A student is sat in the medical room when her Engl
A student is sat in the medical room when her English teacher called Ms. Evans is being carried in by Ms. Evans girlfriend who is a history teacher called Ms. Larne and Ms. Larne puts Ms. Evans on a bed and then the nurse checks on Ms. Evans and there is dialogue. The student and Ms. Larne and the nurse taking. Ms. Evans is sick
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile white glow on the medical room. I sat hunched over my textbook, attempting to absorb the intricacies of Shakespearean sonnets, but my focus was wavering. The door creaked open, interrupting my struggle, and in walked Ms. Larne, her face etched with worry. She was usually so vibrant, her red hair a fiery halo around her, but today her smile was strained, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Behind her, she carried Ms. Evans, my English teacher, limp and pale.
Ms. Larne gently lowered Ms. Evans onto the examination bed, her hand resting on Ms. Evans’s forehead. “She’s been complaining of a terrible headache all morning,” she said, her voice tight with concern.
The nurse, a kindly woman with salt-and-pepper hair, rushed over with a thermometer. She murmured reassurances to Ms. Evans, then turned to me with a knowing smile. “I’m sure this is a bit of a surprise, seeing Ms. Evans here.”
I nodded, unable to speak. It was unusual to see Ms. Evans, usually so full of life and wit, looking so vulnerable.
Ms. Larne sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “She’s been working so hard lately, trying to finish that new play. I think she just pushed herself too hard.”
The nurse, after checking the thermometer, nodded. “It’s a good thing you brought her in. It looks like she’s coming down with the flu, but we can get her some medicine and she’ll be feeling better in no time.”
I watched as Ms. Larne sat beside Ms. Evans, gently stroking her hair. The contrast between their personalities, usually so distinct, seemed to melt away in the face of Ms. Evans’s illness. There was a quiet tenderness in the air, a shared concern that transcended their professional roles.
“Thank you for bringing her in, Ms. Larne,” the nurse said, handing Ms. Larne a prescription. “Give her plenty of rest and fluids. She’ll be back to her old self in a jiffy.”
I knew Ms. Evans wouldn’t be back in class for a while, and a strange mix of disappointment and relief washed over me. The disappointment was for the loss of her dynamic teaching, the relief for her recovery.
I watched as Ms. Larne helped Ms. Evans out of the medical room, her hand resting protectively on Ms. Evans’s back. I could see the love and worry in her eyes, a love that was as much a part of her as the fiery passion she brought to her history lectures. And I realized, with a sudden clarity, that Ms. Evans, despite her illness, was lucky. She had Ms. Larne, a beacon of love and strength, by her side. It was a kind of love that could make even the most terrible illness seem less daunting.
