13 Seconds

Drugs aplenty. all shapes, sizes and colors were the pills. Cocaine was easily cut and ingested like a fragrent wine longed for. The gold of Acapulco drifted lazily in the air, and distant sounds of laughter rang eeriely strange to my ears.

The party went on for two days before everyone went their own way, and I stepped outside to gain and inhale needed fresh air. My body took on a sweatless chill and felt cold. The earth seemed to rotate on a lopsided axis swaying back and forth, up and down. My vision wasn't clear and things were hard to see. And the ground rose up to greet my face.

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I was walking but running, yet never moving. I screamed out loud but never heard a sound. Colors were black and white, and black and white were colors all blending together yet seemingly far apart. I was in a place where squares were circles, and circles were crooked lines. My feet never touched the ground, and the ground was burnt glass. Above me, the sky was black and blue and laced with fire. I was caught in the inbetween.

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Thirty-five minutes later, I woke up in the back of an ambulance at the emergency doors of John Hopkins Memorial Hospital in Baltimore, my body dripping with sweat and my mind clouded and confused. What was I doing here? That was when I heard a voice.

"He died thirteen seconds ago. We'll bring the body to the ME for autopsy results."

I died? I died! No, this can't be. My eyes are open. I can see and hear him and I yelled.

One of the two paramedics looked over at me and quickly came to my side. He checked my vitals as the back doors of the ambulance opened and there stood two other doctors with surprising looks on their faces, but none more surprised than me.

That day, May 16, 1974, changed my life forever. It was the day my life was reborn.

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A smoldering blackness descended upon me, wiping away all the faces I knew, the places I've been, and where fear, pain and love disappeared. And I was again clothed in death.

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September 18, 2017, I had a heart attack. No warning signs. No numbness. The attack came swiftly. Until that one day, I felt and looked healthy. I did all those things anyone else under normal circumstances would. Nothing flashy, nothing daring, just every day stuff. But on that day, my life changed and rearranged forever. A triple bypass surgery.

My days of dancing from dusk to dawn ended. My days of passion hour upon hour, faded. I gave into this visage as a reminder I am no longer the man I once was.

Therapy, proper treatment and regular visits to the doctor over time however, I began regaining some of my former form and a renewed excitement that I can dance from dusk to almost dawn, that passion has returned to a good degree, and the balance of life has been set equal.

Yet, I have learned to take nothing for granted. Twice I have gotten away from death's clutching hands, and for that I am forever grateful. They say third time is the charm, and when it comes, I will be ready. Besides, the thought of living forever, quite frankly, scares the hell out of me.