ARRvol34 master reduced - Flipbook - Page 11
“I don’t remember what happened! What happened?! Where am I?
What’s going on?”
“You had a seizure. I need you to answer a couple of questions.
What year is it?”
“It’s 2004.”
Thick arm band pinches. Too tight. I wince.
“Your date of birth?”
“May 17th.”
Something pricks the crook of my arm. Sting, sting, sting.
“Great,” he says, sounding bored out of his mind. “Medical record
number?”
“I don’t know.”
He mutters and goes back to writing things down.
I start to remember: running, the track.
But not: falling, shaking.
Only: others’ panic. their faces. their fear. their worry.
But it’s the ambulance people—medics, I guess—then the hospital people, nurses and doctors and such, who look like they’ve seen
worse. It occurs to me that they might have seen this happen, over
and over.
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