“Can I help?” David asked.
She held out his velveteen for him, “Take it! It’s fucking free! Finish
your retarded quilt!” When he took it from her hands the tip of his finger
touched her fingernail. Natasha was real.
She let go of the material like it had caught on fire. “Sorry,” he
whispered.
“I-it’s okay.” She whispered back, but he left the velveteen behind as
he left.
It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t the type of person who could save
people. Driving home the events kept playing out over again. Each time
his misery increased. How could he act like that with someone who was
real? Never even calling her by her real name, just acting like a jackass. He
didn’t say anything when he knew someone was about to touch her, even
hopeful that he would touch her. David’s desire to be right got in the way of
his doing what was right. He didn’t save her when he was given the chance.
He understood why the conspirators hated him. He didn’t want to be this
thing.
David recognized the postictal state even though he had trouble
recognizing the flashing lights or the blue car in the wall. His head and neck
hurt. He needed to vomit. The EMT flashed a light in David’s face. David
understood questions were being asked but not any of the words in them.
Eventually one sounded like, “Do you know what just happened?”
“I failed,” David responded.
“You had a seizure while driving,” the EMT said, “Are you epileptic?
Are you on medications for epilepsy?”
“No.”
“Have you had a seizure before or any recent head trauma?”
“I had one before. A seizure.”
In the hospital, Fairfax came to his room for a final performance
costumed in a lab coat. “What were you feeling before the seizure