I prepared every ounce of my being...for a sixth grade math class. Mindcrack teachers substitute for each other as needed. Having a science teacher substitute for a combat instructor is not all that unusual at Mindcrack. Since no one else wanted to substitute for sixth grade math, I pitched in. It was right before music with the rest of the day dedicated to preparing for the next day, decompressing, and getting my brain to function properly. I had already tripped in the hallway rushing to the sixth grade classroom because I woke up with horrible muscle pains. When I stepped through the door, I found nearly an entire class of eager
My first thought was: Did they really need so much synthesized glowstone in here? How can students concentrate in this light? The first few students entered. Two of them, Lydia and Adrian, I recognized from the track team. The rest of the students poured in. Today, I would be teaching how to solve equations with operations and variables on either side. I started roll call.
..."Adrian Roth?"
"Here." Adrian smiled zealously, ready to start the day. He pulled out his math sheets, one of which appeared to have a peanut butter stain.
"Here." Caleb had his head on the desk in shame. Apparently math is not his forte.
"Esther Zhang?"
"Here." She appeared disinterested. Esther, a brilliant student, excels in combat, but hates the structure of average combat training classes. She is a regular attendant of Steve's combat club. I know, however, that she is not a math person. Esther produced a halfheartedly done sheet of homework; I collected their homework for the teacher to grade later.
I went on to teach about the topic of the day. Math came like a second language: easily when applied to my native language. Some of the students tilted their heads confusedly. Others readily jotted down notes. A cluster of students was talking; I reminded them to direct their attention to the board. They refused to comply. Steve had taught me to pick out the ringleader to break up these clusters. I found that the most likely candidate was the boy in the red shirt, so I sent him to the office. After letting the students work by themselves, take a break, or play games on their phones, the bell rang. I made my way through the busy hallways to the usual music classroom. I felt drained by the time I had finished teaching the math class. My head throbbed. Suddenly, I regretted eating a large breakfast. Now I know how Steve feels when he has to sight read.
When I got to the room, I found that another teacher had tampered with my items. My binder looked like it had been rummaged through and the new papers were definitely not mine. Everything was out of place. How could I teach if my setup had been destroyed? It sent me into a panic,but I had to pull myself together. I had to do it for my students.
I told them about today's special event. Today, we would visit the band room to try to get a sound of various brass instruments. They sat restlessly while I gave a brief introduction and read the announcements. Adrian looked especially excited about having chicken tenders for lunch. Yuki rolled her eyes at the track team announcements.
Steve greeted them affably as he usually does with other people and gave an introduction about embouchure, hand placement, and role in an ensemble for each of the instruments. It was as if he rehearsed this script a thousand times. (I made him do it.). I assisted each student try out their instrument of choice. Caleb (a different Caleb) seemed best suited to euphonium, Adrian to trumpet, Katelyn to trombone, Yuki to horn, etc.... I found that this class is mostly suited for euphonium, which I found surprising. Collectively, the class has a trumpet player personality with a bit of horn awkwardness.
When I dismissed them, I went back to the teacher's lounge to decompress. I never realized how tiring listening to sixth graders blow sour notes on brass instruments was until now. My phone uttered a marimba melody, which meant that Dr. Chen was trying to reach me. I rummaged through my purse to find my phone and found two inhalers: one for maintenance and one for rescue, an epinephrine injector, Benadryl, a purple notepad that served as my seizure diary, a potion of slowness, a syringe, anticonvulsant medication, a horn mouthpiece wrapped in a piece of old sheet music, a jar of clarinet reeds, a half-eaten bag of banana chips, and a DART card, but no phone. After listening further, I found it in my back pocket and unlocked it.
Dr. Chen: Hi! This is Dr. Betty Chen texting to remind you that your neurologist's appointment is at 15500. This is an automatic message.
I took up my purse full of medical supplies and stayed in my room. A trumpet fanfare sound indicated that Steve texted.
Steve: I need to stay late to help a student. Good luck at your appointment.
Me: I understand. Thanks.
