It’s not like me to go to a teller at the bank. I usually do all my transactions at the ATM, the bank’s computers. If I had been standing in line for the ATM, maybe none of this would ever have happened. Or, at least it would have all been different. Someone else would have stepped forward before I did, someone else would be the second one in. Sure, I would have thought about things, and tried to do what I could, but from the ATM line, which was a good one hundred steps from where all the excitement went down, I would have been pushed to the back, left to stand aside and just watch. Other people, whether they wanted to or not, would step forward because they were closer. It was happening to them. Those of us in the ATM line, we were just the audience.

I never go to the teller. Did I mention that? Why have someone do for you what you can do yourself? I was feeling blue that winter day, that’s why I went. I wanted someone else to do what I could easily do myself. It doesn’t take a genius to transfer money onto your credit cards. Any fool can do it. I’ve done it a hundred times before. But, that particular day, I wanted someone else to do it. There would be a service charge and I’d gladly pay it. I really didn’t feel like doing anything for myself.

She was a sweet girl, and I only call her a girl because that’s how I remember her, but I know she was not really a girl. She was a woman. If you saw her in line at the bank, you’d probably look twice. You’d want to watch her. Evelyn had it all together, that’s what she said. She didn’t say it aloud so we could all hear, but she said it in other ways. She wore a camel haired coat, a long one that covered her knees. She’d tied a simple black scarf to keep the wind from biting her neck and she had mittens, not gloves. That was the girl in her. The mittens worked with the coat as she stood in line, her hair glistening with fresh flakes from the snow squall outside. Evelyn had chestnut hair, curls that drooped to the air just above her shoulders. You may have looked at her and thought she was intelligent, probably happily involved with a young doctor or architect- someone who works hard and makes her happy. And you’d be happy for her because Evelyn looked as if she deserved it. She wasn’t one to latch onto a good thing. Evelyn was a good thing. Anyone she teamed up with was her decision, made carefully. She chose friends that she could learn from. She wanted to learn. Evelyn was open to self improvement and that is why you wanted to watch her, why you noticed her. You wanted to see what she would do next.

What she did do next was to remove one of her mittens and from her matching purse, take out her chequebook. The line for the tellers was short. There were seven of us, quiet mostly except for the elderly gentleman who had just come in from the blowing snow outside. He wheezed and made a fuss of banging the snow from his shoes. He was wearing shoes in a snowstorm, shoes he’d worn to meetings before he retired. He stomped his feet on the floor, sending globs of snow to the sides. He really wanted to get the snow off his shoes.

Evelyn seemed unconcerned. She was beside the client counter, third in line, writing in her chequebook with her left hand. She held the pen, shackled to the counter by a short chain, she held it like a paintbrush and she wrote determinedly in her black leather book. I never saw her handwriting but I’d be willing to wager it was bold and neat. She didn’t make many mistakes and if she did, she had a knack for turning the mistake into something that added to the whole experience. I just have to believe that about the girl. Evelyn.

Because she dropped. She dropped unnaturally to the floor, her legs letting go like someone had flicked the power switch that charged them. Her legs were off. She fell gracelessly, banging her chin on the counter, spearing the skin. I noticed the blood later, for it took some time to come. When given an opening, blood does not come right away. It has a sense of timing. It waits and waits and then it comes- a red, velvet carpet.

Poor Evelyn. She fell to the floor, her chin split, her one black mitten still on the client counter, the shackled pen swinging like a missed trapeze. She fell on the wet floor, her camel coat soaking up the melting snow. Her legs splayed open. I really fell for her then. She looked so vulnerable and I just wanted to put her legs back together and lie her on a dry spot of the floor, let her sleep or do whatever it was her body had decided to do without telling her. I just wanted to take care of her. Poor Evelyn.

She began to convulse and all of us in line knew it was a seizure. We’d seen enough of them on television to know it. I waited for the foam to seep from her mouth but it never did and I was glad that the dark forces unknown had spared us that indignity. Instead, the forces sent blood, a lot of it and we’d seen that before too. They never seem able to capture the true color of blood on TV. Someone should have been watching Evelyn fall that day. “That’s how you do blood, man,” I’d say to the special effects guy. “Make it look like that. Make it look out of control. Make it mad.”

I would like to tell you that it was I who sprang into action first, that it was I who ran to Evelyn and tried to help her. But, you know better. I waited. I waited to see what would happen next. Who would step forward and keep the scene going?

It wasn’t me. His name was Wilson, the old man with the snow caked shoes. The people in the ATM line, those in the audience, they thought he lived in one of the retirement homes up the street from the bank. “I’ve seen him in here before,” was the word. No one has seen him since.

