A woman stands over me, tells me to stay still, and I insist I’m okay; she responds her friend has called 911.
“What? I’m fine!” I realize I’m having trouble speaking and that the lower half of my face feels searing pain and numbness all at once. I raise my right hand to my mouth. She gently tells me to stop talking, that my mouth is cut up badly. I start rambling.
“Are you from D.C.? Are you visiting friends?” She tells me she’s from North Carolina. “My husband is from North Carolina! From near Burlington! Are you a Tar Heels fan?” I cannot stop talking.
A man asks me for John’s number; I can’t see him but I can hear him. What’s my work number? John once asked me. I can’t remember numbers ever. It’s in my phone. Why do I need to remember it? John looked dumbfounded. What if your life depends on it? I laughed.
I can’t remember his work number. I can’t remember it. I tell the man this, and he says it’s ok, asks if I know John’s cell number. I say a few numbers first before getting them in the right order. He never answers his cell at work. Continue reading