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This wasn't an easy job. Very few people could really do it, and the memories of every call stayed with him. The ones he could help, and the ones he couldn't...
David preferred his summer job over this work. It was a happier time. He could share his boundless energy with the campers and Gwen and anyone who came by the camp! He was always chipper with the kids, his voice eager to please and his body language thrown in all directions, minus a few quieter occasions in his history as a camp counselor.
But in the off-season, he sat with a headset in arm's reach, ready to grab and answer and always in crisis mode. He preferred his summer job. He preferred the often low-stakes and being able to help the kids out with often less-dangerous tasks. But the phone always rings, and someone always needs him, and he was always eager to please. And eager to help.
It was his nurturing instinct, he supposed, that led him to this job in the first place. He cared deeply for the kids, yes, but it was those strangers whos names he didn't know and sometimes never knew, those strangers with their addictions or their mental illnesses or their dysphoria or myriad of issues, those were the people he felt made the most impact on him as a person. The nights he'd be calling with one person until dawn, the nights he was kept up with nightmares of those who never saw the next day.
He was resting in the cubicle that made up his surroundings, four walls with printed out pictures of nature, photos from Camp Campbell surrounding him, the beaming faces of every camper and the begrudging grin of his co-counselor.
And Max. That scowling face in a sea of smiles. The camper he'd taken in like his own son, the boy he cared about the most. He could never say it out loud, of course - playing favorites took an awful toll on the kids - but he saw so much of his younger self in Max, it was almost amusing. He could always relax when he looked at the faces sprawled out in the photographs, and he couldn't wait to return to camp next summer.
When the call came through to his headset, he placed it on and answered in his usual calm-but-cheery tone, "Thank you for reaching out, how can I help you?"
"David?!"
The voice on the other end. That voice. That voice. No. No. He knew that voice, that agitated and frankly rude tone of voice. His world dropped like lead around him, his stomach following, his hand trembling.
"...Max?"
"Fuck it- look, just forget this ever happened. Forget I called. Just-"
"Max," David interjected, leaning forward, arms pressing on his desk, "Max, are you in trouble?"
Max was quiet for longer than what David could handle comfortably. His heart leapt up to his throat, beating a million miles an hour. "Max?" He finally piped up. Movement on the other end, a door shutting - wooden, then a screen door, he probably went outside - but that eased at least some of his anxiety.
"Yeah. I'm here, asshole." Max grumbled. Shuffling. He was sitting down somewhere.
"Okay. Max, I won't-" He swallowed, throat tight, "-I won't pry, but why... why did you call?"
Max was quiet again. This was very, very unlike him. He could always count on the ten year old to be screaming obscenities at him, or insulting another person, or making a snide comment or joke here and there. David and Max were both quiet on the line before the idea popped into his head.
"...Is it your parents?"
Max cleared his throat. So David was right. "Max, what are they doing? I mean, what have they done? I mean-"
"You're babbling like an idiot, David. I don't need your pity." Max retorted, tense and cold.
"I know you don't, but there's a reason you called, isn't there? People don't just call a crisis hotline."
He paused, but soon, the boy spoke. "Yeah." His voice was lower now, trying to keep it down. "Yeah, it's... it's my parents."
"Okay," David's tone was quieter now, inhaling, "why don't you tell me what's wrong? You're... well, obviously it's a situation- Max, oh my gosh, are you in danger?"
"I'm not in danger, David, geez. I... I don't really know." Max counted the seconds between his words, knowing they were too long but all too short, he couldn't find the words to explain the swimming in his mind, the thoughts eagerly bursting to the surface and dissipating behind his mouth. "It's just that my parents- they don't really care. And don't give me your little 'every parent cares, Max' bullshit. Mine don't. It's like the harder I try to get them to listen to me - I actually made fucking friends at your stupid summer camp! I made friends, and they just say 'oh good for you' and go about their fucking day. It's like..."
"...The harder you hold on, the more they push you away?" David finished.
"Exactly! It's like-" Max stopped, brow furrowed, and David could practically hear him thinking on the other end, "Wait. How did you know?"
"My parents weren't the greatest, Max. I know I put on a happy face, but sometimes you just do those things to make everyone else feel good. I know it's... it's rough. Growing up with parents who don't reach out, or listen, or make you feel wanted. And you think that they put a roof over your head and food on the table, they have to love you, right? But then looking back as an adult, at my point at least, I feel like I was always missing something. And I'd look around and see other people and their happy families..."
"...And you'd feel jealous. Like they have something I don't have. Like they get their happy fucking family picnic and Christmas cards and whatever the hell they do, and you didn't. You don't." Max sat up straighter, the confusion on his face evident in his voice. He was pacing the porch now, his throat tense. "David- geez. I always figured you had a white picket fence and those loving stereotypical parents you see in a damn sitcom or something."
"No, but over the years I fabricated one in my head. A daydream to keep me going. It wasn't healthy, golly, but it helped."
The two were quiet on the line, and Max's voice finally broke, just the tiniest crack in the pavement, "What do I do, though? They wouldn't miss me if I just did it."
David inhaled, his own heart aching, hiding the tremor in his voice. "Even if that were true, all of us would miss you, at Camp Campbell. We're like a family, Max; you, Nikki, Neil, everyone. And I know they'd all be devastated if you-" He swallowed, "-if anything happened to you."
There was a long pause on the other end and David's panic returned, washing over him in waves.
"David?" Max sounded calm, getting his breath steady.
"Yes, Max?"
"Uh- thanks. And if you tell anyone at Camp Campbell about this I will fucking end you, mark my words."
David chuckled. "Alright, Max. Try to get some sleep, okay? What time is it where you live?"
"Late."
"Well, get some rest. And you have my personal number if you ever need anyone, I swear I won't tell a soul."
Max nodded. And then he hung up, but David had a feeling it would be okay. He took a few breaths, a few sips of his coffee, and readied himself for the next call.
This wasn't an easy job. Very few people could really do it, but sometimes it was the most rewarding job he'd ever taken.