I headed to the neurology clinic. Getting there would take an hour in my best shape. I dodged haphazardly shot arrows, tripped, and didn't think to roll. Again, my arms bent backwards when I tried to break my fall. I ended up with a few scrapes, but nothing serious. Redstone debris from nearby construction happened to fall where I did; every cut stung like a diamond sword made a cut across my nerves. I continued on. The terrain grew steep and treacherous as I progressed.
Eventually, my legs bent backwards and gave out. I was going to be late if I didn't move, but, at this point, I didn't care. My new pants suddenly felt itchy and stiff. The air was thick with smoke. Minecarts darted along the tracks with their passengers. Signs flashed in a myriad of colors, alerting hordes of pedestrians to buy their products and services.
Creeper Cola: An explosion of happiness (Does not contain sulfur)
Get smart with our tutoring services.
In a collision and need provisions? Call ###-####.
Trade with local villagers! We are not scammers.
Buy weapons and armor here!
We brew for less and give you more!
A vendor passed by and offered me grilled shrimp on a stick. I declined his offer, but he kept trying to prod me into eating his shish kebab of death. That was enough to make me break into a sprint. I had to demonstrate runs for the middle school track team, so this was not all that foreign to me. Dodging yet more obstacles like redstone spills, errant bottles, and unaware passengers, I made considerable progress. However, when I reached the door of the Blooming Rose Neurology Clinic, I collapsed again. I couldn't move. Every joint in my body screamed with pain. Luckily, a nurse on break noticed me and helped me to my feet. When I found the nearest chair, I collapsed in it. A nurse called me and directed me to the exam room even though I know the way there. With her hair in an immaculate bun, Dr. Chen directed her attention towards me.
"Hi! How was your day?" She always started our appointments like that.
"It was tiring and fun as usual. My students tried playing brass instruments."
"Were they any good?"
"Some were outstanding. Adrian has the makings of a trumpeter and he's a great track runner. I'd say he's the best on the team. Anyway, I'm here to tell you that I have some concerns." Dr. Chen inclined her ear towards me and listened as I told her about the seizures. I gave her my notepad and she read it as diligently as I would like my students to read the directions on their worksheets. "And my arms and legs to tend to bend backwards when I fall. Do you find that weird?" She concentrated and wrote some notes on a clipboard. After that, she looked up. I asked if I could use the restroom here. She pointed me in the general direction.
Ever since my ICU stay, the staff gave me some of their diapers. Mine was only slightly damp, but starting to become itchy, so I changed quickly and got back to Dr. Chen. Ever since then, I've been more confident. I didn't have to suddenly stop a lesson to prevent an accident or inconvenience other students anymore. I got back to the appointment; Dr. Chen directed me to another room. She told me to lie down and got out a needle.
"I'm going to need to draw some blood." My heart beat faster as she cleaned the area with an alcohol wipe. To my horror, I heard myself cry and felt my limbs thrash. I started to panic as nurses tried to pin me down. I couldn't escape. I couldn't breathe. A scream echoed off the walls as a symphony of pain. It was in some way my own and, in some way, not my own. I felt a needle pierce my arm. I am accustomed to sword and arrow wounds as every Minecraftian is, but needles cause an entirely different kind of pain. The slightest pinprick is enough to send me into a full-blown crying, screaming, and limb-flailing meltdown. Dr. Chen stood back calmly while the staff were shouting, holding me down with their gloved hands, thus aggravating my latex allergy and only making it worse. I ended up having an asthma attack, or so I thought. A horrible red rash spread across my limbs and burned as if I were swimming in lava.
When they stopped, a nurse called Steve to tell him about what happened. Since I could do nothing else, I steeled myself to listen. I realized that my airway was narrowing and that the staff would do nothing about it.
"We have deemed Caitlin Netherfield as hostile and aggressive."
"What? That doesn't sound like her at all."
"She forcefully tried to prevent our staff from performing a blood draw."
"That's...not right." What they said was both a truth and a lie. I wasn't trying to prevent them, but I, as a ranged fighter, can understand that it is harder to hit a moving target.
"Of course it isn't. She was attacking us." I don't know if flailing my limbs at no one in particular counts as attacking. The world faded into a black sea of pain.
