YOU called the cops on me . . .

Here's a quick explanation: I went out with this woman sometime in March who, quite frankly, scared me. Since rule number one for meeting someone you've spoken with online is to choose a public place, we had selected a bookstore parking lot. Barnes & Noble, actually, because let's face it, who doesn't feel safe in a parking lot to any one of a gentrified America's cookie cutter commerce shopping plazas ?

We actually met inside the bookstore lest you think I'm cool with actually meeting people in parking lots, like some sort of drug and/ or arms dealer lounging by the trunk of my Honda.

"I gots the stuff right here and it's a beaut, lemme tell ya," right? Although the parking lot was very well lit, I wanted to look for some book by Philip K. Dick so why not kill two birds with one stone? Maybe the avian-killing stone was in the shady car trunk deal, but now I'm just being silly.

Since I had never seen a clear picture of her (thanks Craigslist) we had to do the old-fashioned meet-up that relied heavily on the wearing of a particular colored jacket and/or shirt. She should have worn a red rose in her lapel and stood near an old fashioned phone booth with some secret message we could exchange, to make the dealer/cold war espionage analogy an even stronger one.

"Split pea soup tastes best on a cold morning."

"History demands it."

"Glad to meet you, I'm Constantine."

We decided to go to a nearby bar for a quick beer and that's when things started to get, how can I put this . . . abnormal. Yeah. That's a nice word. Since I was not getting a great vibe, I wanted to follow (easy escape) but it was decided that she'd drive and I'd be the passenger. Dana Gould should have popped out in a top hat and tuxedo singing the phrase "Mistake" at the exact moment I agreed.

The inside of her car smelled like an ashtray and the windows had spider-webbed cracks on them (always a great sign). I started to imagine that "debt-collectors" took aluminum baseball bats to it maybe as they were carrying gasoline containers and lighters. Were the cracks from bullets? I didn't want to even entertain that line of thinking.

Then she told me, as we were driving to the bar, that she wanted to avoid driving to and from a bar as much as possible thanks to a D.U.I.

Gulp.

Have you ever met someone over a beer that does the majority of the talking and you have nothing to say to them? Well . . . let me fast forward to the present.

She said something that hurt my feelings in an instant message. I felt down, she felt up.

I told her she hurt my feelings in another instant message, days later. She felt down, I felt up. Well, bummed but better.

After that, I ignored her but she persisted instant messaging me. My solution was to simply delete her from my "buddy list" rather than block her. That was my mistake. Cue Dana Gould.

So last night she asked me to hang out with her which is something she has done many times before. And it met with the same answer or passive aggressive non-answer, like usual. It's something I have always refused or gotten around, in some way/shape/form. She also mentioned an ex-boyfriend she had been trying to contact and actually called last night. He had said some really uncaring things that depressed her such as "I told you I already have plans [and] when I feel like being around you I'll call." Here's were it gets scary, folks.

She started to talk about suicide. It wasn't the cry-for-help "just mention it" sort. During some of the previously mentioned instant messaging she'd say things like "no one likes me" and "I'm tired of it." But this time it came with a very persistent and detailed plan so I became frightened that she'd actually go through with it. It involved slicing her wrists as she videotaped it so her ex would watch it over-and-over again in his head. I kept talking with her in an effort to try and calm her down.

"I would cut myslef [sic] and bleed to death and film it all. thats what I am doing unless you come over."

Was it just a cry for help? A plea for company?

Since she wasn't expressing anything rational for a very long while, I was forced to call a suicide prevention hotline and lie to get her number to give to police (even though she had begged me not to call 9-1-1). I felt bad about asking for her number under false pretenses but, ultimately felt good about preventing her from killing herself.

This morning, she emailed me with a very angry message about how she got charged with possession of controlled substances and paraphernalia and now has a criminal record. Her mother, she said is sick from embarrassment although I'm sure if she had actually gone-through with it and killed herself, her mother would not be able to handle it at all. I saw a coworker die young (I think he was 35 and had only been married for a year). Althought it was unexpected, it was a health-related natural-causes death and I saw, firsthand, how much grief his father, who I also worked with, carried with him. Once again, and I stress this, that was unexpected but natural. Last night was not only preventable but prevented.

If I did something good, why don't I feel good about myself?