He found me sitting next to one of the payphones in the common lobby, crying over an ex-boyfriend with whom I’d just had a less-than-stellar conversation. It had only been a couple of days since I’d admitted myself into the lockdown unit of a mental health hospital on the outskirts of Chicago. I was still scared, broken, and clad in the pretty blue hospital-issued paper clothes.

I had wanted to die, you see.

Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him standing there, looking at me so sadly. His name was Steve. He was thin and wiry, not much bigger than me. He was adorable, though, and gave off a sweet aura that seemed so safe and inviting.

“It’s birthday night,” he said, and stretched out his hand.

I took it and he led me into a room with some of the other patients. Perhaps only those of us who had October birthdays were invited. I don’t remember. But, since I had gone into the hospital a few days prior to my birthday, I was invited for an evening helping of cake and punch.

Steve had saved a seat for me next to him. It was clear he wanted me to feel better, that he had somehow become invested in helping heal my heart. In my mind, I snuggled in closer to him. He was so sweet. I felt like I had known him forever. When he quoted a line from Steel Magnolias, as we sat enjoying our cake and punch, I knew our friendship was sealed for good.

We spent the rest of the time we knew each other quoting lines from the movie back and forth and acting out scenes for anybody who would watch. We laughed so much. It was something we both needed…something we both understood. Together, we were no longer alone.

A couple of days later, talk started circulating about a Halloween party that was to be held for the patients. People were going to be allowed to make costumes and wear them. There was even going to be a contest and judging.

Naturally, my mind started reeling. I have never been one, even in my darkest days, to pass up the opportunity for a costume contest of any kind. And when an idea came to me, I knew I had to follow it through. But I didn’t want to do it alone.

So I called on Steve.

Upon telling him my idea, he was immediately in…a good thing, as he had to do some of the work himself. Because I hadn’t been inpatient long enough, I didn’t have permission to go outside with everyone else on pass…which consisted of a twenty minute period when patients were allowed to smoke or get outside for some fresh air. I asked Steve to use this time to gather twigs and leaves and other nature-oriented things to bring back and use for our costume.

So, he did.

We spent the next couple of days with a nurse standing over us, supervising our activity with a hot glue gun. We meticulously and delightedly glued the things he had found to a large cardboard ring until we were confident we had attached just the right amount.

The day of the party, Steve and I put little beaks on our noses and cut out pieces of white poster board so that it looked like little cracked eggshells were attached to our faces. We wanted to look like baby birds. Then, we slipped our big twig-and-leaf-covered ring – big enough to fit around the both of us so we could still walk – around our waists and that served nicely as our little nest. Finally, we carried a sort of baton over her heads with a sign that read simply “ONE.”

We were One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

My God, I love mental health humor in a mental health facility.

And so did Steve.

And the staff, too. We walked away that day with green and brown sports watches as we had won first prize. It seemed we had never been so proud of anything in our lives.

************

Steve wasn’t around much longer after that. We spent the next few days sitting closely beside each other in the blue chairs in the common lobby. We talked and soaked up every minute between the two of us that we could. It was during that time, I guess, that he told me about his parents and how they had been killed by a drunk driver…and how his partner had died suddenly in an accident, too. It had all happened recently in his life and I don’t know if he actively showed me the scars on his wrists where he had tried to take his own life…or if I had just noticed them and pretended that I didn’t. Either way, my heart broke for him. And I know his heart broke for me, too.

We loved each other very much.

When the time came for Steve to leave, he cried. I don’t know if I cried or not, but I should have. I knew I would never forget him and the way we added Liza Minelli’s name to every group sign-in sheet that came our way. He was very special to me. I still think about him and pray that he’s okay. We kept in touch for a while after he left…maybe two months or so. And I still think it’s amazing that the time we spent together in the hospital probably wasn’t even two weeks, but the impact he had on me has lasted for at least eight years.

God is amazing in the ways He brings people into our lives at exactly the point we need them. To me, Steve was sort of an angel on earth with skinny legs and a perpetual pair of boat shoes…and I bet a really phenomenal pair of wings that I just could not see.