Cujo saved my friend's friend life.

My friend told me this story just a month ago in a random conversation.

Back in early 2020, right before the pandemic reached my little Western Himalayan town in northern India, I lent my copy of Cujo to a friend (let's call him M). I loved the novel and wanted to introduce him to Stephen King's work. By that point, he had already become curious thanks to my incessant ramblings about King and his books.

After finishing it a couple of days later, M passed the book on to another friend.

As it turns out, that friend was going through an unimaginably difficult period in his life. According to M, he had been seriously contemplating suicide and had even planned to go through with it "the next day."

Somehow, Cujo interrupted that plan.

M told me his friend couldn't put the book down. He kept reading, taking his time with it, and that "next day" never came. By the time he reached the final page, he no longer wanted to do what he had intended.

I don't know exactly what happened, or what it was about the novel that reached him. Maybe it was the story itself, maybe it was simply having something to hold onto for a little longer. Whatever it was, something changed.

He's still here. Alive, and, from what M tells me, doing well.

I've never met him. But M told me he still thanks me for lending him the book in the first place. I told M to let him keep the copy.