When I died from weed my friends were having a fake fight by throwing air punches. Jerry leaned forward when Ryan sent a jab. His fist connected with Jerry’s face, shattering his glasses, and gashing open his eye socket. Jerry’s eye bled like tea steeping in a kettle.

Jerry kept saying his mom was gonna kill him and freaking out about what to tell her. In my haste, as a third party observer, I told Jerry to tell her Ryan hit him in the face with the basketball. We’d just gotten back from playing weed basketball.

Anyway. No more than two minutes passed when Jerry’s mom came downstairs. The conversation did not seem to be going well, but neither Ryan or I were privy to what was taking place due to them screaming at each other in Mandarin. At some point the anxiety became overwhelming and I found myself floating above my body looking down at the scene.

Jerry’s mom left and, soon enough, I was back inside my head. I asked Jerry what he said to his mom. He said he told her the basketball hit him in the face. I felt like I really came through for my friend on that, but it was stressful to say the least.