It was Thursday morning, which in the collegiate realm marks the inauguration of the glorious weekend, and my friend Dave and I were celebrating our free time by playing Rock Band. We had met four years earlier as freshmen in college. At first, we were just awkward neighbors, but soon enough, we both realized our shared weird sensibilities and were happily throwing yams against brick walls together. It was a special friendship. He taught me how to make icing sandwiches, and that it was okay to say black instead of African-Americans. I taught him how to catch a bear, and that is was okay to skin it while it was still alive. It was a special friendship. And as we sat there playing Rock Band on that fateful Thursday morning, it became even more special.
We were right smack in the middle of one of our favorite Rock Band songs when the unexpected unexpectedly happened. The chorus was building up and all of the sudden I saw Dave’s drum sticks fly into the air and his body drop to the floor. His muscles became tense, his eyes became freakishly wide, and he started flailing and jerking about on the floor like a possessed fiend. It was super weird.
It all happened so quickly. One second Dave was playing drums, and the next he was on the ground freaking about like a fish out of water. My immediate reaction was:
My reaction was not unfounded because the thing is— Dave is an actor. It’s in his blood. His own Aunt and Uncle were the stars of the critically acclaimed show Gullah Gullah Island. This genetic acting blood that courses through his veins, that has run through the veins of all his family members before him and all those after, supplies him the ability to change his persona almost instantaneously. One day he might pay for a taxi under the guise of British Gentlemen. Or maybe he’ll make you a Philly cheese steak while acting as his renowned Man Who Can’t Read character. So you see, it would not be outside the realm of possibility for Dave to unexpectedly change from his usual Dave self into a character like Belligerent German Seamstress, Drunk Dinosaur, or say, Epileptic Drummer. You just never know with Dave, and I thought this was all just one of his many impromptu performances.
After too long a period of time admiring what I thought was Dave’s thespian talents, the realization that he was not just pretending to have a seizure, but actually suffering through one slowly began to seep through my thick skull. I believe it was when his eyes rolled to the back of his head when “encore!” was replaced with “holy fuck nuggets.”
Fearing Dave would die before my very eyes, I quickly ran to my apartment across the hall to get help/ fetch some other death witnesses. My roommates Carli and Megan followed me back into Dave’s apartment. Megan called 911, at which point she realized this was her first time calling 911, how exciting!
As Megan spoke with the emergency hotline, Carli proceeded to Google seizure and I stood helplessly above Dave trying to keep his raging head from hitting a piece of furniture. A feeling suddenly came over me that there was some kind of medical procedure I was supposed to be doing to keep my seizing friend alive and well. I remembered a vivid image of my 9th grade health teacher standing in his tracksuit:
However much I racked my brain, I could not recall how he finished that sentence, and Carli was taking too long to find an informative seizure website, so I went with my gut instinct:
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Dave’s tongue appeared to have gained a mind of its own as it wriggled all over the place in the back of his mouth. I became absolutely fixated on the idea that he was going to choke on it, and eessh, how unbecoming that would be. So I did what any hero would do. I stuck my finger into Dave’s mouth and went after his wildly tongue. And in that way I’m a lot like Abraham Lincoln.
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It was one for the history book. A carnival indeed.
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The medical professionals arrived and Dave was rushed to the ER. Amen to supreme beings, he was ok. He got to eat some delicious liquid hospital food and to this day is healthy and well. All was good— the frightening day had ended without any unfortunate outcomes, and on top of that, I learned a few valuable life lessons that I would like to share with you:
Moral Number One:
Life is a crazy and full of horrifying surprises. All you can really do is use Google.
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Moral Number Two:
Never assume your friends are talented. I assumed Dave was a great actor and wasted valuable tongue grabbing time. If anything, assume they are weak.
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Moral Number Three:
Death is all around us. After watching a seizure, I’ve become very aware of human vulnerability, frailness, and mortality. Death is real, homies, and as of yet, no one has invented some sort of preventive spray to rid us of this nuisance. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been very aware of our mortality, and have had several experiences with it:
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Watching your friend seizure all over the floor adds a whole new flavor to the dish of death.
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Moral Number Four:
Befriend people with missing fingers. When I stuck my finger in Dave’s mouth to snatch his runaway tongue, I wasn’t just saving the life of my friend; I was risking the life of my finger. Dave had no control over his body, and as he flailed across the floor unpredictably contracting and convulsing muscles, his mouth could have easily snapped shut with my finger still inside. And then just like that, I would have had a missing finger and joined the tragic pool of people who are victims of cannibalism.
We can then take a leap of faith and assume that anyone with a missing finger lost that finger because they were trying to save their friend’s life/tongue. So the life lesson here is if you meet a fella or a gal with a missing finger, you should become insta-friends. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you want on your team— one willing to sacrifice a finger or two for you. Yes, there is a chance that he or she may have lost their finger because they are a Somalian pirate or an alligator tooth poacher, but sometimes you just have to let go of that prudent feeling, “but he has an AK47 in his hand…” and become best friends forever. Because, really, that’s what life is all about— befriending people with missing extremities. If not, then what? Love? — I don’t think so, Romeo.
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Moral Number Twenty-One:
Video games DO (almost) kill. Playing Rock Band is highly dangerous and seizure-inducing. Do not indulge in this activity. Instead, participate in far less dangerous (but equally fun) endeavors such as throwing yams against brick walls, smelling your hair, or tying string around not sharp sticks.