It was Wilson who came forth in Act II. Wilson stepped out of the lineup and knelt beside Evelyn, holding her head off the ground. “I need something to stop the bleeding,” he called, for their was a great stream of red vacating Evelyn’s chin. Wilson held her head and looked up. He may have looked right at me. “What should we do?” he asked.

He had already answered his own question. I stepped out of the lineup and took the black scarf from Evelyn’s neck. Her convulsions made the task difficult and I didn’t want to hurt her. With some effort, I was able to untangle the scarf , fold it loosely and put it to her chin, slowing the blood. The scarf was already covered with blood. It was ruined. So was the camel coat.

“I think she’s having a seizure,” said one of the tellers. She came out from behind the counter, locking her cash drawer before she did so. She affixed the key ring to her skirt and knelt beside us. “It must be a seizure.”

“I think we should call 911, “ said Wilson. “Let’s call an ambulance.”

At this point, the lineup for the ATM had begun to filter over and deepen the circle that was forming around Evelyn and the three of us. The teller’s name was Mary. I still see her now and then at the bank. She smiles at me when I wave but I don’t think she remembers who I am. She certainly doesn’t go out of her way to say hello.

“I’ll go call,” I said. I looked at Evelyn and realized that she was not well. She needed help, more help than I could give. Maybe Mary and Wilson could give it, but, I couldn’t. We needed an ambulance. I went.

It was Mary who put Evelyn’s legs together. I’m glad she did that. I wanted to do it but it seemed better that another woman did it. As I was on the phone to the dispatch operator, I noticed Mary was trying to hold Evelyn still with her hands, trying to stop her from convulsing, as if the brute force of her muscles would stop Evelyn’s. They would not. I think that was difficult for Mary to accept.

There was a phone on the glass table in the waiting room. The bank had a small waiting room for clients who had made appointments to see the Personal Services Managers. There was no one sitting there now. I excused myself from the ring of those who had gathered to show support and headed for the phone. The table was about fifty feet from where Evelyn lay and the black phone was clean and unused. I could see through the glass walls that one of the manager’s offices was empty. At the door of another stood a lady. She stood with her arms crossed and a bored expression on her face. She seemed irritated by the whole incident, as if we’d planned a surprise seizure to throw off her whole afternoon schedule.

“Where’s the bank manager?” I asked.

“She’s on lunch.” She went back into her office, implying she was going to call the restaurant and have the manager return to take charge. But the manager never did show up. Not until it was all over. I think the manager was relieved.

“You have to dial 9 to get out,” said one of the other tellers who had come over to help me make the call. I think that was nice, that Susan came to help me. We assume people can do simple tasks all by themselves but sometimes we like to have someone else there. Just in case we forget.

I did dial 9 and then the three digits. It rang twice, half a third and then the operator was there and she had questions for me to answer before I could tell her anything, like my name and where I was calling from, though I’m sure she knew the latter already. It was right in front of her on her computer screen. But she asked anyway. I think they ask not for their information but for your benefit, to centre yourself. Yes, I have a name and I’m in a place and something bad has happened.

“How can I help you, sir? Tell me exactly what’s wrong?” The operator was a girl, a woman, one of the two, and immediately I wished she was there in the bank. Everything would be fine if she was there. But, she wasn’t. She was miles away, on a phone line.

I explained that Evelyn had fallen, that she was convulsing, that we were in a bank, that there was no one here qualified to handle the problem.

“She’s turning blue,” Mary called out.

“She turning blue,” I told the operator. I didn’t really think about what this meant. I only repeated what I’d been told. I was satisfied to be the middle man.

“She’s choking,” said the operator. “She’s having a seizure....”

“She’s having a seizure!” I told everyone in the bank.

“She’s having a seizure and she’s probably swallowed her tongue, “ said the operator.

“She’s probably swallowed her tongue!” I said to the bank, not so loudly this time. People looked at me. I heard clicking in the background and then the operator was back with me.

“Address, please.”

I looked at Susan, the second teller. “What’s the address?” She told me and I relayed it to the operator but it was unnecessary for she had heard Susan tell me and was already sending fire trucks and paramedics.

“Okay, an ambulance is on the way.” The operator clicked some more on her keyboard. “You’re going to have to open her mouth and clear an airway. Can you do that?”

“Pardon me?” My ears demanded confirmation.

“Is she foaming at the mouth?”

“No. She’s just bleeding from her chin.”

“Excuse me?”

