It all started with a trip to the bathroom. That’s when he knew things wouldn’t go well on his date - his perfectly planned date. While the night was supposed to end with a midnight kiss atop a Ferris-wheel, Jeremy now sat bent over the toilet, hurling up the pasta he’d just eaten.
He was thinking about how this restaurant was too nice to give him food poisoning, how there must have been something else making him sick. It simply couldn’t be the pasta, right?
Back in the kitchen, one of the Chefs had a worried look on his face. He wasn’t feeling quite right, and was looking for his usual medicine. The one that he always left in the same place, and told no one else to touch. A sweat ran down his neck as his eyes glanced around for the orange prescription bottle which only he could touch.
Jeremy wiped his mouth clean with toilet paper, and flushed his troubles down the drain. Now, he thought, he was definitely ready. He was once again thinking of the Ferris-wheel, and that oh-so-perfect moment. He gave his hands a rinse, and walked back into the restaurant.
Gentle harp plucking gently bounced off of the white table clothes around as Jeremy took his seat, “Sorry about that Lissa, where were we?”
“Well you were just telling me about...” Lissa paused for a moment, examining the pale color of his cheeks, “Jeremy. You don’t look well.”
Jeremy refused to have his night ruined by a bit of queeziness, and convinced her that he was fine.
While they continued their conversation on the benefits of fruit infused waters, the Chef began to feel ever more uneasy. He tried to continue his work, chopping vegetables and preparing the meats, but his hands fumbled as his nausea intensified. Eventually the manager of Le Merde came in, and told the Chef to get out of the kitchen until he was feeling better.
The Chef walked out to his car, defeated by the day. He was feeling lightheaded, and wasn’t sure if he would be able to drive home. The thought of his family at home urged him forward, and his hands struggled to start his car. As he pulled out from his parking spot, he couldn’t believe that he had lost one of his Xelodas. That one pill was worth seventy dollars, and perhaps his life. He had some more at home, but his chemotherapy was meant to be taken at very specific times. He hoped that this irregularity wouldn’t ruin his progress, and worried about whoever had taken his medicine.
By now, Jeremy too was on he road. He had his hand on Lissa’s thigh, and he couldn’t help but worry about what was happening to him. He was once again becoming sick, but this time he saw no bathroom to escape to. There would still be fifteen minutes more before they arrived at their destination, and Jeremy knew he wouldn’t be able to make it in time. While he drove onward, worrying about his date and his health, he saw a car begin to swerve into his lane. He braked hard, slamming his foot against the floor of his car, and the white Corolla next to him slammed into an electric line on the side of the road.
“Oh my god,” Lissa yelled as Jeremy pulled over to the side of the road. He went over to examine the wreck, and saw a Chef with Le Merde embroidered on his white uniform. The Chef’s face was pale, and Jeremy immediately brought him into his car.
He thought about calling 911, but by that time Jeremy was already on his way to the hospital with the stranger. As much as he wanted to control his own nausea, Jeremy’s body wouldn't allow him to - he began throwing up on the steering wheel as Lissa sat in the back seat with a half-dead man on his lap. Her face was turning pale now to as she thought about the events unfolding.
They arrived at the hospital, and the Chef was carted into a room of his own while Jeremy went directly to the bathroom. He spent the rest of the night drinking water and puking, until the morning came and he left the place with Lissa. The Chef did not.
