Making Friends

            He called 911 because he was lonely.

            “I don’t have anyone else to talk to,” he said.  

            The voice on the other end said, “If you call back, you’re going to jail.”

            He stared at his dumb phone for several minutes, then placed it on the coffee table. Looking around, he saw the same rented walls, the accumulation of dust on his books and record collection. Somehow he’d missed out on the art of making friends. He let the emptiness settle in his stomach like bile, then picked up the phone.  

            He was arrested for harassing 911, handcuffed, and taken to jail. “Not much legroom back here,” he noted on the ride downtown. The officers didn’t answer. At the jail, he was fingerprinted and had his picture taken, then he was interviewed by a nurse.

            “Do you have any mental health issues?” was her last question.

            “I spend way too much time by myself.”

            She made a face and motioned for an officer, who put him in a room with a dozen men.

            “Hey, fellas.  How’s everyone doing?” He gave a little wave.

            “You’re blocking the TV,” one of them said. 

            He sat down at a concrete table and looked around. Everyone wore orange but him. The financial section of the newspaper was there, so he began to read about the organic food industry. Soon a shadow fell over him and a monstrously large man with a checkerboard asked, “You play?” Of similar skill, they spent the next three hours swapping pieces.  

            Just before dinner, an officer came for him.  

            “You lucked out today.  Next time you might stay for a while.”

            Released, he walked the four miles home. Looked at his walls. Turned on his TV.

            A week later he was calling 911.