I was walking down the street

I was walking down the street, when a man had a heart attack in front of me. I knew CPR, I knew what to do in an emergency, but in that moment I didn’t want to be someone special, so instead I found myself speeding up my breathing, raising the pitch of my voice, willing my fairly androgynous features to read as young girl, and crying out to the gathering crowd “Does anyone know CPR?”
When I made my way home, I found myself whispering in an empty house, I can use this to get out of grocery runs, and I felt my stomach turn. I’m not sure if it’s because I tried to make a joke that turned sour, if I felt bad, or if I felt sick at the idea of walking outside again.
I’d read stories about people who go through traumatic experiences, I know what panic feels like, so I know what they might do in response, so I do what I’ve read. I don’t stop and think until later if it’s really my panic or just what I think I should be doing. I avert my eyes from the emergency personnel, I tune out of conversation, I dig my nails into my arm hard enough to break skin, I keep on breaking into tears for the next hour, I feel like I’m going to be sick, I drop into the shower when I get home and let the water run over me, I try to wake up from this dream, I wrap myself in thick layers of baggy clothing to either hide or comfort myself. I delete all photographs from the day from my phone.
I tell my parents and my partner what happened, and my dad asks “Do you still remember CPR” and I lie. I wonder if I’ll remember lying about being afraid tomorrow, or if I’ll think it really happened, the truth fading away with my dreams.