A Sucker Born Every Minute

by Lia Kane

  “Sometimes,” said Jonathan. “Whenever she forgot to lock her door.”

  Lock door from now on, was the quick mental note that I made.

  “Sometimes Miss Kelly let us jump on her bed,” said Haley.

  “She did not,” barked Sarah, suddenly appearing in my doorway. “Young man and young lady, you know better! You need to respect Miss Jerrika’s privacy. No more sneaking into her room, you hear me? Now get your little tushies into the dining room for breakfast right now!”

  Jonathan ran past her, laughing all the way. Haley started toward the door but detoured to my bedside.

  “Miss Jerrika,” she said, “I made you a surprise. Here.” She handed me a folded piece of notebook paper, then bolted out the door.

  “Sorry about that,” Sarah sighed. “Those two are a handful.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be dressed and ready to join you all for breakfast in just a few.”

  “We’ll see you then,” said Sarah, drawing my bedroom door shut. “Lock it!” she called out from the hallway.

  I unfolded the piece of paper that Haley had given me to find a drawing of a girl with long dark hair, big eyes with thick eyelashes, and ruby red lips. The words ‘Miss Jerrika is my new friend’ were written at the bottom of the page, and signed by the artist – ‘Haley Doe, Age 5.’ It made me smile, and for a brief moment, all worries past and present were gone from my mind. This was why I liked working with kids. They were so full of hope and grace and love, and so eager to share it with others. What a shame that the world would teach them all too soon that it was an impractical way to be.

  I stepped out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. I was on my way out of my bedroom when my phone rang. Whitney’s number appeared on caller ID.

  “Good morning, Teacher MacLynn,” I answered.

  “I’m soooo glad you answered! I need a huge fave.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I need for you to come teach my class for me today.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nobody told me that I was starting work on career day. Regular classes are on hold today, and all teachers are supposed to bring in a guest speaker to talk about their career. I need you, Jer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

  “Like who? June Cleaver? I doubt that housewife is going to go over as an acceptable career choice.”

  “Your dad worked at the mill for 30 years. He could talk about the textile industry.”

  “Yeah, but there aren’t any textile jobs around here anymore, so that’s not going to help my students. Besides, he’s been retired for so long he probably doesn’t know anything about work anymore. Now, his job entails sitting on the couch all day while watching Law and Order re-runs, drinking beer, farting and blaming it on the dog.”

  “Whitney,” I groaned, “you’re killing me.”

  “Come on,” she begged, “this is part of your job, isn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to be a liaison between the orphanage and the community, or something like that?”

  “Something like that,” I sighed. I could see that I wasn’t going to get off the hook. “What time do you need me there?

  “Be at the school by 9:30. And thank you Jer, thank you so much. I owe you big time!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me get going so I can pull myself together.”

  “Smooches,” she said, and disconnected the call.

  I darted down the hallway and into the dining room, hoping I would be able to squeeze in breakfast with the children before I left.

  “Just in time,” said Sarah, pulling out a chair for me at the head of the long table. Jonathan and Haley sat to my right, with Jermaine and Jervonne at my left. Two toddlers sat in booster seats with Claudia in between them, and Sarah held an infant on each hip. All eyes were on me.

  “Good morning everyone,” I said.

  “Good morning, Miss Jerrika!” The school-age crowd said in unison.

  “Let’s give thanks, children,” said Claudia. The children bowed their heads and clasped their hands together.

  “Who wants to say grace?” asked Sarah.

  “Me me me!” Jervonne cried out. “Oh Lord, let us thank you for this blood by making a joyful noise,” he said. Then he cupped his right hand under his left armpit and jerked his elbow up and down, producing rapid-fire fart noises. The school-age children burst into laughter.

  My hand flew to my mouth and I faked a coughing fit.