I awoke in my own home gasping for air. Steve held the used epinephrine injector in one hand and tried to touch me with the other. I batted it away and curled into a ball. I did not want him to see me like this. He awkwardly scuffled out of the room; I stayed with my thoughts, releasing them as notes. My intonation wasn't the best and I had no vibrato or dynamic contrast, but I sang anyway. I sang "A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes" from the Disney Cinderella movie. Though the plot as inane and illogical, it brought me comfort. Vivienne and I frequently watched it together while eating cheese pizza with no sauce. She gave me the hope and strength to climb one block higher, run one more lap, and live for one more day. I had lived and that's what counts. No matter how terrible life got, I loved it.
I wished for freedom, for a chance to prove myself to the world, to be able to take initiative instead of just standing in the corner helplessly, for freedom. More importantly, I wished for everyone I loved to be safe and thrive. I never really cared about my own wellbeing, but others meant the world to me. I listed off people I cared about.
Steve
Andrew
Dr. Chen
My music class
The middle school track team
My sisters, no matter how much pain they had inflicted upon me in the past
The nearby villagers
I rocked from front to back hugging my knees and gradually increased in intensity and tempo. This was the part of me that I hid like a mineshaft concealing its diamonds from the unworthy. For this part of me, I was called insane, a madwoman, inhuman. I an indeed, not human, but I have humanity. I have feelings, compassion, empathy, and other characteristics those around me have failed to recognize.
Suddenly, I saw my younger self right outside the band room. She had just run out of band class to decompress and started to rock. People stared, pointed, and laughed. Others shot the girl with a fusillade of insults.
"I told you she was crazy!"
"She should really be on the short bus."
"I know, right?" They did not stand down. They fired and fired at the defenseless girl. She sobbed into her arms and continued to rock. I tried to move, but I was powerless, just a bystander, a passive observer.
"Do you think she can talk?" The truth is that I can talk, just not under extreme stress, which the younger me had obviously experienced in this memory.
"You're not retarded, are you?" That comment shocked me to my core and continued to resonate into today. I looked at the kid who said it. He was about five feet tall, had blue eyes, and wore a cyan T-shirt and blue jeans. The younger Steve found me at my most vulnerable and strewed my essence, my autonomy, and my identity across the furthest reaches of the known world with those words. The current Steve looked at me with shock and anger.
"Just forget about that. It was a long time ago." He tried to dismiss my innermost pain with that phrase.
"Here's the thing. I cannot forget anything anyone says about me. Even if I wanted to, I can't just dismiss the day you shattered my life like it never happened."
"It's just words. Can't you learn to forget?"
"If 'it's just words', then you are a petty, selfish coward and might as well leave!"
"Fine. I will." With that, he stormed out of the room. I was alone again, with my thoughts and my voice. Every part of my body cried out from weariness. My phone protested by buzzing and producing an obnoxious piano riff. It was 21000. Who would call or text at this hour? The call was from a familiar number, so I answered.
"Hello? I need some help urgently." It was Sylvia Roth, another third clarinetist in the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra. She sometimes called and kept me up at night. I lashed out on bad days, yet she kept calling.
"It's late. Call me again in the morning."
"But it's an emergency. I need your help and quickly! My son is hurt."
"I'm a music teacher, not an EMT! And why are you, his mother, not there helping him?" I hung up. Sylvia called again.
"Well, the EMTs are not there yet. He's roughly located at 99.45, 235.55, 22. I can't be there because Riley is medically complex and is now sick." Adrian was hurt. My colleague/friend's child was hurt. My student was hurt. I could have said that it wasn't my job, but it was. When those students took their seats in my classroom, they became my children. It sank in after a few seconds; I ran in an all-out sprint on the way to those coordinates. Andrew told me to take care not to exert myself too much and risk damaging my joints or having an asthma attack, but, for once, I didn't care. I tossed his words into the wind and ran.
The wind blew in my face. My lungs burned. My feet pounded the ground and launched me into the next step. I had one goal: Get to Adrian. Thinking of him made me run even faster, much like a track athlete nearing the end of a race. I heard crying in the distance and saw an 11 year old boy in creeper pajamas lying on his side and coughing up large volumes of what looked like blood. Tears streamed from his eyes, one dark brown and one twilight blue. The boy was definitely Adrian. I saw a few bystanders, some who glanced at Adrian, but did nothing. I could understand their uncertainty, but the scene still angered me. None of them were calling 911 or asking if there was anything they could do.
