My walk to the cafeteria went undisturbed, save for the sun's ruthless intensity and my sneezing and snuffling. I felt like a walking tank of boiling water. Actually, saying I walked would paint a wrong picture of the situation. I didn't walk. I tottered.
It stunned me how my health had deteriorated in the blink of an eye. Hadn't I walked to school this morning in near-perfect health, with fatigue and headache being the only exception? Why then did I feel so sick all of a sudden, unable to take one step without faltering?
As though my sudden sickness couldn't ruin my day on its own, Sir Aaron's voice pierced my eardrums, bringing my struggle of a walk to an abrupt intermission. "Hey, you!"
My insides churned at the menace in his high-pitched voice. The very same voice policemen reserved for catching thieves red-handed. Why did it have to be Sir Aaron of all people? This man had a face of stone and a heart of rock. To top it all, he had a voice that could melt iron.
Holding my hands behind my back, I turned to face my least favorite teacher. "Good morning, Sir."
"It's barely even eleven and you're already loitering," he said. "Is this the example you're setting for your juniors?"
With every word he spat out, my stomach tightened. I craved to be away from him so I could finally breathe fresh air. I could feel my blood getting hotter by the second. No, I don't mean it as an idiomatic expression. Literally, I could feel the hotness of my blood, a sickening feeling that had only arrived a moment or two ago. I blamed the orb of fury burning intensely above me.
Too sick to speak to the man before me, I presented the nurse's permit in his face, silencing him. Hopefully, for good. His quietude stretched over a few moments. And in this little time, my headache seemed to aggravate.
Plucking the note out of my grasp, Sir Aaron drew it close to his rather wrinkled eyes. After a moment too long, he said, "Hmm. Sorry about your ill health."
Learning is an everyday process. And in my final year in Western High, I discovered Sir Aaron, the most feared teacher, had a fraction of a heart. Wide eyed, I stared at him, noting how the look on his face transformed from irritation to sympathy. And for the most part, he wasn't faking it.
I let out a mental sigh. I should be in the cafeteria already. But here I stood, stuck with my least favorite teacher, and at the mercy of the ferocious sun.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "How bad is it?" Had his voice softened in reality, or had it only softened in my head?
I opened my mouth to tell him about my headache, but then I reconsidered. The man standing before me had a heart of stone. He could consider headache and catarrh too trivial for a nurse's permit, and that would implicate the kind nurse.
While I still conflicted about how to answer him, the back of his palm rested on my sweaty forehead. Genuine fear washed him over. "You're burning. You've got a fever."
"What fever?" The words flew out of my mouth without warning. I had a fever? The nurse had checked my temperature an hour or two ago and found nothing. So where did it come from?
"Quick, go attend to your illness." He returned the note like he would burning coal. I turned to leave when he spoke again. "And Victoria ..."
What? He knew my name? Impossible. He had never called me by name, but always barked out a 'you there!' or a 'yes?'
"Be sure to get well soon," he said.
"Yes, sir."
He walked away, leaving me to continue my floundering walk. I had a fever. I touched my neck to be certain. Underneath the back of my palm, my skin burned with the power of a thousand suns. That explained why I felt like a tank of boiling water. How wrong I had been to blame it on the sun. Poor sun.
Two realizations dawned on me. Number one, I had malaria. I didn't need a test to know it. The symptoms were all there. First, the persistent headache. Then a runny nose. And now fever, accompanied with a cold I'd never paid attention to until now. These symptoms had become a part of me. For the past four years, they would come up every now and then, but I'd never had a chance to treat them. My stepmother never saw me as worthy of medical care.
After persisting for a week or two, the symptoms would walk out of my life, and I would be good as new. I hoped this time would be no different.
But for how long would this go on? This sickness had been gnawing at me for far too long, accumulating day after day. It likened to a pile of books being topped with more books with each passing day. One day, that pile would not be able to take in any more books, and it would collapse. If I didn't get treatment sometime soon, I would break down just like that pile of books. Had that time come already?
Each time my good health slid from my grasp, I always looked forward to the inescapable breakdown, but it hadn't struck yet. It stood around the corner, calculating, waiting for the right time to knock me off my feet.
My second realization concerned Sir Aaron. We had all been wrong to paint him as a monster. A fraction of him knew humanity.
CHAPTER TWO
Sickbed
'What happens in this house stays in this house. Do you understand?'