“She fell. She hit her chin. It’s bleeding. She’s not foaming.”

“That’s a good sign. What’s your name?”

I told her my name.

“Hal, someone’s going to have to open her mouth and check she hasn’t swallowed her tongue or that she’s bitten it off and she’s choking on it. Can you do that?”

“Excuse me?”

“She might die, Hal. It needs to be done. The ambulance will be there as soon as it can. But, it’s snowing out. It’s going to be tough going.”

It was indeed snowing hard. I could see sheets of white through the front windows of the bank. People walked past the front window. A teen-age couple were having a snow ball fight. The girl hit her boyfriend on the back with soft snow. He laughed. They had no idea what was going on inside the bank. Not a clue.

“Are you still there, Hal?” asked the operator.

I was there. “I’m here. In a bank. I’m here.” The teller, Susan, she looked at me, puzzled.

“I’m going to leave you with that. See what you can do. She needs help,” said the operator.

I knew she needed help. I knew that about Evelyn. That's why I was calling.

“The ambulance will be there soon.” The operator hung up. There was no more clicking on the other end of the line. There was nothing. Just emptiness. I put the phone down.

“We have to check and see if she’s choking,” I told Susan. She nodded in agreement. It was something we had to do.

I went back to the small gathering of people around Evelyn. I could see her on the floor, her convulsions slowing and her skin losing its colour, slipping into a cold, pale blue. The operator was right. Evelyn was choking.

“We have to check her mouth. She’s choking.” I stood next to Wilson who cradled Evelyn’s head in his hands. Mary was still trying to contain the convulsions, determined to do something useful. I didn’t kneel next to the two of them. I just stood. It was good to have a different perspective, a view from above.

“Right. Hold her mouth open,” said Wilson to Mary. “I’ll have a look in there.” He pulled one hand from under Evelyn’s head, letting the skull drop harder than he meant to and wiped his bloody fingers on his shirt. He took off his glasses.

From my vantage point, I could see Evelyn, my sweet, losing her breath. She looked more like herself, the calm, breathtaking one who had come to make a deposit and balance her chequebook. Did she have any inkling that she would never get to the teller’s window, I wondered? Did something happen in her day, a warning that things would turn upside down, that she would be on the ground in a bank with strangers all around, fighting to stay alive? There must be some sign that it is coming. There must be. It’s just not fair to spring that kind of trick without some kind of warning. I was angry at Evelyn. She should have known this was going to happen. She should have stayed home, gone to the hospital when she noticed the signs. This was really unfair of her to put this burden upon us.

I was not the only one to think this. I could see it in the eyes of those gathered around, those who felt compelled to stay and see things through, even if to just see how things turned out. Behind us, the ATM line, which had disintegrated when Evelyn fell, had loosely formed again. Business went on. Most of the lineup consisted of fresh recruits, clients off the street who knew nothing of Evelyn’s fall from grace. They could see the ring of people, just as I could see them. They could see there was a mishap, but they could also see the ring of supporters. All was in hand. They were not needed. Someone had things under control. I could see one or two who had been in line when Evelyn had her seizure. They did not look at our huddled group. They looked out the window. They clutched wallets and purses. They banked and left. I felt like going with them.

“Hold her mouth open for me!”

Mary let go of her vice grip and put her hands over Evelyn’s mouth. Wilson had removed the scarf which had done the job of stopping the bleeding from the chin. There was a large gash that would require stitches to close. I could see pink flesh.

Mindful of her damaged chin, Mary pulled open Evelyn’s mouth. There was a sense of urgency as she did it, again her force pulling open the mouth and holding it open. She was frustrated. Mary wanted the job done and over with. She held the mouth open. I could not see a tongue.

“I can’t do this. I'm sorry.” Wilson stood and wiped off his fingers. He put on his glasses. “I can’t do this.”

Mary looked at him, stunned. She had Evelyn’s mouth pried open and sweat was forming on her brow. She was exhausted, her muscles aching from holding things apart and holding things together. “I can’t do this, but I’m doing it!” shrieked Mary. Wilson seemed not to notice her anger. He fiddled with his glasses. He collected his bank book.

“We need to see if she’s choking,” I heard myself say. “She’s going to die.”

Wilson looked at me with a small smile. He seemed rather calm, as if he’d just fixed a flat tire on his day off. He finished wiping his hands.

“That, my friend, is too much responsibility. I’m an old man, for Christ sake!” It was his turn to yell and the ATM line turned their heads. He continued quietly. “She should have known better.”

“Who?” said Susan. She was standing next to me. “Who are you talking about?”

