Page 103 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Peyton stiffens beneath me, probably bracing herself for the rest of the story. I raise my head from her lap to check on her, but she softly places a hand on my forehead and soothes me back down onto her legs.

It’s been eleven years since I last spoke these words all at once like this. In therapy, we run over small pieces at a time, or I write it down. But talking about it now hurts just as much as it did then.

She bends forward to kiss my forehead, then lifts my hand and does the same to my palm. “It’s okay to be sad.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, gnawing off a little piece of tissue. “One moment, he was passing me the ball. And the next moment, he was passed out.”

Unable to contain the burst of adrenaline coursing through me, I sit up on the bed and face her. My mouth goes dry, my voice coming out a hoarse whisper. “I tried to save him, Pey. I tried. I promise I did. I did what I was taught to do. I turned him on his side, I tried to time the seizure, I called his parents. B-But no one… no one answered.”

“Help! Help us!” I scream, kneeling down next to him, but I know no one can hear me. No one’s on campus, let alone near the soccer fields.

“Stay with me, Ty. Shit!”

I race to the sideline, my rigid legs stretched tight with adrenaline. Grabbing my gym bag, I start sprinting back but fall to the ground six feet away from him. My legs refuse to bend, so I army crawl the rest of the way there, dragging my knees across the grass. My heart’s beating out of my chest, hands trembling as I dial Ty’s home phone.

It rings. And rings. And goes to voicemail.

I dial again.

Voicemail.

Dial.

Voicemail.

“Fuck!”

Ice-cold chills overtake my body as I repeat Tammy and Jeff’s protocol in my head: Turn him on his side, give him space, contact his parents, and time each seizure. Only call 911 if it’s lasted longer than normal… What was the cut off? Five minutes? But he’s never had a seizure that’s lasted longer than five minutes.

Tyler’s arms and legs shake. His eyes flutter open and closed over and over and over again. White, spitty foam gathers at the corners of his mouth, and I helplessly watch his body convulse on the ground.

“Why isn’t it fucking stopping?”

Has it been close to five minutes yet? How much time has passed? I start my phone timer, then dial 911.

“Hello? I need fucking help! We’re at Waterton High School on the soccer field out back. My friend is having a seizure, and—yes, he’s on his side. No, it’s not his first seizure, but they’re controlled with medicine and… and I just set my timer, but I think it’s already been over five minutes, so I need someone to get here now! God. He looks… Please hurry. I’m begging you. I’m begging you…”

I put the phone on speaker and keep the line open as Tyler’s tongue flops out of his mouth. His teeth clamp on it and blood smears down his chin. It’s so hard to do nothing, but the blood calms me in a way. Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. He always used to bite his tongue during seizures when we were little. That was normal for Tyler back then, before he got his dosage right. Before the seizures stopped entirely.

What’s not normal for Tyler?

The sharp, staggered inhales. The long pauses between breaths.

His lips turning blue.

“Ty! Ty, hold on. They’re gonna come for you. They’re coming.”

Where are the paramedics? It’s been longer than five minutes now. I know it has.

Panic sets in, deep in my bones, and I can’t… I can’t give him CPR, right? Not while he’s seizing. That’s not in the protocol. I ask the paramedic over the phone. They tell me not to do it.

“Well, something’s wrong with him! Something’s fucking wrong with him. His lips—his face is blue. Why aren’t you here yet? Why isn’t anyone fucking here yet!?” I scream, my voice cracking through the words.

Tears spill over my lash line, and my drenched cheeks feel whipped by the autumn wind. A fuzzy swirl of red and blue lights gets closer in the background.

He stops seizing just as the ambulance pulls up. His body goes tight. I drape my arm over his rigid frame while figures run our way. My tears drench his shoulder.

I hear loud voices. They tell me to move. They start compressions. They ask me questions.