I had no idea how to comfort this boy. Nothing seemed right for this incident. Each cliche, each useless platitude had something wrong with it. If I said "You'll get through this" and he died the next day from blood loss, I wouldn't know how to live with myself. I made a quick search through what I could say and do. I bend down in a place where Adrian could see me, but not directly in his line of sight. Positioning one's self in direct sight suggests aggression.
"Help...me...." A raspy whisper sounded from his throat. I could do nothing but comfort him, so that's what I did.
I produced a wad of tissues from my bag and began wiping his face, both to dry his tears and get the blood off his chin. His crying turned into words. "I'm going to die," he said over and over again.
"Everything will be okay." I ran my hand through his soft brown hair the way Steve does after I fall for all the various reasons I stumble to the ground. I could never forget what he did, but I can also never forget what he does now. Adrian coughed more quietly now. Out of nowhere, the girl with red hair confronted me.
"Do you know Adrian?" I studied the girl. She looked like she could be a Mindcrack student, but I wasn't sure I ever saw her in my classes. Then, when I saw her Creative Fun-issued sword, I knew she was in fifth grade.
"Yes. We're friends. Adrian was in a sniper duel with a skeleton and got bitten by five cave spiders. " Right when she said that, I fired some arrows at a skeleton. It fell.
Alex produced another tissue. We conversed all while helping Adrian. The EMTs arrived with the sirens on their minecarts wailing. Alex and I put our hands up and stepped back. Immediately, the EMTs carried Adrian away. I tried to make my way back home, but my legs gave out. I felt my throat begin to tighten, so I used my inhaler. Being able to breathe made me feel somewhat better, but it didn't change the fact that pains shot through my knees like arrows. I chugged half a healing potion and, within moments, I regained my strength and continued on. My phone produced a trumpet fanfare.
Steve: Where are you? I'm so worried. :(
Me: I was helping Adrian.
Steve: It's 22500!
Me: Adrian was in a sniper duel with a skeleton and was ambushed by cave spiders.
Steve: Did he live?
Me: Yes. He was in bad shape, though. Don't expect him to show up to school tomorrow. I don't think he'll run or fight for a week.
Steve: Too bad. He loves track and combat club.
With that, I headed home and collapsed in bed. The next day, I received an E-mail from Sylvia at 6000.
sylvia_roth@fhl.net: My son, Adrian Roth, is unable to make it to school because he is in the hospital receiving blood transfusions. For those of you that don't know, Adrian was ambushed by cave spiders and was bitten several times. My colleague, Caitlin Netherfield, who is his music teacher, found him in excruciating pain. This is a mass e-mail for all of his teachers. Below is the doctor's note:
Patient: Adrian Roth
Age: 11 years, 3 months, 5 days
Admitted for: Combat Injury
Explain: Adrian was ambushed and bitten by several cave spiders. He started coughing up large amounts of blood due to blood vessels breaking in the stomach and lungs. Cave spider venom is a pain-inducing agent and a blood thinner.
Treatment: Two platelet transfusions a day for two days, two red blood cell transfusions a day for three days, 1 bottle of regeneration potion a day for three days, pain medication (non-narcotic) as needed
Discharge:
What to Avoid After Discharge: Contact sports for 2 weeks, Running for 5 days, Any form of combat for 3 weeks
Any Other Recommendations: Give extra iron (in the form of pills and food, NOT from an iron ingot) for eight weeks when Adrian accepts food. If not, put it in his IV.
Issued By: Andrew Lai
Primary Healthcare Practitioner: See Above
Thank you for understanding.
With faith, hope, and love.
Sylvia Roth
I received another E-mail from Adrian.
ar5679@mindcrack.net: hey! i feel horrible because i'm sick. just wanted to let you know. it kind of hurts to do anything. what will i miss?
Adrian
netherfieldc@mindcrack.net: Here is the worksheet on different types of percussion instruments. I hope you feel better soon!