  “That’s time out for you after breakfast, mister,” said Sarah, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

  “I’ll say grace,” Claudia sighed. We bowed our heads again as she recited a short thanksgiving blessing. Then Lucy breezed into the dining room from the kitchen, carrying a tray full of sippy cups and baby bottles filled with blood. The children’s eyes lit up with excitement, the same way mine did over blueberry waffles in my youth. Aside from the fact there was blood instead of food on the table, everything about this felt like a normal, all-American family sitting down to breakfast.

  “What about you, Miss Jerrika?” asked Haley. “Do you get to eat groceries like Miss Kelly did?”

  “Actually, I’ll be getting blood too.”

  Lucy placed a coffee mug in front of me and I thanked her.

  Haley’s jaw dropped, and her sparkling blue eyes bulged. “You mean… you have VAM too, Miss Jerrika?”

  “I sure do.” I winked at her, then took a long sip of blood.

  “You have VAM,” she repeated with wonder. “You’re just like us! Yaaaay!!!” Haley sprang out of her seat and threw her arms around me.

  I put my mug down on the table and hugged her back. “Yes, Haley, I do.”

  “Just like me,” she murmured in my ear, in a way that made me feel oddly proud. “You’re just like me.”

  • • •

  When I opened the door to the main entrance of Blue Sky Public High School, I was surprised at how little everything had changed. Through the double glass doors to the principal’s office, I could see the same old tattered sofas in the lobby, the same countertop and wire baskets strewn with papers. The sounds of noisy students filled the air as they moved throughout the hallways, punctuated by the metallic clang of combination locks striking against lockers. The smell of hormonal teenagers and industrial cleaning fluid on the floor hit my nostrils and I found myself wishing I could turn back the clock and go back to my high school days.

  If only I could, I would have done everything differently. I would have chosen a different college. In which case, Whitney would not have been my roommate, and I never would have followed her into that fateful frat party at the end of my freshman year. Which meant that I would not have been infected. I would still have had a shot at a normal life.

  If only.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door to the principal’s office.

  “May I help you?” The short, squat blue-haired lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow. Too old to be a student, too young to be a parent, she wasn’t sure what to make of me.

  “Yes, I’m Jerrika Rand. I’m a guest speaker for Miss MacLynn’s class today.”

  “Who?”

  “Whitney MacLynn. She’s a new biology teacher. She just started today.”

  “Oh, okay” she said, pointing me toward the visitor log, a tattered three-ring binder filled with photocopied sign-in sheets. “Write your name and the purpose of your visit.”

  After I logged myself in, she wrote my name on a ‘Hello My Name Is’ sticker, which I pressed onto my shirt as I made my way to Whitney’s classroom. The door was open when I arrived. A group of girls that had already settled into their seats stared at me, then turned toward each other to whisper their observations. One of them laughed.

  “Girls, cut it out,” Whitney barked at them from the front of the class. She took me by the arm and pulled me into the corner behind her desk. “It’s my first day at work, and I already just despise these kids.” She rolle
d her eyes and shook her head.

  The bell sounded and more students poured into the classroom.

  “Take your seats, quickly,” Whitney instructed them in a loud voice, then turned her attention back to me. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

  “I’m nervous,” I admitted. “Public speaking has never been my strong suit.”

  “You’ll do fine,” she assured me.

  “I hope so. There’s not a lot of love for the VAM disease in this town. I bet my job will be the least popular career choice that the kids hear about all day.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If things go downhill, I’ll step in.” Whitney glanced around the room and shouted at the students once more. “Take your seats, everyone! My name is Miss MacLynn and I’m your new biology teacher. As it turns out, today is career day, so you won’t get to experience the joy of my teaching until tomorrow. We have a guest speaker today and I want all of you to mind your manners and give her your full attention.”

  My stomach knotted and I could feel sweat beading along my hairline. Whitney left my side to the close door, then returned to the front of the classroom.

  “Everyone, this is Miss Jerrika Rand,” said Whitney. “She works at the Hope House orphanage. She’s here to talk to us today about her job, and answer any questions you have about her work. Please welcome her to our class.” She clapped her hands and the students followed. Then Whitney sat down at her desk.

