The Panacea Programme

Chapter Two - Ezra

The next three weeks go by uneventfully. The bout of unseasonably bleak weather is not long replaced with the dry heat of approaching summer. Classes are coming to an end and study for our leaving cert gears up. 

School days are all the same now; a melting blur of books, essays, equations, and coffee breaks merging into one another. Most are spent in either the library or the temporary study hall that has been allocated to us for the exam period. It's quieter now too. Teachers patrol the grounds hounding the younger years should they be too boisterous and distract us from our important career-prospect-defining work.

Soon, only the sixth years will be left, incarcerated here while the rest of the student body including my brother get their glorious end of year summer freedom. Auntie Grace starts recovering. Fast. Her cancer, which was virtually everywhere in her body, is retreating in terror like a defeated army running from the field of battle. Her energy is back, and though the doctors strongly recommended she wait another two weeks before going back to work, she set foot in the doors of the Museum of Natural History last Wednesday. To my surprise I'm starting to enjoy the curriculum more now and though behind, I'm working diligently, slowly but surely covering the topics. All is reasonably well. Until Tuesday. On Tuesday, everything turns on its head.

It starts off like any other. It's lunchtime and Carl, Zeke, Ivy, and I are enjoying the respite. It's the highlight of the day. Carl is showing us a new song he and his band are composing when I'm struck across the temple by someone's elbow. "Ow. Watch where you're going!" I turn to see who it is, but the student isn't paying attention. They're fixated on something else, all of them are, jumping back from a lunch table, recoiling in disgust. 

We stand to see more clearly. At the center of the table a boy named Matt is retching. He grips his stomach, desperately gasping for air before the next wave of spasms. He spews vomit all over the table. "Ew!" several exclaim. "That is nasty as", the class clown chimes in from the back. It's ghastly. I can't help but feel bad for him. No one likes going through that let alone with an audience. He hunches over the table again, heaving up another stream of semi-digested food. The table overflows. It's on his clothes now and a sour vinegary stench develops in the air.

"Alright everyone! Out. Out!" Mr. Keelan - the arts teacher - squeezes through the growing crowd of passive observers. He reaches Matt and pats the poor lad on his back. He whispers something to the student as he gags, preparing for an encore. "I said out everyone! Do you all want detention?" Mr Keelan glares, shooing us away, pointing at the doors. The crowd finally disperses. We shuffle out still gazing at the two of them, at the table and at the mess, and at the dismayed cleaner that just arrived on the scene, paper towels in hand, forlorn faced. "Wow, that was um, something," says Carl, brows furrowed. "Think he'll be okay?"

"I think there's a bug going around. My sister wasn't feeling well today either. Stayed at home with an upset stomach," Zeke responds. "Yeah, now that I think of it one of the girls got nauseous during biology earlier. I think her mum came to collect her," Ivy adds. We exchange expressions of concern. I say "I think we should try and avoid talking to anyone who looks ill until we get home. I seriously do not want whatever Matt has. Maybe it's contagious." They agree. We wait out the rest of lunch at the soccer pitch basking in the sun before going to the study room.

It's a little less busy than usual at the study hall. We take our seats in silence. The supervising teacher sits on a high stool at the top of the room surveying the rows of students, scrutinising for troublemakers over the brim of a steaming cup of coffee. The clock sets the tempo while students cram furiously, submerged in their work. I open my chemistry textbook and get stuck in. Twenty minutes pass before I hear someone running. I look up. A girl charges full speed for the door, holding her hand to her mouth. She almost looks green. "Excuse me! No running inside, young woman!" The supervisor yells down at her but she doesn't care. She has bigger problems to deal with right now. I hope she makes it to the bathroom in time. The heavy double doors smack the wall loudly and she's gone.