***
A wave of calmness stole me over as the sickbay hit my line of sight. I traipsed into the room, an uncertain smile flitting across my face to match the nurse's welcoming smile. Clad in a smart white gown, she sat behind the counter, reading an Awake! magazine.
"Good morning," I said.
Advancing toward the counter compared to walking down an aisle. A pathway stretched between the counter and the door. On each side of the room stood three petite beds, dressed with blue covers and matching pillows.
"Good morning," the nurse said, her welcoming smile accentuated by dimpled cheeks. "You really don't look well. What's wrong?"
I resisted an urge to roll my eyes. Of course I didn't look well, else I wouldn't even be here. Something on my face must have alerted her. She dropped the magazine on the counter and walked around it to meet me.
"It's nothing much," I said. Before I could utter another word, the back of her palm greeted my forehead.
"There's no fever." Heaving a sigh of relief, she touched my neck to double-check.
"It's just a headache," I said, sneezing into a checkered handkerchief I had just pulled out of my backpack. "And catarrh."
"Aww. Poor thing. You'll be fine in no time. Paracetamol should do the trick."
It amazed me how she never failed to obey the laws of phonetics. She would definitely fit as an English teacher. Had it never occurred to her?
"You speak just like an English teacher," I said.
"What?" she asked. "Nurses don't get to speak good English?"
Definitely not the response I expected. What did I expect? Thank you? Mentally, I kicked myself. I definitely should have stayed silent. Sue me.
"No, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just saying you, uhm ..." I trailed off, gesticulating frantically as though it would help complete my statement and save the awkward moment.
She waved off my incoherent comment with a strained laugh. "Don't kill yourself there. Yeah, I get that a lot."
Easing myself onto a bed, I unstrapped my backpack and watched her return to the counter. She plucked a card of Paracetamol out of its carton and cut out two tablets with a pair of scissors lying idly on the counter.
"And then you'll need this for that catarrh of yours." She placed another drug beside the Paracetamol. Turning to the C-Way dispenser behind her, she grabbed a disposable cup. But then she turned to face me, a quizzical look on her face. "I take it you had breakfast, yes?"
My stomach rumbled in response to her question. I had nothing for breakfast. Breakfast only came after chores. And today, like every other day, chores took up all my time, making breakfast a no-no. I had also skipped dinner. But the nurse didn't have to know that. With a subtle shake of my head, I supplied the answer to her question and waited for an outburst.
"What?" Her voice rang out. Although I'd seen that coming, my headache flared in response. I slammed my eyes shut, allowing the throbbing in my head slide back into my zone of tolerance.
"You want to take drugs on an empty stomach?" she asked. "Do you know how harmful this practice is? Do you know it's just as harmful as this headache, and other sicknesses we run from?"
With half-closed eyes, I watched her go on and on. It couldn't be that bad. Why did she react like I'd tried to commit suicide?
"Don't just sit there gawking at me. I don't administer drugs to people who haven't eaten. Go find something to eat first, and then come take your medicine. They will be on this counter waiting for you." Her voice had a tone of finality. She obviously thought this to be for my good. What then did she think of the raging war, a Clash of the Titans reenactment inside my head?
She sank back into her chair and picked up the seemingly fascinating magazine. Seconds stretched into minutes and she seemed oblivious of my presence. My stomach rumbled again, reminding me of my task to fill it.
"Can I just use the bed?" I asked, hating the sudden dryness of my mouth. The nurse raised her eyes to look at me. She cocked her head, a wordless statement that she hadn't quite heard me.
"I mean, the cafeteria won't attend to students until recess," I said. "And I really can't go to class in this state. My head is pounding so hard I won't grab anything they're teaching. Please, I'd just like to use the bed for a while. Surely the headache will subside. It comes and goes everyday anyway." I snuffled, gluing my handkerchief to my nose. Curse my runny nose.
The nurse raised her neatly trimmed eyebrows at me. "It comes and goes every day?"
"Yes?" I said. Why did she seem surprised?
"How long?"
"Two weeks," I roughly estimated. I wanted out of this question and answer session. I needed a pill to quell this headache. And since I couldn't have that, I could use a moment of undisturbed rest. Settling for less had become my thing anyway.
The nurse seemed genuinely scared. "And you don't attend to it? Do you not care at all about your life, Victoria?"
My lips parted to let out an answer, but I sealed them shut. I would not tell my life story to a stranger. I'd visited the sickbay a number of times, and the nurse had been a staff for as long as I could remember, but I still considered her a stranger. And even if I managed to tell her my story, she would probably doubt its genuineness. And if she did believe every word, it wouldn't change anything because she had no power to do anything. She could only sympathize with me. And I didn't want that.
I pushed aside her inadvertently hurtful question and lay prone in bed. Sleep would find me and steal me away from the unbearable headache. Even though it would only last a moment, it would definitely be worth it.
Heavy eyelids glided over my eyes. The room and everything it held disappeared around me as I slipped out of consciousness.
"Victoria!" an indistinct voice called. A gentle tap on my shoulder followed almost immediately.
The unrelenting pounding in my head and an emptiness in my stomach greeted me as I slid halfway into consciousness. My eyes lazied open and I saw the nurse standing beside me, an A4 sheet in her hand. How long had I been asleep? An hour? Two?
Handing the paper to me, she said, "The cafeteria will let you eat once you show them this permit."
I bolted upright in bed and grabbed the paper, too eager to read its content.
To the cafeteria:
I know it is against the school rules to attend to students during this hour. But our students' health is our priority. Please, kindly attend to Victoria Brown so she takes the drugs I have administered.
Stella Adewale
School nurse
Decorated with white and navy-blue stripes, just like my four in hand necktie and flare skirt, our school logo stood proud beneath the complementary close.
"Earth to Victoria?" Fingers snapped between my eyes, flaunting purple polish on artificial nails.
"Thank you," I said, grinning.