Panic Attack
“Hey, Mr. Dennis.”
The speaker was Mario, who used to work for me doing carpentry when I was having the house built.
“Hey, Mario. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said. “I hear you been sick. You look fine to me.”
“Well, thank you,” I said. “I am recovering quickly. How about you? How are you doing?”
“Good but not real good.”
“How is Maria?”
“Maria died. That’s why I’m not doing real good.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” I said. “You and Maria were together a long time.”
“Oh, yes. For twelve years she do everything for me. She cook three times a day. She clean the house. She wash the clothes.”
“You must really miss her,” I said.
“I miss her a lot,” Mario said.
“How did it happen?”
“I wake up like 7 o’clock and very hungry. Then I feel like something seems wrong. I go downstairs to the kitchen and I find Maria laying on the floor face down.”
“Oh, my,” I said. “What did you do?”
Mario said, “I check her to see if she is breathing but she is not. Then I get a real panic attack. I don’t know what I am going to do now. Then I remember is OK. The deli serves breakfast until 10:30.”
