At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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I pay the delivery man and the smell of hot meatball subs fills Tall's hallway.
"I'll set up the kitchen table for us," I shout. "Make your way here and, please, use your walker, or I will tell Ben." I clear today's paper from one of the chairs, grab a couple of plates and two glasses for us. I untie the plastic bag, unwrap the subs and put them on the plate. "They'll get cold if you don't hurry." I look at the doorway into the kitchen, waiting to see Tall any second now, but a minute later he's still not here. Probably started reading something and can't stop until he gets to the end of the chapter. I head back into the living-room and see his head above the chair.
"Tall, come on, the food's here."
He doesn't turn back and remains still. Dread trickles down from my mind into my chest. Something is wrong. I run to him and see his eyes glazed over but not with sleep, his hand on his chest.
"Tall?" I shake his shoulder and his head rolls to the side. This is not happening. I can't have this. What am I supposed to do here? I take out my phone and dial 911, but the stupid apartment doesn't have reception. I put my finger to Tall's neck, looking for a pulse. It's threadbare, but it's there and he is still breathing. I leave him where he is and run to the hallway and the black beast on the wall. My fingers tremble as I rotate 'nine', it clicks as it passes all the numbers backwards and it takes seconds for the dial to get back into place. The two 'ones' go faster. I wait for the beeps. I'm not sure it will even work, but it does. The operator answers and I tell her the address and that Tall's unconscious. The ambulance is on its way. I take five steps into the living room while the operator keeps asking me questions. The tangled cord is not long enough for me to reach Tall and I choose to hang up, open the door into the apartment and rush back to Tall.
Cold sweat runs down my back. I check the pulse and the breathing and I'm not sure either is there. CPR, I need to start CPR. I put my arm around Tall and under his armpits and try to move him off the chair. His height and weight made it difficult for me to assist him with getting in and out of the chair the first days at the hospital, now his body feels like it weights a ton and we both half-fall half-roll on the floor. I put him on his back and start chest compressions. I've never performed CPR, but I have done a class on first aid in my high school swim team days and seen enough public service announcements and movies to know to keep pushing hard and fast. One-two-three-four-five, one-two-three-four-five. Tall coughs and opens his eyes. Disoriented, he looks at me, his eyes stay unfocused and close before I see any recognition in them.
The paramedics arrive with a stretcher, check for a pulse and, while I tell them about my attempt at CPR, lift him onto the stretcher and take him out of the apartment. I follow them, shut the door behind us and keep asking if he's going to be all right. When we are out of the building and they load him into the ambulance. I try to hop in.
"Are you his relative?" One paramedic, a girl shorter than me with spiky purple hair, holds her hands out, not letting me in.
"I need to come with." That's not the reply she's looking for.
