The Paramedic Asked How Long the Person Had Been Like That

“How long has he been like that?”

“I wrote it down.”

“You wrote down when you found him?”

“I write things down.”

The paramedic looked at the notebook in my hand.

“What time?”

“Six forty-two.”

“That’s when you found him?”

“No.”

A pause.

“What happened at six forty-two?”

“He stopped answering me.”

“And before that?”

I turned back one page.

“Six thirty-eight. He said he felt strange.”

“Strange how?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You asked?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was probably tired.”

The paramedic crouched beside him.

“Was he sitting here the whole time?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“He got up once.”

“When?”

“Six forty.”

I checked the page again.

“He made it about halfway to the kitchen.”

“And then?”

“He sat down.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes.”

“You helped him?”

“He said not to.”

The paramedic looked up at me.

“You wrote that down too?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly?”

I read it.

“Six forty. Attempted to stand. Became unsteady. Refused assistance.”

“That’s very specific.”

“I try to be accurate.”

He watched me for a second, then looked back at the man on the floor.

“When did you call?”

“Six forty-seven.”

The paramedic stopped moving.

“Five minutes later.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see if he improved.”

“You thought he might?”

“He said he would.”

“When?”

“Before he stopped talking.”

The paramedic held out his hand.

“Can I see the notebook?”

I gave it to him.

He read quietly.

That took longer than I expected.

“What’s this?”

“Which part?”

“Six thirty-six.”

I leaned over slightly.

“I can’t tell from here.”

He read it aloud.

“‘Said it tasted wrong.’”

“Yes.”

“What tasted wrong?”

“Dinner.”

“What were you eating?”

“Soup.”

“What kind?”

“Tomato.”

He turned the page back.

“And this line under it?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

He looked at me.

“‘Added more.’”

“Salt.”

“You added more salt.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“I didn’t measure it.”

“But you wrote it down.”

“I wrote down that I added more.”

“Why?”

“He complained.”

“About the salt?”

“About the soup.”

Another pause.

The other paramedic came in from the kitchen.

“Nothing unusual in there.”

The first paramedic glanced at him.

“Food?”

“Pot on the stove. Two bowls.”

“Anything else?”

“Salt. Pepper. Normal kitchen.”

The first paramedic looked at me again.

“What does this mean?”

He tapped the notebook.

I already knew the line.

“‘Wait ten minutes.’”

“I don’t remember.”

“You wrote it tonight.”

“I write things down so I don’t have to remember them.”

He studied the page.

“Who were you waiting ten minutes for?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“No.”

He looked at the man on the floor.

Then at the kitchen.

Then at me.

The other paramedic said, “Could’ve been anything. Low blood sugar. Cardiac. Medication issue.”

The first one kept holding the notebook.

Finally he handed it back.

“Don’t throw that away.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You may get asked about the timeline.”

“That’s why I keep notes.”

He watched me put the notebook in my pocket.

Then he nodded once.

“Okay.”

They started working again.

I waited until neither of them was looking.

Then I opened the notebook and added one more line beneath six forty-seven.

Paramedic accepted explanation.