The Leech

I had a very interesting phone conversation yesterday with a friend I hardly get to see these days. Her life is busy--school and work. As I was thanking her for information about a subject I know nothing about, she muttered something about it being ok. She said that she's used to being a "leech" and she was glad she could help. I could feel my throat start to get that "here come the waterworks" feeling. You know, the reaction you get when you're about to cry, but don't want the other person to know. I guess it's easier to hide when you're on the phone, because in person your eyes will give you away. Or to paraphrase Erin Brockovich, "they're called tear ducts Ed."
I found this a rather odd comment. Now I'm no psychoanalyst. I don't even play one on TV. But I've been known to analyze everything to death especially when it comes to myself. I have to go back in the archives to see if I detected any behavior that would point to such a remark. But I couldn't find any. As a matter of fact, I could point to at least two specific incidents where I could get this woman found not guilty of leeching in a court of law.
She once bought me a book on Pete Maravich as we were leaving the local bookstore. A gift, out of nowhere for no apparent reason. And then the more convincing reason is as follows.
Many years ago, the fall of 1999 to be exact, I was in what I now know as a depression. And one of my favorite aunts had just died. She offered to go to the funeral home with me for moral support. She wasn't even a long time friend. I didn't even know it at the time, but I had deeper issues with depression, something that's been going on since adolescence. Having her in my life was a godsend. I finally saw a doctor for my depressive behavior in April of 2000 and although the diagnosis was definitely not what I wanted to hear, it mad incredible sense to me.
So my dear friend from the now defunct bookstore, let me say that you were never so wrong in your life as you were yesterday on the phone.
Thank you KWS.

Love,
Tuesday Guy