Damages
4 - Fever
The next day was cloudy and dismal; every so often it would start to sprinkle but then let up after a minute or two. Thankfully it didn’t rain as I walked down my street and towards my bus stop.
I only had to wait a minute or two before the bus arrived. “Morning, Bob,” I said as I stepped on, and quickly I began to seek out Oliver. I found him sitting alone in the very back, his head pressed into the foggy window and his iPod headphones planted firmly in his ears. I sat down but he paid no attention.
“Oliver?” I said after the song he was listening to ended. He stirred slightly.
“Oliver?” I said again, louder this time. He removed his head from the window to look over at me. I noticed his eyes were puffy and his face was drained of color; unusual for the normally upbeat and talkative Oliver.
“What?” he growled, his voice impatient and angry. I heard a click as he hit pause on his iPod.
“Um…What’s up?” I glanced down at my shoes and then back up at Oliver.
“Nothing.” Now his voice sounded less impatient and more depressed.
“Oh.” I looked down at Oliver’s shirt this time, which was a plain black with small skulls dotting it. I’d seen him wear it once before, after his grandmother died.
He then decided that the conversation was over and he turned his iPod on again. A furious drum beat began to pump out of it, and he pressed his head against the window.
It seemed incredibly obvious to me that something was up. Oliver had seemed so warm and forgiving in his note and that was how I’d expected to see him today. Now his glum attitude seemed to make our after-school talk a bit more frightening.
%%%
Oliver seemed dreary and inattentive the whole day during class. He never raised his hand, and he didn’t even copy down the notes we were given. During lunch he didn’t eat, and during gym he just sat on the sidelines. Obviously something was wrong.
On the bus ride home I sat next to Oliver again, and he did not talk or even react to my presence. Only when the bus reached his stop did he stir.
He looked over at me and his brow furrowed. “Why are you still here?”
“You told me to get off at your stop!” I cried, a bit louder than I’d intended. A few kids turned around to see what was going on.
Oliver thought for a moment. “Oh, right, right. I remember now.”
I let out the remnants of my anger with an exasperated sigh. I then stood up, followed by Oliver, and we walked down the aisle and left the bus.
As it drove out of sight, Oliver spoke. “Hey…I just needed to tell you in person that I’m sorry…about what I did…yesterday.”
“You’re forgiven…But why have you been acting so funny today?”
Oliver’s brown eyes suddenly stared into mine, his pupils shrunken to pinpoints. His eyes darted around nervously and then made contact with mine again. “I…uh…I’m fine. Listen, Vonnie, I got a lot of homework, and I don’t have much time to spare. You should probably get home.”
“Oliver, I’m not buying that for a second. Something’s wrong with you.”
His words were rushed and obviously nervous. “Vonnie, Vonnie, I’m fine. Just a little sad from yesterday but otherwise I’m okay, really. Now I think you should go home…”
I looked Oliver up and down and noticed he was pale and shaking. His eyes kept darting around and occasionally he would mess with his sleeves – long sleeves, unusual in April. It looked to me as if he was ill.
“Oliver…Promise me you’ll get some rest this weekend, all right? You look terrible.”
“Okay, I will. Bye.” He managed a weak smile before turning to walk up his driveway. I sighed and walked away.
When I reached the intersection of Oliver’s street and mine, I glanced back. He was still standing in front of his front door, struggling with the lock. I watched as his finally unlocked it and then stepped inside his house.
I turned back around and continued walking. I tried to believe, really believe, that Oliver had a fever and he would be his normal self on Monday. Strangely, that seemed almost impossible. I had a gut feeling that Oliver would still be pale and nervous on Monday. Straight away I made a mental note to stop by Oliver’s house the next day to see if his “fever” had improved.
I only had to wait a minute or two before the bus arrived. “Morning, Bob,” I said as I stepped on, and quickly I began to seek out Oliver. I found him sitting alone in the very back, his head pressed into the foggy window and his iPod headphones planted firmly in his ears. I sat down but he paid no attention.
“Oliver?” I said after the song he was listening to ended. He stirred slightly.
“Oliver?” I said again, louder this time. He removed his head from the window to look over at me. I noticed his eyes were puffy and his face was drained of color; unusual for the normally upbeat and talkative Oliver.
“What?” he growled, his voice impatient and angry. I heard a click as he hit pause on his iPod.
“Um…What’s up?” I glanced down at my shoes and then back up at Oliver.
“Nothing.” Now his voice sounded less impatient and more depressed.
“Oh.” I looked down at Oliver’s shirt this time, which was a plain black with small skulls dotting it. I’d seen him wear it once before, after his grandmother died.
He then decided that the conversation was over and he turned his iPod on again. A furious drum beat began to pump out of it, and he pressed his head against the window.
It seemed incredibly obvious to me that something was up. Oliver had seemed so warm and forgiving in his note and that was how I’d expected to see him today. Now his glum attitude seemed to make our after-school talk a bit more frightening.
%%%
Oliver seemed dreary and inattentive the whole day during class. He never raised his hand, and he didn’t even copy down the notes we were given. During lunch he didn’t eat, and during gym he just sat on the sidelines. Obviously something was wrong.
On the bus ride home I sat next to Oliver again, and he did not talk or even react to my presence. Only when the bus reached his stop did he stir.
He looked over at me and his brow furrowed. “Why are you still here?”
“You told me to get off at your stop!” I cried, a bit louder than I’d intended. A few kids turned around to see what was going on.
Oliver thought for a moment. “Oh, right, right. I remember now.”
I let out the remnants of my anger with an exasperated sigh. I then stood up, followed by Oliver, and we walked down the aisle and left the bus.
As it drove out of sight, Oliver spoke. “Hey…I just needed to tell you in person that I’m sorry…about what I did…yesterday.”
“You’re forgiven…But why have you been acting so funny today?”
Oliver’s brown eyes suddenly stared into mine, his pupils shrunken to pinpoints. His eyes darted around nervously and then made contact with mine again. “I…uh…I’m fine. Listen, Vonnie, I got a lot of homework, and I don’t have much time to spare. You should probably get home.”
“Oliver, I’m not buying that for a second. Something’s wrong with you.”
His words were rushed and obviously nervous. “Vonnie, Vonnie, I’m fine. Just a little sad from yesterday but otherwise I’m okay, really. Now I think you should go home…”
I looked Oliver up and down and noticed he was pale and shaking. His eyes kept darting around and occasionally he would mess with his sleeves – long sleeves, unusual in April. It looked to me as if he was ill.
“Oliver…Promise me you’ll get some rest this weekend, all right? You look terrible.”
“Okay, I will. Bye.” He managed a weak smile before turning to walk up his driveway. I sighed and walked away.
When I reached the intersection of Oliver’s street and mine, I glanced back. He was still standing in front of his front door, struggling with the lock. I watched as his finally unlocked it and then stepped inside his house.
I turned back around and continued walking. I tried to believe, really believe, that Oliver had a fever and he would be his normal self on Monday. Strangely, that seemed almost impossible. I had a gut feeling that Oliver would still be pale and nervous on Monday. Straight away I made a mental note to stop by Oliver’s house the next day to see if his “fever” had improved.