Six Minutes

They say it’s a flash before your eyes, and then a lovely white aura surrounds you and carries you off to whatever place you pray to. Whatever your heaven or afterlife is. But here I am, caught in a stream of consciousness where I can explain all this in seconds to you. I didn’t see a white flash or everything I’ve done in life. No, it was more like in a matter of mere moments my mind tried to recollect as many important things in the last day or so before it shut down. It’s not really pleasant being lulled into a dim world by the piercing squeal of a heart beat monitor. Oh, right. I completely forgot.

Hi, my name is Scott. I’m a 19 year old university student, coffee shop barista, and newly appointed boyfriend. I’ve been dead for one minute now.

I know, I know, you’re probably like, “Scott, what the hell man?” Yeah I was too! You think I want to be on this cold metal bed while people in scrubs play around with my innards? Ew! So that’s why I don’t think I’ll focus on that horrible image. Instead I guess I can talk about what I previously stated.

So. University. What a blessed time it is. Especially since I’m a psychology major and this class I’m in has the dopiest professor I’ve ever seen. The poor guy wears a sweater vest and rests his glasses on the tip of his nose and is maybe around 60 years old. But the real kicker is the fact that he has corn rows for hair on top of his pale head. I don’t know why, but I’m certain that if the class were ever to do a psycho analysis of a subject, it should be that man. I can’t believe I get out of bed to see him quote Freud everyday. It’s like he’s……he’s…..

Three minutes have passed.

I’m sorry. There’s more I want to say and I’m running out of time. Did you know that the human brain, on average, can only last six minutes without oxygen? Crazy, isn’t it? Working in that coffee shop I’m sure I’ve had my fair share of oxygen deprivation as all I can smell are ground coffee beans and sugary froth and the fancy (and stupid, in my opinion) cake-pops baking in the back. Yeah, I’m the guy that asks for your name and if you say Erin, I’ll spell it “Air-In” or something like that. Most of the time I just like messing with people, because standing behind a counter while a 14 year old girl who thinks she’s better than you orders some ridiculous concoction.

“Yeah, I want a large, iced, sugar-free latte with soy milk and 4 pumps of vanilla. And my name is Brittany.”

Okay, is that Brittany spelled B-I-T-C….

Four minutes have passed.

You get my point. Time is really going by quickly. I’m rather nervous. They’ve been trying to resuscitate me. I don’t know the specifics about all of this medical stuff. I know my girlfriend does, but she’s not here right now. She’d probably be going on about how the crash cart works. Every time I find myself listening too. I mean, I’ve never been one for medicine and surgery, but when she explains it I’d listen to a whole lecture, you know? I’m glad she’s not caught up in this mess. I wouldn’t want her to worry. I wouldn’t….

I’m into my final minute.

Well, I guess I should tell you. I was hit by a car and they don’t think I’ll make it. It was my fault really. I was late for work, and I wasn’t thinking and I just ran across the street. As you can tell I am very well educated. I mean, I guess in a way I’m glad things have played out like this. I’ve had some good times. I’d rather have my heart stop like this than be torn apart by heartbreak. I mean, what girl would really want to date a barista who doesn’t even take his classes seriously. Let’s be honest here. In this world, there is no room for mistakes, and the last thing I want to be is one for anyone. I just think that maybe, at the end of the day, if this is how it plays out, then this is how it plays out. Maybe, wherever I go, I can tell Freud about the dopey professor that carries on our legacy, hey?

Seven minutes have passed.

That’s strange. I hear beeping.

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