“This woman.” Wilson pointed to Evelyn. He brushed some slushy snow from his shoes. He was wearing the wrong shoes for a snowstorm. “She should be more careful.”

He left. Evelyn was not breathing, Mary was sweating and I was just standing. Wilson left the bank. We watched him go through the front window, slipping on the sidewalk in his tractionless shoes. He still had blood on his hands and fingers, some on his coat, but no one noticed. He would wash it off.

“What can you see?”

Mary had let go of Wilson. She was still holding Evelyn and looking at me, assuming I was next in command.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look in her mouth and tell me what you see?”

I knelt down beside Evelyn. The blood on her chin had clotted and the convulsions completely subsided. It was clear she was not breathing. Mary held her mouth open but she was not fighting the muscles anymore. They had relaxed. I wondered why Mary didn’t look in the mouth herself.

I looked. There was some blood and the back of a tongue. I could see that the tongue was intact and not bitten off. She had swallowed it.

“She’s swallowed her tongue. It’s right in the back.” I felt sick.

“Great,” Mary muttered. She was fraying. “It’s snowing too.”

“I guess I’ll try and pull it out.” I waited for someone to disagree but there were no objections, just the cars on the street mulching the snow and a syrup soundtrack dripping from the speakers hidden behind the bank’s dropped ceiling. Evelyn was not breathing. Her breasts did not rise.

“I’ll try,” I said. Susan put her knee against my shoulder to let me know she was there. I reached into Evelyn’s mouth and tried to get two fingers on the edges of her tongue. Her mouth was like winter, dry and cold. Finding a grasp was difficult. I stuck a nail under a flap of tongue and pulled.

“It’s stuck.” Nobody said anything. I pulled harder but stopped, afraid I would hurt Evelyn. “I’m stopping.” I pulled my fingers from the mouth and put them on Evelyn’s temple. Mary looked at me and then into the mouth. It was the only look she gave. She let the mouth close.

“Where’s that ambulance?” she said and rubbed her sore arms. There was no sound of a siren coming from the street, only more mulching snow and the music. Mary was breathing heavily. The irony of the situation seemed to propel me forward.

“I... We should try again.” I looked at Mary, the bank teller who had more experience counting hundred dollar bills and pecking numbers into a machine than clearing obstructed airways. She nodded. She grasped Evelyn’s jaw and held the mouth open.

I could see the tongue as it had been left, blocking daylight into the back of her throat. Evelyn had polished teeth, which made the green fleck of lettuce caught in the back molars seem all that more out of place. I passed it with my fingers and pulled on the tongue. It would not budge.

“Do you hear a siren?” I stopped my pulling and listened. Mary listened also.

“No,” she said. “I don’t hear anything.” She peered into the mouth, observing my fingers on Evelyn’s tongue. “Just pull. Pull with all you've got. They won’t be here for a while.”

I knew what she meant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I yanked.

There was more blood as my fingernails slit the flesh of the tongue but it came free. With a hiss, the tongue popped loose from the throat and relaxed in Evelyn’s mouth. My hand flew up with the force and cracked Mary on the side of the face. She winced.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words from my mouth, but Mary was unconcerned. She was looking into Evelyn’s mouth, listening for air. Evelyn’s tongue was bruised but I could see into the back of her throat. She had no tonsils.

“She’s... still... not breathing, said Mary. Her voice was fragmented, filled with a mixture of tones. Make it stop was the strongest note. Make it stop. I watched Evelyn’s chest, watching to see it rise and fall with the thick bank air. Nothing.

“I’ll give her AR.” I hadn’t done artificial respiration on anyone since I took swimming lessons as a kid. Even then, it wasn’t real AR. It was on Jodie Moore. I didn’t care if she lived or died, breathed or drowned. I just didn’t want to touch her braces.

I leaned forward and brought my lips to form a seal with Evelyn’s. I could smell mint in her mouth, poorly hiding the garlic from her lunchtime salad. Her lips were soft and dry and tasted of ripe tangerines. I gave her air.

And she began to breathe. It was only one breath from my lungs but she took it as her own and her lungs and nerves kicked into action once more, fanning out and filling the bloodstream with oxygen. With my lips on hers, I felt the life return, the pulse quicken. Evelyn began to warm.

“She’s breathing.” I raised my head and beamed at Mary. “She’s breathing.” I remember feeling very happy, like I was floating above the whole bank, the entire city.

It was a great feeling.

“She’s breathing,” repeated Mary and she smiled too and I saw where I had hit her, a small red welt on her cheek. She put her hands over Evelyn’s mouth to feel the breath or maybe to warm herself. She watched the chest rise and fall, slowly. It kept repeating. She was breathing.