I took my daily anti-seizure medication: one large blue pill, two blue green pills, and a teaspoon of slowness potion to wash it down with and inhaled my maintenance medication. I felt sluggish when the medications took effect, but I was so used to the sensation that I didn't mind. Taking up my many bags, I sorted my lesson plan and headed towards Mindcrack. Steve had already left long ago, so he was not there to greet me in the morning. However, for some reason, I didn't mind.
With that, I went on to teach music to Mindcrack's newest (and finest) generation of students. I crossed my fingers that Adrian would make it through his hospital stay without complications. Though I still have to deal with my own issues day to day, I saved one of my students from potential death. For once, I treated my students like family instead of just people sitting at desks taking notes. Just for these moments, I would live one more day and hope for everything to be alright in the end simply because it will be.
I went on to teach about the topic of the day. Math came like a second language: easily when applied to my native language. Some of the students tilted their heads confusedly. Others readily jotted down notes. A cluster of students was talking; I reminded them to direct their attention to the board. They refused to comply. Steve had taught me to pick out the ringleader to break up these clusters. I found that the most likely candidate was the boy in the red shirt, so I sent him to the office. After letting the students work by themselves, take a break, or play games on their phones, the bell rang. I made my way through the busy hallways to the usual music classroom. I felt drained by the time I had finished teaching the math class. My head throbbed. Suddenly, I regretted eating a large breakfast. Now I know how Steve feels when he has to sight read.
When I got to the room, I found that another teacher had tampered with my items. My binder looked like it had been rummaged through and the new papers were definitely not mine. Everything was out of place. How could I teach if my setup had been destroyed? It sent me into a panic,but I had to pull myself together. I had to do it for my students.
I told them about today's special event. Today, we would visit the band room to try to get a sound of various brass instruments. They sat restlessly while I gave a brief introduction and read the announcements. Adrian looked especially excited about having chicken tenders for lunch. Yuki rolled her eyes at the track team announcements.
Steve greeted them affably as he usually does with other people and gave an introduction about embouchure, hand placement, and role in an ensemble for each of the instruments. It was as if he rehearsed this script a thousand times. (I made him do it.). I assisted each student try out their instrument of choice. Caleb (a different Caleb) seemed best suited to euphonium, Adrian to trumpet, Katelyn to trombone, Yuki to horn, etc.... I found that this class is mostly suited for euphonium, which I found surprising. Collectively, the class has a trumpet player personality with a bit of horn awkwardness.
When I dismissed them, I went back to the teacher's lounge to decompress. I never realized how tiring listening to sixth graders blow sour notes on brass instruments was until now. My phone uttered a marimba melody, which meant that Dr. Chen was trying to reach me. I rummaged through my purse to find my phone and found two inhalers: one for maintenance and one for rescue, an epinephrine injector, Benadryl, a purple notepad that served as my seizure diary, a potion of slowness, a syringe, anticonvulsant medication, a horn mouthpiece wrapped in a piece of old sheet music, a jar of clarinet reeds, a half-eaten bag of banana chips, and a DART card, but no phone. After listening further, I found it in my back pocket and unlocked it.
Dr. Chen: Hi! This is Dr. Betty Chen texting to remind you that your neurologist's appointment is at 15500. This is an automatic message.
I took up my purse full of medical supplies and stayed in my room. A trumpet fanfare sound indicated that Steve texted.
Steve: I need to stay late to help a student. Good luck at your appointment.
Me: I understand. Thanks.
I headed to the neurology clinic. Getting there would take an hour in my best shape. I dodged haphazardly shot arrows, tripped, and didn't think to roll. Again, my arms bent backwards when I tried to break my fall. I ended up with a few scrapes, but nothing serious. Redstone debris from nearby construction happened to fall where I did; every cut stung like a diamond sword made a cut across my nerves. I continued on. The terrain grew steep and treacherous as I progressed.
Eventually, my legs bent backwards and gave out. I was going to be late if I didn't move, but, at this point, I didn't care. My new pants suddenly felt itchy and stiff. The air was thick with smoke. Minecarts darted along the tracks with their passengers. Signs flashed in a myriad of colors, alerting hordes of pedestrians to buy their products and services.
Creeper Cola: An explosion of happiness (Does not contain sulfur)
Get smart with our tutoring services.
In a collision and need provisions? Call ###-####.
