Classroom Throw-Up II

Back in grade two, it was Mme Sorsdahl who had to quietly get out of her big teacher seat and calmly ask Chris to please go to the washroom. She didn't flinch when he threw up again in the doorway. I'm glad I watched her closely that day because yesterday I needed that memory of her - strong and clear.
Brittney wasn't reading like she was supposed to. All the others were quietly absorbed in their paperback pre-teen novels, but Brittney's head was lying on her arms. I tapped her gently and asked her how her book was. No response. I mentioned that it would be pretty hard for her to read with her eyes shut. She groaned. She was sick. I wanted to roll my eyes - another hygienically deficient teen who was, at that very moment, breathing and sweating her germs all over her desk and me. I was about to ask her to phone home when I noticed the sheen of saliva on her hand. That was my cue. I walked to my teacher desk and found a garbage bag left behind from the first day of school. Ellie, I said to her friend, will you take this bag and Brittney to the office, please? Ellie didn't have time to stand up before Brittney leaned toward me and threw up in the bag I held in front of her face. I remembered Mme Sorsdahl and I kept my cool. Other students were watching, their mouths gaping. There's nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen, I said. They reluctantly returned to their books, but not before Brittney threw up a second and third time.
When I realised I was holding a bag of someone else's kid's steaming vomit, I thought I was going to be sick. But I knew my job was to rub her back, breathe steadily, and be someone else's Mme Sorsdahl.