accompanied each footfall over the weathered stones. I committed right then that no old friend would drown on my watch even if all I had strength left to extend their way was a sympathetic ear to help them tread water one day more.

When we witness people struggling, our steady presence alongside offers a lifeline as valuable as any aid that may come later. It lets them know the storm and its aftermath won’t have to be braved alone at least.

Just then, my wandering feet stumbled unexpectedly upon a greattwisted oak rising mightily from the eroded bankside. Though aged and weary, its extensive root system gripped tenaciously into the rocky soil, having weathered uncounted floods and thunderstorms over decades. I laid a hand gently on its rough bark and somehow felt Alex’s haunted eyes staring back at me.

“We’ll get through this, buddy” I whispered.

The old oak merely creaked softly in the breeze as if in reply. I knew everything would be alright eventually, even if the road ahead remained slippery and uncertain for Alex.

Everywhere there were hands outstretched waiting to grasp his until the inner waters show mercy and relinquish their punishing tides. All any of us can do is keep holding on and believing better days await downstream.