Trade with local villagers! We are not scammers.
Buy weapons and armor here!
We brew for less and give you more!
A vendor passed by and offered me grilled shrimp on a stick. I declined his offer, but he kept trying to prod me into eating his shish kebab of death. That was enough to make me break into a sprint. I had to demonstrate runs for the middle school track team, so this was not all that foreign to me. Dodging yet more obstacles like redstone spills, errant bottles, and unaware passengers, I made considerable progress. However, when I reached the door of the Blooming Rose Neurology Clinic, I collapsed again. I couldn't move. Every joint in my body screamed with pain. Luckily, a nurse on break noticed me and helped me to my feet. When I found the nearest chair, I collapsed in it. A nurse called me and directed me to the exam room even though I know the way there. With her hair in an immaculate bun, Dr. Chen directed her attention towards me.
"Hi! How was your day?" She always started our appointments like that.
"It was tiring and fun as usual. My students tried playing brass instruments."
"Were they any good?"
"Some were outstanding. Adrian has the makings of a trumpeter and he's a great track runner. I'd say he's the best on the team. Anyway, I'm here to tell you that I have some concerns." Dr. Chen inclined her ear towards me and listened as I told her about the seizures. I gave her my notepad and she read it as diligently as I would like my students to read the directions on their worksheets. "And my arms and legs to tend to bend backwards when I fall. Do you find that weird?" She concentrated and wrote some notes on a clipboard. After that, she looked up. I asked if I could use the restroom here. She pointed me in the general direction.
Ever since my ICU stay, the staff gave me some of their diapers. Mine was only slightly damp, but starting to become itchy, so I changed quickly and got back to Dr. Chen. Ever since then, I've been more confident. I didn't have to suddenly stop a lesson to prevent an accident or inconvenience other students anymore. I got back to the appointment; Dr. Chen directed me to another room. She told me to lie down and got out a needle.
"I'm going to need to draw some blood." My heart beat faster as she cleaned the area with an alcohol wipe. To my horror, I heard myself cry and felt my limbs thrash. I started to panic as nurses tried to pin me down. I couldn't escape. I couldn't breathe. A scream echoed off the walls as a symphony of pain. It was in some way my own and, in some way, not my own. I felt a needle pierce my arm. I am accustomed to sword and arrow wounds as every Minecraftian is, but needles cause an entirely different kind of pain. The slightest pinprick is enough to send me into a full-blown crying, screaming, and limb-flailing meltdown. Dr. Chen stood back calmly while the staff were shouting, holding me down with their gloved hands, thus aggravating my latex allergy and only making it worse. I ended up having an asthma attack, or so I thought. A horrible red rash spread across my limbs and burned as if I were swimming in lava.
When they stopped, a nurse called Steve to tell him about what happened. Since I could do nothing else, I steeled myself to listen. I realized that my airway was narrowing and that the staff would do nothing about it.
"We have deemed Caitlin Netherfield as hostile and aggressive."
"What? That doesn't sound like her at all."
"She forcefully tried to prevent our staff from performing a blood draw."
"That's...not right." What they said was both a truth and a lie. I wasn't trying to prevent them, but I, as a ranged fighter, can understand that it is harder to hit a moving target.
"Of course it isn't. She was attacking us." I don't know if flailing my limbs at no one in particular counts as attacking. The world faded into a black sea of pain.
I awoke in my own home gasping for air. Steve held the used epinephrine injector in one hand and tried to touch me with the other. I batted it away and curled into a ball. I did not want him to see me like this. He awkwardly scuffled out of the room; I stayed with my thoughts, releasing them as notes. My intonation wasn't the best and I had no vibrato or dynamic contrast, but I sang anyway. I sang "A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes" from the Disney Cinderella movie. Though the plot as inane and illogical, it brought me comfort. Vivienne and I frequently watched it together while eating cheese pizza with no sauce. She gave me the hope and strength to climb one block higher, run one more lap, and live for one more day. I had lived and that's what counts. No matter how terrible life got, I loved it.
I wished for freedom, for a chance to prove myself to the world, to be able to take initiative instead of just standing in the corner helplessly, for freedom. More importantly, I wished for everyone I loved to be safe and thrive. I never really cared about my own wellbeing, but others meant the world to me. I listed off people I cared about.
