Dusk. I was in a nine-mile traffic jam. My dog was in the passenger seat, chewing a pig ear. The phone rang.
“Hi, Sean,” he said, “my name is Brady.”
“Hi, Brady. Any relation to Mike and Carol and Marsha?”
Crickets.
I need better material.
“Am I interrupting anything?” the young man said.
“No. I’m just sitting in a traffic jam.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be, unless you work for the Florida Department of Transportation.”
I waited for him to state the reason for the call while watching my dog gnaw the ear. When he didn’t say anything, I prompted. “What’s up, Brady?”
He sounded mid-twenties. “Well, my mom got your number from a mutual friend, I read your column every day, and I just…”
Long awkward pause.
“The column’s that bad, huh?” I said.
“No. It’s just… I’m going through some depression right now. Least, that’s what the doctor told me.”
He sounded like he was going to cry.
He added, “You’ve been through depression before, right?”
I switched the phone to my other ear and turned off my stereo. “Through it?” I said. “I don’t think anyone is ever through
depression.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m doing fine right now. But that’s right now. I’m still human.”
Over the phone, I could hear the sound of a dog barking in the background. Actually, it sounded like many dogs. My dog heard this, too. She quit chewing her pig ear and lifted her head.
“I volunteer in an animal shelter,” he said. “Sorry, it’s gets loud in here.”
My dog whimpered.
“I lost my dad when I was twelve,” he continued. “And ever since, I’ve been getting these panic attacks…
“Sometimes, I don’t feel like anyone understands me. I’ll be out in public and see kids who’re living normal lives, they’re eating in restaurants, laughing, and everything’s great for them. And here I am, all…