  “Hello everyone.” I stared out at my audience of students, amused once more by how little everything had changed since I had been in high school. I quickly identified all of the high school stereotypes - the jocks, the Goths, the pretty and popular girls, the smart kids, the socially awkward kids with pimples and body odor… they were all present and accounted for. “I’m glad to be with you today,” I continued. “It wasn’t too long ago that I was sitting right here in this same classroom, trying to decide what kind of career I wanted to pursue when I grew up. I’ve always wanted to be able to help people, so I decided to study social work in college. I’m happy to be here today to tell you about my journey, but if you have questions, feel free to jump in and ask them at any point.”

  “Where did you go to college?” One of the jocks immediately took me up on the invitation to interrupt my talk.

  “Tarheel State University,” I replied.

  He gave me thumbs down. “Their football team sucks,” he said. One of his jock pals seated behind him followed the gesture with a low “boooo.”

  “Shut up, you two,” zinged a mature-looking girl.

  “Anyway,” I resumed, “I recently graduated with my Masters of Social Work degree, and came back home to Blue Sky. I got a job as the executive director of the Hope House orphanage.”

  A hand shot up in the air. “That’s the orphanage for kids with the VAM disease, right?” asked a Goth girl.

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  I watched the kids’ faces contort into all kinds of bizarre expressions. For a moment, they were speechless.

  “So what do all of you know about VAM?” I asked.

  “It’s the vampire disease,” a preppy-looking boy volunteered.

  “Actually, it’s not.” I stepped toward his desk and gave him a hard stare. “That’s a very common misconception about VAM.”

  “But people with VAM drink blood,” he shot back. “Which is exactly what vampires do. So what’s the difference?”

  “Yes, people with VAM do drink blood. But it’s not because they’re vampires. Vampires are fictitious, mythical creatures from legends and folklore. People with the VAM disease are still human beings. They can’t turn into bats, they can’t fly, they can’t hypnotize people and they don’t have super-human strength or powers. They’re normal, everyday people like you and me. They just have a disease.”

  “So why do they call it VAM?” asked the jock who had shot down my alma mater’s football team. “Isn’t that short for vampire?”

  “No. VAM stands for Viral Anemic Malnutrition. VAM disease is caused by a virus that attacks the digestive system and kills the protective cells that line the mouth, esophagus, stomach and intestines. A person with VAM can’t eat normal food or drink liquids because the digestive system has been stripped of those protective cells, so a person with VAM is always in danger of starving to death. That’s what causes the malnutrition part of the disease.”

  “But people with VAM can eat blood? How come?” asked a tiny, soft-spoken girl through a mouthful of braces.

  “Without that protective lining of cells in the mouth, esophagus, stomach and intestines, the digestive system bleeds, and that’s what causes the anemia. Since people with VAM can’t eat real food, their bodies digest their own blood that is already in the digestive system. There is protein in blood, and lipids – which are fat – that the body can use for energy. But a person with VAM can’t survive on their own blood alone. There’s not enough blood to circulate throughout the human body AND be a food source, so people with VAM need to feed on the blood of others to survive.”

  They stared at me, bewildered.

  “How is that even possible?” A preppy girl asked. “How can the body eat its own blood?”

  “Good question,” I nodded at her. “When the human body doesn’t get what it needs to survive, it will feed off of itself. You all know someone who has lost weight, don’t you?”

  Heads nodded around the room.

  “Well, those people lost weight because they weren’t taking in enough calories. In order for the body to survive, it broke down stored fat to use for energy. And something similar happens in women who are breastfeeding babies. They need calcium to make breast milk, but if they’re not taking in enough calcium from what they eat or drink, a woman’s body will pull it from her own bones.”

  A few of the boys exchanged grins at the mention of the word ‘breast,’ while a couple of girls in the classroom blushed.

