By john greska, Velocity Contributor
Time. Sometimes it goes so slow, sometimes it flies. But what about the days when time just disappears? What do you do with that? How do you explain those missing moments?
I’m in the 7th Grade. I am watching Fish Hooks, a fairly obscure Disney Channel show, on the family computer. Two seconds later, I am in a hospital bed. My head is pounding, and I have no idea what is happening. I hear the word “seizure.” Both my parents look devastated. Why does my head hurt so much? My mother’s eyes widen, and she tries to speak with me. I can’t, there’s no energy in my body. I close my eyes.
I’m back at school after a few days. Immediately the eyes of all the 7th graders dart towards me as I enter the school doors. I guess there’s not really privacy in private schools. I try to avoid them, but with a class of only 22 kids there’s no hiding. My best friend Tony walks up to me first, perhaps to soften the blow. More and more of the students all huddle up behind him. Finally he asks.
“What’s it like to have a seizure?”
I almost laugh a little bit. I had to have known that was coming. He’s my best friend, though, so I still answer. “It’s really just time gone. I don’t remember anything, just that my head hurt a lot when I woke up.” They seem almost disappointed, I can see it in their eyes.
They thought that having a seizure was going to be like that gif of the Simpsons family wriggling around, and they wanted the play by play of each jerk and shake. I feel disappointed in myself, like I wasted their time. I couldn’t show them what I looked like. But I didn’t get to see what happened. All that time, for me, is just lost. But I probably looked like Bart.
I’m a freshman in high school. I have officially been diagnosed with epilepsy. “We’re working on it,” is the family’s official motto. I’m in Mr. What’s-His-Name’s English class. He’s also the track coach. I try to keep myself as under the radar as possible. It’s been going well. Then, about a semester in, the inevitable. I go to sit down in my seat, and I wake up in the hospital. Fuck. Track is going to be weird after this.
I go to school the next day just to get my textbooks and do my homework at home. Yeah, I’m that kid. I wait until everyone is in classes so I don’t have to deal with them. Someone from my English class runs up to me. He tells me the outsider’s view: I fell out of my chair and almost hit my head on a desk, but Mr. What’s-His-Name jumped over his desk and caught me before I hit anything. I just smile.
They say they have to go, and so do I. Unfortunately, my locker is right outside my Spanish teacher/soccer coach’s classroom. Double whammy. He sees me immediately, and tells the class to hold on a second. Don’t do it don’t do it don’t – he walks straight towards me and asks me how I am. He seems genuinely interested. His eyes are almost too painful to look at, like he’s honestly worried. I just say that I’m fine. He walks back to his classroom slowly. I’ve already wasted too much of his time.
I’m a sophomore in high school. Turns out my high school isn’t like the ones you see in movies where I would have been a social pariah after an event like that. People care, even the seniors and juniors who didn’t know me before. I get back pats and fist bumps. I start to come out of my shell a bit. Mr. What’s-His-Name has moved to a different school. I’m glad. Even though he is the “cool” teacher, he also knows too much about me and I don’t want to be on his mind for any more time.
I’m at a track meet, stretching on the bleachers.
Suddenly, all the other track members start running to the edge of the seats. Mr. What’s-His-Name has come to visit. Everyone is yelling, “It’s Mr. What’s-His-Name!” I don’t get up. He and I lock eyes for just a moment. My stomach tenses up. In my head, I just replay the thought of him jumping over his desk. I look down. I don’t want to waste his time again.
I’m a freshman in college. I’m living in a dorm at a school 2 hours away from my hometown. My parents are nervous, but we take the plunge. My parents say I need to exercise. I’m too nervous to join college sports, even recreational ones. But there’s a small gym next to the laundry room downstairs. Maybe I’ll do some push ups.
After I drop off my laundry, I try doing 10 pushups.
Jesus Christ, what happened to me? I used to be able to run 3 events on Mr. What’s-His-Name’s track team. I make it to 8 and go back to the laundry room.
I’m standing, waiting, and suddenly I’m sprawled all over the floor.
My head is pounding.
Shit, I had a seizure.
This time Mr. What’s-His-Name wasn’t there to catch me. How long have I been down here? I use what little energy I have to get up. Some of the dryers have different clothes. I conclude that students came to do their laundry while I was lying on the ground and didn’t do anything. I am not worth their time.
I’m a senior in college. I am not supposed to drink alcohol with epilepsy. But I’ve had so many seizures these past four years, I don’t care. I drink and drink and drink and sometimes have seizures and sometimes I don’t. Normally, someone would just administer my emergency medicine to me, no need to go to the hospital. But these people I’m with don’t know that. Shot. In fact, these people are almost strangers. Shot. I’ve spent years with them, but what do they know about me? Shot. Do they know my likes and dislikes? I know theirs’. Shot. Why do I spend time with them?
Shit. I’m in a hospital.
At least they knew to call 911. I get discharged. I think about calling them to pick me up, I have no idea where I am. I decide not to. We don’t need to waste each other’s’ time. I start walking. This is not what Mr. What’s-His-Name jumped over his desk for. I hope I still have enough battery for Google Maps.
It’s 2024, and I’m 25. I work at Acorn Public Library in Oak Forest. Part-time, of course. I need time for all my doctors’ appointments. I live with my parents in a 4-apartment condo, the other 3 units of which I slowly make friends with. I stop drinking, partly because I can’t drive to the store. But if it helps the cause, then it’s no less useless. I start to take more of an interest in my medicines and their side effects. I will turn 26 in 1 week. I realize that even if I eat healthy and exercise and do everything right, I’ve already lost a quarter of my life. My time must be more valuable. I start to make it more valuable. I begin learning Japanese. I create a video game development company, Trashfire Games. I go back to school.
Sometimes, I think about Mr. What’s-His-Name and his superhero actions. I regret not saying hello at the track meet. He deserved more than that from the kid whose life he saved. I wonder if he ever thinks about me. No matter how much I close my eyes and try, I cannot get him out of my mind. So much time thinking about him. Time that would be non-existent if it weren’t for him. Irony? I don’t know. I try my best to perfect these last lines. To show that even though he’ll never read this, and I can never truly repay him, I am using my time to get better, kinder, and wiser. Even though I’ll probably never see him again, I hope to see him one day and tell him all that in person. Thank you, Mr. What’s-His-Name.
Velocity 
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