Steve
Andrew
Dr. Chen
My music class
The middle school track team
My sisters, no matter how much pain they had inflicted upon me in the past
The nearby villagers
I rocked from front to back hugging my knees and gradually increased in intensity and tempo. This was the part of me that I hid like a mineshaft concealing its diamonds from the unworthy. For this part of me, I was called insane, a madwoman, inhuman. I an indeed, not human, but I have humanity. I have feelings, compassion, empathy, and other characteristics those around me have failed to recognize.
Suddenly, I saw my younger self right outside the band room. She had just run out of band class to decompress and started to rock. People stared, pointed, and laughed. Others shot the girl with a fusillade of insults.
"I told you she was crazy!"
"She should really be on the short bus."
"I know, right?" They did not stand down. They fired and fired at the defenseless girl. She sobbed into her arms and continued to rock. I tried to move, but I was powerless, just a bystander, a passive observer.
"Do you think she can talk?" The truth is that I can talk, just not under extreme stress, which the younger me had obviously experienced in this memory.
"You're not retarded, are you?" That comment shocked me to my core and continued to resonate into today. I looked at the kid who said it. He was about five feet tall, had blue eyes, and wore a cyan T-shirt and blue jeans. The younger Steve found me at my most vulnerable and strewed my essence, my autonomy, and my identity across the furthest reaches of the known world with those words. The current Steve looked at me with shock and anger.
"Just forget about that. It was a long time ago." He tried to dismiss my innermost pain with that phrase.
"Here's the thing. I cannot forget anything anyone says about me. Even if I wanted to, I can't just dismiss the day you shattered my life like it never happened."
"It's just words. Can't you learn to forget?"
"If 'it's just words', then you are a petty, selfish coward and might as well leave!"
"Fine. I will." With that, he stormed out of the room. I was alone again, with my thoughts and my voice. Every part of my body cried out from weariness. My phone protested by buzzing and producing an obnoxious piano riff. It was 21000. Who would call or text at this hour? The call was from a familiar number, so I answered.
"Hello? I need some help urgently." It was Sylvia Roth, another third clarinetist in the Minecraft Symphony Orchestra. She sometimes called and kept me up at night. I lashed out on bad days, yet she kept calling.
"It's late. Call me again in the morning."
"But it's an emergency. I need your help and quickly! My son is hurt."
"I'm a music teacher, not an EMT! And why are you, his mother, not there helping him?" I hung up. Sylvia called again.
"Well, the EMTs are not there yet. He's roughly located at 99.45, 235.55, 22. I can't be there because Riley is medically complex and is now sick." Adrian was hurt. My colleague/friend's child was hurt. My student was hurt. I could have said that it wasn't my job, but it was. When those students took their seats in my classroom, they became my children. It sank in after a few seconds; I ran in an all-out sprint on the way to those coordinates. Andrew told me to take care not to exert myself too much and risk damaging my joints or having an asthma attack, but, for once, I didn't care. I tossed his words into the wind and ran.
The wind blew in my face. My lungs burned. My feet pounded the ground and launched me into the next step. I had one goal: Get to Adrian. Thinking of him made me run even faster, much like a track athlete nearing the end of a race. I heard crying in the distance and saw an 11 year old boy in creeper pajamas lying on his side and coughing up large volumes of what looked like blood. Tears streamed from his eyes, one dark brown and one twilight blue. The boy was definitely Adrian. I saw a few bystanders, some who glanced at Adrian, but did nothing. I could understand their uncertainty, but the scene still angered me. None of them were calling 911 or asking if there was anything they could do.
I had no idea how to comfort this boy. Nothing seemed right for this incident. Each cliche, each useless platitude had something wrong with it. If I said "You'll get through this" and he died the next day from blood loss, I wouldn't know how to live with myself. I made a quick search through what I could say and do. I bend down in a place where Adrian could see me, but not directly in his line of sight. Positioning one's self in direct sight suggests aggression.
"Help...me...." A raspy whisper sounded from his throat. I could do nothing but comfort him, so that's what I did.
