Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

I glanced at Billy. His head was lolled to the side, bouncing off the window, his neck limp. “Billy?” It never happened like this. His high never hit quite like this. He never blacked out. He never breathed like he was trying to suck bubbles through a straw. “Billy!” The tires squealed as I pulled the car over, just outside the high school parking lot. I reached over and gave his shoulder a violent shake. “Billy!” He didn’t wake up. I threw my door open and got out to race around to the other side. I opened the passenger door, unbuckled his seat belt, and pulled him from the car. He was limp, every breath shallow and slow—but he was breathing. And I held tight to every one of those puffs of air with more hope than I’d ever thought I could muster as I got down on my knees and called 911. “Fuck!” I cried, releasing the torrent of emotion I’d been suppressing. “Fucking hell, Billy. Don’t do this to me. Please. Don’t do this.” The operator answered and asked for my location and what the emergency was. “My friend just took an oxy and won’t wake up,” I told her after telling her where I was, wiping the tears from my cold, wind-bitten face. “Okay, sir. An ambulance is on the way. Can you describe to me what’s happening to him right now?” I did as she’d said, and I realized that what little breath had been passing through his lungs had stopped. “F-f-fuck, no … h-he’s not breathing. He’s—he’s n-not breathing. Oh God! What do I do?! W-what the fuck do I do?!” A few stragglers from t...