7 Days In Savannah: My Dance With Death
7 Days in Savannah is a recollection of my time growing up and being a young man in Savannah, GA. All stories are true and relayed to the best of my memory.
You ever have one of those days when you thought you were going to die? I have, and this is my story.
I was in 12th grade at Windsor Forest High School. The highlight of my day was 5th period chorus class. I had long since checked out of any other academic endeavors, since graduation was around the corner. I basically showed up to school, sat in class and wrote rhymes while the teachers droned on and on about stuff that I already knew, or didn't care about. Chorus class was different though. I was by no means a strong singer, but I could provide some tight harmony, and I could sight read music, so it was fun. Plus, we had numerous field trips that got me out of classes, so that was a plus.
The drawback to chorus is that we had to add choreography to our songs. Lets just be clear: Rashan does NOT dance. It's not so much that I don't like dancing as that I don't like looking silly. I have my own sense of rhythm, and the dances we were doing were borderline homosexual, so I didn't really feel that. Okay, lets just be even more honest. I can't dance. I am the living proof that the stereotype of all black people being able to dance is false.
On the day in question, we were learning a new lame dance to some new lame song we were singing. The dance called for couples. As a senior, a lot of the freshman girls in the chorus wanted to be my partner. It was like Flavor of Love in that piece, except I didn't get to pick. The chorus teacher chose based on height. I was paired with a similarly height challenged girl named LaShawn. She was a pretty dark skinned girl who was just the type of girl I would try to get at back in the day. Well, I would if I wasn't painfully shy. Even being 3 years older, I still didn't have the confidence to start a conversation with her. Anyway, the guys in the chorus cleared space by stacking all the chairs in the chorus room in the back, and Mrs. Reagan took her place at the front of the class to teach us the steps. I remember me and my partner were on the right side of the classroom.
Everything started off pretty cool. I got the first couple of steps with no problem, and the methodical way of teaching was working for me. Learn two steps, try them, learn two more steps, try them, then put them together. After about 15 minutes, we were ready to do a walk through of the entire song. Mrs. Reagan sat at the piano and played the intro of the song, I grabbed LaShawn's hand and got in postion. The dance started off with me standing behind her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her hands at her waist. Then something went horribly wrong...
It started off with a steady stream of sweat. It was warm, but the class was air conditioned, so there really should not have been that much perspiration. I backed off a little and grabbed a t shirt out of my bookbag to wipe off the sweat. In doing this, I missed most of the dance. We tried it again...
More sweat, only this time I was feeling dizzy. I tried my best to maintain my balance, and not sweat on LaShawn, but I failed. I had to sit down. Only my pride wouldn't let me tell anyone that I wasn't feeling well. When LaShawn asked me if I was okay, I told I was and I just needed a minute. I walked to the back of the class and tried to clear my head. Next thing I know I was having trouble breathing. It wasn't like I couldn't breathe at all, but shallow breaths weren't getting it. I looked like I just ran a 5k, the way I was inhaling so deeply. Funny, nobody really noticed anything, other than my sweating and they thought I just didn't want to do the dance. This wasn't the first time I had become frustrated learning steps.
I told LaShawn to excuse me for a minute and headed to the door to leave and get some water from the water fountain. That was the plan, but I quickly calculated that there was no way I was gonna make it down the hall on B-wing. I staggered over to Mrs. Reagan's desk and sat down, wondering just what in the world was wrong with me. I put my head down and thought about science class. What causes sweating, shortness of breath and dizzyness? Even back then I was a (unsuccessful) self diagnoser. Then my left arm started to go numb. I figured it out: I was having a myocardial infarction, or to those that don't remember health class: a heart attack.
How in the world could I have a heart attack at 17? I didn't smoke, I didn't have a family history of heart disease and I was relatively active as a kid. I mean, we were always playing football or basketball. I was a little overweight, but I was an active fat kid. Hell, I even used to ride the stationary bike all the time at home and do my sister's exercise tapes. There was no way that my heart could give out on me this young.
The voices around me all became distorted while the piano keys played an odd soundtrack to my death. I did manage to make out a couple coherent phrases...
"Rashan, are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?"
Somehow, I managed to answer.
"No, I'll be fine. I just need to sit down for a minute."
Then the distorted voices and piano keys came back. My life didn't flash before my eyes like they say it will, but my unfulfilled future did. I would never get to go to college, get married, have kids, overthrow the government, etc... I thought about how my mom and grandma would feel if I died right there in that chorus room, which made me feel even worse. All these thoughts went through my head as I sat there dripping puddles of sweat on the desk. Next thing I know, there were only 5 minutes left in the class. I stood up, bracing myself on the chair to make sure I didn't fall. And then a funny thing happened... I was fine. From the brink of death to no longer sweating, no more breathing hard, no more being dizzy. The numbness in my arm was probably a self fulfilling prophecy as a result of my overactive imagination. I told Mrs. Reagan that I was okay, and went right back to the dance like nothing ever happened.
A few days later, I told my mom what happened and she took me to the doctor. My heart was fine, although with the limited number of tests he performed, I don't know how he knew that. He said it was most likely an anxiety attack. I used to leave that part out when I would talk about this story. Black people don't get anxiety attacks! It made me feel week as a kid that I could actually get that white people disease. I might as well have mononucleousis. LOL. But yeah, that's what it was. The stress of dancing in front of people with a pretty girl and I punked out. Did I mention that I was a lame in high school? LOL
You ever have one of those days when you thought you were going to die? I have, and this is my story.