I produced a wad of tissues from my bag and began wiping his face, both to dry his tears and get the blood off his chin. His crying turned into words. "I'm going to die," he said over and over again.
"Everything will be okay." I ran my hand through his soft brown hair the way Steve does after I fall for all the various reasons I stumble to the ground. I could never forget what he did, but I can also never forget what he does now. Adrian coughed more quietly now. Out of nowhere, the girl with red hair confronted me.
"Do you know Adrian?" I studied the girl. She looked like she could be a Mindcrack student, but I wasn't sure I ever saw her in my classes. Then, when I saw her Creative Fun-issued sword, I knew she was in fifth grade.
"Yes. We're friends. Adrian was in a sniper duel with a skeleton and got bitten by five cave spiders. " Right when she said that, I fired some arrows at a skeleton. It fell.
Alex produced another tissue. We conversed all while helping Adrian. The EMTs arrived with the sirens on their minecarts wailing. Alex and I put our hands up and stepped back. Immediately, the EMTs carried Adrian away. I tried to make my way back home, but my legs gave out. I felt my throat begin to tighten, so I used my inhaler. Being able to breathe made me feel somewhat better, but it didn't change the fact that pains shot through my knees like arrows. I chugged half a healing potion and, within moments, I regained my strength and continued on. My phone produced a trumpet fanfare.
Steve: Where are you? I'm so worried. :(
Me: I was helping Adrian.
Steve: It's 22500!
Me: Adrian was in a sniper duel with a skeleton and was ambushed by cave spiders.
Steve: Did he live?
Me: Yes. He was in bad shape, though. Don't expect him to show up to school tomorrow. I don't think he'll run or fight for a week.
Steve: Too bad. He loves track and combat club.
With that, I headed home and collapsed in bed. The next day, I received an E-mail from Sylvia at 6000.
sylvia_roth@fhl.net: My son, Adrian Roth, is unable to make it to school because he is in the hospital receiving blood transfusions. For those of you that don't know, Adrian was ambushed by cave spiders and was bitten several times. My colleague, Caitlin Netherfield, who is his music teacher, found him in excruciating pain. This is a mass e-mail for all of his teachers. Below is the doctor's note:
Patient: Adrian Roth
Age: 11 years, 3 months, 5 days
Admitted for: Combat Injury
Explain: Adrian was ambushed and bitten by several cave spiders. He started coughing up large amounts of blood due to blood vessels breaking in the stomach and lungs. Cave spider venom is a pain-inducing agent and a blood thinner.
Treatment: Two platelet transfusions a day for two days, two red blood cell transfusions a day for three days, 1 bottle of regeneration potion a day for three days, pain medication (non-narcotic) as needed
Discharge:
What to Avoid After Discharge: Contact sports for 2 weeks, Running for 5 days, Any form of combat for 3 weeks
Any Other Recommendations: Give extra iron (in the form of pills and food, NOT from an iron ingot) for eight weeks when Adrian accepts food. If not, put it in his IV.
Issued By: Andrew Lai
Primary Healthcare Practitioner: See Above
Thank you for understanding.
With faith, hope, and love.
Sylvia Roth
I received another E-mail from Adrian.
ar5679@mindcrack.net: hey! i feel horrible because i'm sick. just wanted to let you know. it kind of hurts to do anything. what will i miss?
Adrian
netherfieldc@mindcrack.net: Here is the worksheet on different types of percussion instruments. I hope you feel better soon!
I took my daily anti-seizure medication: one large blue pill, two blue green pills, and a teaspoon of slowness potion to wash it down with and inhaled my maintenance medication. I felt sluggish when the medications took effect, but I was so used to the sensation that I didn't mind. Taking up my many bags, I sorted my lesson plan and headed towards Mindcrack. Steve had already left long ago, so he was not there to greet me in the morning. However, for some reason, I didn't mind.
With that, I went on to teach music to Mindcrack's newest (and finest) generation of students. I crossed my fingers that Adrian would make it through his hospital stay without complications. Though I still have to deal with my own issues day to day, I saved one of my students from potential death. For once, I treated my students like family instead of just people sitting at desks taking notes. Just for these moments, I would live one more day and hope for everything to be alright in the end simply because it will be.
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