There was a time when a squirrel got into my apartment. It came in through the closet, though I didn’t know that at the time. I searched high and low to find where that squirrel had come in but couldn’t find an opening. The windows were closed. It was winter.

My brother-in-law chased the squirrel out with a three iron, probably the only time that golf club got used that year. We were moving a chest of drawers and the squirrel had arrived while we were out collecting the furniture. I was startled to find this outdoor rodent inside my apartment. She clattered across the dining room table in the living room to get out a window. She marched over the couch. She really wanted out and I wanted her out so we were on the same page, me and that squirrel.

I found the hole much later on, hidden in the back of the hall closet. It was like finding lettuce hidden in your teeth.

The landlord thought the whole incident was hilarious. He did little about patching the hole until he found the squirrel in the furnace room. Then it wasn’t so funny anymore.

I spent a lot of time thinking about that squirrel. She was in my apartment no more than twenty minutes but I thought about her for longer than that. Life goes along and along and then there’s a squirrel on your couch and you realize just about anything you could dream up can happen. And probably will.

Evelyn opened her eyes. She had pretty green eyes, filled with tears. She was startled to find faces looking down on her. Her back was wet with melted snow. She was bloody. Her chin was split.

“Hello?” she said. Her voice was a whisper. It flowed. “Where am I?”

“In the bank,” I answered. I whispered also. She looked at me, focusing her heart.

“I’m Evelyn,” she said.

“I’m Hal. And this is....” I looked at Mary and realized I didn’t know her name.

“Mary,” she said. “I’m a teller.”

“She’s Mary,” I repeated in a whisper, as if it was all Evelyn could understand, whispered information. She had a frightened look.

“What happened? Please, what happened?” She looked at Susan but then returned to Mary and I.

“I’m going to wait outside for the ambulance,” said Mary. She rose to her feet.

“You don’t want to stay?” I searched her face for the truth. To be honest, I didn’t want to be left alone.

“I want to be outside. I should be outside. I’ll wait for the ambulance.” Mary tried to smile for Evelyn but I saw it was broken. The muscles in her face no longer worked. She would have an easier time frowning. “I’ll go wait.” She excused herself from the ring of people. Whether or not she ever went outside to wait, I don’t know. I lost sight of her feet by the ATM line. She also had poor shoes for a snowstorm.

“Please tell me what happened.” Evelyn waited for me to answer.

“I think you had a seizure. You fell down. You’ve banged your chin. There’s some blood.”

“Oh God.” This news came as a shock to Evelyn. Tears formed in her eyes once more. “My tongue hurts. It’s swollen. Why?”

I could see there was little point in not telling her. She would do the same thing for me. Someone turned off the music from the bank speakers.

“You swallowed your tongue. I... We had to pull it out. You weren’t breathing.”

Evelyn began to cry. She brought her hands up to her face and cried. Many of the customers forming the ring around her began to shuffle away. The lineup for the ATM machines had vanished.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. She continued to cry.

It was darker outside, the snow hesitatant. Some of the cars had on their headlights, even though it was only three-thirty in the afternoon. When Evelyn stopped crying she asked me if I had pulled her tongue free.

“I did,” I said. “Mary helped.”

“Thank you,” she said. She made an effort to pronounce each syllable and I knew she meant it.

“Have you had other seizures before?” I wanted to know. Something pushed me to find out.

“I was twelve. Not since I was twelve. The doctors thought it was a fluke. We all thought it was a fluke. Just a fluke.”

It was not the answer I wanted. “How old are you, Evelyn?”

“Twenty-seven. I’m twenty-seven. Can you believe it?”

More people moved away from the ring. Susan remained, silent, sitting on the wet floor beside me and Evelyn. A man took off his coat and put it under Evelyn’s head. He went and sat wearily in one of the leather couches by the manager’s office. He used the phone.

Others filtered to corners of the bank. They had heard what Evelyn said, about being twelve, about being twenty-seven. No one spoke. They just went to their corners to think.

I stroked Evelyn’s hair and waited for the ambulance. The snow had stopped altogether. Through the glass front window, the streets seemed deserted.

“Thank you,” whispered Evelyn. She was tired. “Thank you to everyone. I’m so sorry.” She closed her eyes to rest.

“Me too.” I continued to stroke her hair. Susan turned her head, but I could see she was crying. The shudders gave it away. I could hear the wail of an ambulance in the distance, drawing closer. Someone in the bank began to clap. Not everyone, just one person.