By the time they arrived at the hospital the ambulance medics were barking out silent chest to the ER nurses. Face down on the street ice he had waited for his wheezing to quieten down and then planned to at least stand up. But he learned later the silent chest of an asthma attack was a deadly sign of danger. When he couldn’t keep even that familiar wheeze going things were not getting better. So little air was coming into his lungs they were going silent. They were giving up. They admitted him at ER passing in an out of consciousness. He’ll never forget that back and forth, from the terror of impending doom when awake—no air, can’t breathe—to the relaxing bliss of zonking out.
After that failed slap shot and his face hitting the ice, he vaguely remembers Duke’s taunts turning into a hoarse yell as he ran to tell Mom. Mom told him later Duke came running in with tears streaming but he never mentioned that to Duke. In an unnaturally serious tone for Le Duke his brother told him later at home how Albert’s lips had turned pure blue. Duke never treated him the same after the hospital. His brother stuck with sports through high school, but showed a lot more respect for how well Albert did in the classroom. And he never did call him by the T name again. So maybe that was Albert’s gift.