I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

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Season 3 Episode 3

Thank you for downloading this episode.

You really, really should watch this video to understand just what kind of car we are talking about: CLICK HERE TO WATCH

👉The story begins at 1:42 and the tiny lessons begin at 16:50

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

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TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons.

Today’s story comes with a Content Warning: it’s about a panic attack, and there’s a conversation about mental illness. Nothing too serious, but if you’re not in the mood to hear something like that, maybe stop and come back later. Don’t worry, though. There’s other stuff in the story. In fact, if you don’t know what a 1967 Ford Mustang looks and sounds like, go ahead and pause right now. Look in the show notes, I’ve added a link to a youtube video . Check it out. It’s pretty awesome…

So, of course, the name of this story is… Mustang.

Carl was dying. He was standing in his kitchen and he couldn’t breathe, and he was dying.  The edges of his vision were blurry. He couldn’t breathe.  He heard a noise. Short and sharp and fast, it repeated again and again and again, identical.

Dottie was in the next room, finishing her coffee. If he called her, she would come and take him to the hospital. But they couldn’t afford an ambulance. They couldn’t even afford to keep what they had.

The noise was coming faster now and his vision was narrowing to a tunnel. He was in a white tunnel. He was sure that he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t find the breath to call his wife’s name.

Suddenly, he was sitting on the floor. His back hurt. Had he fallen?

He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, like it wanted to escape. Like it wanted to burst out of his chest and run screaming down the hall. He was having a heart attack, and he was going to die here on his own stupid kitchen floor.

He could hear her voice. It sounded like she was underwater. Or maybe like he was underwater and she was on the beach, calling to him. Like she was miles away. She was saying his name.

The noise was starting to slow down. It sounded like a dog panting on a summer day.

It was him. The noise was him.

It was his own breath, and it was starting to slow down. The tunnel widened, and he could see the kitchen door, and the Mustang in the driveway. Her hands were under his arms now, lowering him onto his back.  He was laying on the floor and she was there with him.

“Dottie?” he gasped. “I’m having a heart attack. I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Carl. It’s just a panic attack.”

“How do you know?” he said. “I can’t breathe and my heart’s going to...