  “Still,” said a girl in the back of the room, “feeding off of blood is just disgusting. And like you said, a person with VAM can’t even supply enough blood for themselves. They have to get it from others.”

  “Ewww,” a couple of kids whined.

  “Don’t say ewww,” I scolded them. “It’s not disgusting. Do you know anyone who’s ever had to have a blood transfusion?”

  One hand shot up. “My mom had to have one after surgery,” said an awkward-looking boy with thick glasses and bowl-cut hairdo.

  “Your mother needed blood to survive, so a donor gave it to her and saved her life,” I said, moving toward him. “It’s no different for people with VAM. They need blood to survive too, so people donate it to them, and they put it in their bodies so they can live. They take it by mouth instead of by transfusion, and they just have to get blood on a more regular basis. Which is daily for most VAMPs.”

  The Goth girl’s eyes widened. “VAMP?” she asked. “As in, vampire?”

  “Again, no,” I shook my head. “There are no such things as vampires. A person who has the VAM disease is VAM-Positive. That term is usually just abbreviated to the acronym VAMP.”

  The girl looked confused. “So if VAMPs aren’t vampires, and don’t want to be confused for vampires, why does the disease have a name that sounds so much like the word ‘vampire?’ Do you see what I’m saying?”

  I sighed. “VAMPs didn’t choose the name VAM for the disease, nor the term VAMP to describe themselves. It was the people who discovered and researched the disease who decided on the name. Public health officials, epidemiologists, doctors…” I paused as I noticed their eyes had glazed over, and I was talking way above their heads. I decided to change gears. “How about this? Let’s do a true or false quiz. I’ll ask you a question about VAM, and you tell me if you think it’s true or false.”

  They seemed to relax a bit. Some of them straightened up in their seats, preparing for my challenge.

  “Ready? Okay, here’s your first one. VAMPs have fangs. True or false?”

  The class blurted out b
oth responses the same time.

  “False,” I said. “VAMPs don’t have fangs because they’re not vampires.” The kids laughed, and I smiled back at them. “Remember, they’re just normal, everyday people like us.”

  “Bull,” said one boy. “I have a cousin in New York who has VAM and he got fangs.”

  “I think your cousin may be exaggerating,” I said.

  “He’s not,” the boy insisted. “I’ve seen pictures.”

  I held my ground. “People with VAM don’t have fangs.”

  “So how do they get blood?” asked one of the jock boys.

  “That’s a great question,” I told him. “When a person is diagnosed with the VAM disease, a doctor gives that person a standing prescription for whole blood products. A VAM-Positive person can register his or her prescription with a blood bank and get blood as needed. Unfortunately, blood from a blood bank is very expensive, and most insurance plans won’t pay for it, so most people with VAM can’t afford to get blood that way. The other way to get blood is through a familiar donor.” I paused to look around the room, and was pleased to see that their deer-in-the-headlights faces were softening with interest and curiosity.

  The girl with braces spoke up again. “Familiar means that you know your donor?”

  I nodded. “That’s right. A person diagnosed with VAM who can’t afford to buy blood can take blood from a friend or family member who is willing to give it on a regular basis. That donor, of course, has to be VAM-Negative.”

  “But how do they get the blood out?” Bowl-cut boy asked.

  “Pharmacies provide blood draw supplies and train people how to take blood.”

  Goth girl’s hand shot up. “Where do the kids at Hope House get their blood?”

  “From a local blood bank,” I explained. “Blood is delivered by a nurse every day and stored in a refrigerator until the kids are ready for it.” A few of the students made faces.

  “Why can’t VAMPs just drink animal blood?” A preppy boy asked. “People already eat animals as meat, so why can’t VAMPs just drink blood from pigs and cows?”

  “Good question,” I told him. “There are lots of different reasons why it’s not practical to drink animal blood. When farm animals are slaughtered for meat, there’s currently not a sanitary method to collect the blood. Even if there was, farm animals are given so many steroids and antibiotics that it would be hard for a human with VAM to digest all of those extra substances in their blood.”