The Road Home by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 3

Midterms would soon be upon them, and the pace of academia became especially chaotic. What the students wrote would carry a large percentage of their grades and prepare them for the daunting task of writing their thesis. During this time, the campus lay nearly silent save for the chattering of fingertips dancing along the keyboards of laptops—eyes carefully studying glowing displays. Every word had to be perfect and the final product, a work of art. Nothing less than literary perfection was expected, especially at the graduate level. The only breaks the students got were meal times, and consuming them needed to be done quickly. Some went to the cafeteria, while others hid away in hallways and on benches scattered around campus.

While her roommates chose to eat elsewhere, Maya would take her lunch—and sometimes dinner—in the cafeteria. Sitting off in a corner, she could be closer to the classrooms so as to arrive on time but also enjoy a bit of quiet time. Maintaining her sanity was just as important as her future. Today, however, would be unlike anything that anyone could imagine and the beginning of a different direction for everyone. As Maya quietly consumed her lunch, she heard a scream ring out from the other side of the cafeteria, followed by a plea for help. Jumping from her seat, she ran over to investigate and possibly be of some assistance.

“What happened?” she asked.

A young woman knelt on the floor, cradling the head of her boyfriend--the tears of panic welling up in her eyes.

“Please do something!” she said. “He’s never been like this before.”

On the floor lay the young man who could not have been more than twenty years old. He appeared to be in the midst of a seizure and was not responding. Investigating further, Maya turned up one of the sleeves of his shirt and, seeing a light rash on his skin, quickly stood up and backed away. “What are you doing?” the woman yelled. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

Law was Maya’s passion, not medicine, and although she didn’t know what she was seeing, it was the combination of symptoms that caused her to panic.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.” From there, she ran to the nearest ladies' room and, turning to the nearest sink, washed her hands vigorously. With water dripping from her hands, Maya gripped the edge of the sink and tried to recover her wits. It wasn’t as though she had just seen someone die. But coming from a family of wealth, she had always been somewhat sheltered from the world and had never witnessed human suffering. Raising her hands from the sink, she held them up and was surprised to see them trembling. She was a strong person and did not understand why she was reacting this way, but in spite of how she felt, Maya knew that she had to continue with the day’s classes. Absences were not tolerated in graduate school. Even one could jeopardize her education.

Looking in the mirror, Maya spoke to the frazzled image reflecting back at her, trying to relieve the tension created by the sickly scene she had witnessed.

“Okay,” she began. “You got this. Just take a deep breath. You’re going to be okay, but you’ve got to get your ass to class. Now get going.” With these last words, Maya dried her hands and, returning to the cafeteria, picked up her day pack and left for her next class. Walking past the crowd that had gathered around the student still lying on the floor, she tried not to look, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he had vomited. This acted to speed her retreat to the hallway, where she continued to class. Later, she would immerse herself in her assigned paper on the prosecution of Jeffrey Dahmer in order to escape the disturbing images of the day’s events. Eventually, they surrendered to her will and she continued with her paper.

Returning home that evening, she was met by her roommates. They had heard of the young student who collapsed in the cafeteria and that Maya had unsuccessfully offered her assistance. Curiosity being part of his future as a journalist, Nathan was the first to ask questions.

“Maya,” he began. “What happened in the cafeteria? I heard some kid got sick.” Just as she had calmed down, Maya was becoming rattled by his questions, and refusing to talk about the matter only led Nathan to become more insistent.

“Do you think he’s going to make it?” Maya was becoming frustrated with what was turning into a barrage of questions about something she didn’t even want to think of, much less discuss.

“Nathan,” she began. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I’d really just like to get to bed and forget the whole thing.”

It was getting late and Maya, abruptly stopping the conversation, walked down to her room and turned in.