I was in 12th grade at Windsor Forest High School. The highlight of my day was 5th period chorus class. I had long since checked out of any other academic endeavors, since graduation was around the corner. I basically showed up to school, sat in class and wrote rhymes while the teachers droned on and on about stuff that I already knew, or didn't care about. Chorus class was different though. I was by no means a strong singer, but I could provide some tight harmony, and I could sight read music, so it was fun. Plus, we had numerous field trips that got me out of classes, so that was a plus.
The drawback to chorus is that we had to add choreography to our songs. Lets just be clear: Rashan does NOT dance. It's not so much that I don't like dancing as that I don't like looking silly. I have my own sense of rhythm, and the dances we were doing were borderline homosexual, so I didn't really feel that. Okay, lets just be even more honest. I can't dance. I am the living proof that the stereotype of all black people being able to dance is false.
On the day in question, we were learning a new lame dance to some new lame song we were singing. The dance called for couples. As a senior, a lot of the freshman girls in the chorus wanted to be my partner. It was like Flavor of Love in that piece, except I didn't get to pick. The chorus teacher chose based on height. I was paired with a similarly height challenged girl named LaShawn. She was a pretty dark skinned girl who was just the type of girl I would try to get at back in the day. Well, I would if I wasn't painfully shy. Even being 3 years older, I still didn't have the confidence to start a conversation with her. Anyway, the guys in the chorus cleared space by stacking all the chairs in the chorus room in the back, and Mrs. Reagan took her place at the front of the class to teach us the steps. I remember me and my partner were on the right side of the classroom.
Everything started off pretty cool. I got the first couple of steps with no problem, and the methodical way of teaching was working for me. Learn two steps, try them, learn two more steps, try them, then put them together. After about 15 minutes, we were ready to do a walk through of the entire song. Mrs. Reagan sat at the piano and played the intro of the song, I grabbed LaShawn's hand and got in postion. The dance started off with me standing behind her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her hands at her waist. Then something went horribly wrong...
It started off with a steady stream of sweat. It was warm, but the class was air conditioned, so there really should not have been that much perspiration. I backed off a little and grabbed a t shirt out of my bookbag to wipe off the sweat. In doing this, I missed most of the dance. We tried it again...
More sweat, only this time I was feeling dizzy. I tried my best to maintain my balance, and not sweat on LaShawn, but I failed. I had to sit down. Only my pride wouldn't let me tell anyone that I wasn't feeling well. When LaShawn asked me if I was okay, I told I was and I just needed a minute. I walked to the back of the class and tried to clear my head. Next thing I know I was having trouble breathing. It wasn't like I couldn't breathe at all, but shallow breaths weren't getting it. I looked like I just ran a 5k, the way I was inhaling so deeply. Funny, nobody really noticed anything, other than my sweating and they thought I just didn't want to do the dance. This wasn't the first time I had become frustrated learning steps.
I told LaShawn to excuse me for a minute and headed to the door to leave and get some water from the water fountain. That was the plan, but I quickly calculated that there was no way I was gonna make it down the hall on B-wing. I staggered over to Mrs. Reagan's desk and sat down, wondering just what in the world was wrong with me. I put my head down and thought about science class. What causes sweating, shortness of breath and dizzyness? Even back then I was a (unsuccessful) self diagnoser. Then my left arm started to go numb. I figured it out: I was having a myocardial infarction, or to those that don't remember health class: a heart attack.
How in the world could I have a heart attack at 17? I didn't smoke, I didn't have a family history of heart disease and I was relatively active as a kid. I mean, we were always playing football or basketball. I was a little overweight, but I was an active fat kid. Hell, I even used to ride the stationary bike all the time at home and do my sister's exercise tapes. There was no way that my heart could give out on me this young.
The voices around me all became distorted while the piano keys played an odd soundtrack to my death. I did manage to make out a couple coherent phrases...
"Rashan, are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse?"
Somehow, I managed to answer.
"No, I'll be fine. I just need to sit down for a minute."
Then the distorted voices and piano keys came back. My life didn't flash before my eyes like they say it will, but my unfulfilled future did. I would never get to go to college, get married, have kids, overthrow the government, etc... I thought about how my mom and grandma would feel if I died right there in that chorus room, which made me feel even worse. All these thoughts went through my head as I sat there dripping puddles of sweat on the desk. Next thing I know, there were only 5 minutes left in the class. I stood up, bracing myself on the chair to make sure I didn't fall. And then a funny thing happened... I was fine. From the brink of death to no longer sweating, no more breathing hard, no more being dizzy. The numbness in my arm was probably a self fulfilling prophecy as a result of my overactive imagination. I told Mrs. Reagan that I was okay, and went right back to the dance like nothing ever happened.
A few days later, I told my mom what happened and she took me to the doctor. My heart was fine, although with the limited number of tests he performed, I don't know how he knew that. He said it was most likely an anxiety attack. I used to leave that part out when I would talk about this story. Black people don't get anxiety attacks! It made me feel week as a kid that I could actually get that white people disease. I might as well have mononucleousis. LOL. But yeah, that's what it was. The stress of dancing in front of people with a pretty girl and I punked out. Did I mention that I was a lame in high school? LOL
