Really. If you can avoid situations in which you might lose consciousness, please do so. Whatever you do, do not pass out. Trust me. It is not fun. It is not fun at all. Unless, of course, you’re guaranteed to wake up having mouth-to-mouth performed on you by a totally hot California lifeguard. Then I say go for it. That was my experience when I opened my eyes that afternoon on Carmel Beach. One second I was sucking in lungfuls of saltwater, and the next I was lip-locked with Brad Pitt. Or at least someone who looked very much like him. Could this, I asked myself, my heart turning over in my chest, be my one true love? Then the lips left mine, and I saw that it wasn’t my true love at all, but the lifeguard, his long blond hair falling wetly around his tanned face. The skin around his blue eyes crinkled with concern—the ravages of sun; he should have used Coppertone—as he asked, “Miss? Miss, can you hear me?” “Suze,” I heard a familiar voice—Gina? but what was Gina doing in California?—say.
