Seizure

Seizure

       by Duoglas Reimer

"For some years there," said Constantine, English guest lecturer at Simon Fraser, intending to finish the sentence with, "Christian symbolism constituted the main thrust of thinking in the lectures on canonical works at all western universities," when it happened. An attractive female student stood up halfway back down the isle and began to hurry towards the front of the room. Before she reached the door, however, she fell flat on her face with a wallop. Constantine felt foolish, then worried, and finally anxious enough to step to her side and ask her questions. She lay there unresponsive, face down on the tiles, a trickle of blood under her nose. Looking around as if to see whether someone else would arrive to take note and maybe help, or suggest and encourage, he eventually made as if to move her himself.

       "This situation has changed my plans," he called out. "We must get this student to the school hospital. Class is cancelled under the circumstances." Students got up to go. Some hovered around him and the fallen girl, the professor deciding on the best way to lift her. He touched her hip and withdrew his hand. He placed one hand under her abdomen, raised her enough to turn her on her side and then her back, and finally slid his other hand along under her until he could lift her knees. Then, with his free hand he supported her neck as best he could until he stood with her in his arms. He asked directions to the medical support offices. A student covered the unconscious young woman with Constantine's coat and off he set through the minus twenty plus to Medical Arts. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. Her hair whirled in the wind and fell on the arms of his white shirt like shreds of carrot. He didn't notice the cold.

       Just as he walked through the double doors of the building, in the blast of hot air, she awoke. Groggily she looked up at him, first with lidded eyes, then wide-eyed and alert. She lay still, however, and struggled not the least.

       "What happened?" she asked. "Don't tell me. I think I know. I had a seizure, right?" She wiggled her nose because it hurt. She moved in his arms with the bounce of his steps. She placed her hand on his arm and tears formed in her eyes. He looked down at her and said nothing except to indicate that they should keep going. Did she feel all right he wondered aloud. And, had this ever happened before? Did she have certain medications she might have forgotten to take? And so on.

       "Did you pick me up?" she asked. He answered her in the affirmative, not knowing, really, how to explain his impulsive action.

       "Do you love me then?" she asked, and turned her breast into his chest. She kissed the arm and shoulder where they held her. He had not wanted this. He had no intention of loving her. His work went well and his bachelorhood gave him many privileges that, married, he could not enjoy. Still, he did love her, he realized. He felt as if his insides had turned to liquid and he felt as if he no longer knew his own name. And he wanted her so much. But he knew, too, that such was not his right. He knew these things and said nothing.

       A year later, after she was no longer his student, they married. They are still living happily in Kitsliano, he still teaches at Simon Fraser and he has been given an additional two-year term position in the English department. Though he and Anita have no children, they enjoy very much the practice of attempting to make them. They are super conscious of and speak frequently about prophylactics and the technology of pregnancy prevention. They make their own KY jelly from a recipe she brought with her that was her grandmother's.