Yellow

YELLOW

"I think I'm gonna be sick, Isaac."

He said it like you would hear those radio announcers who recited telegraphs. I knew he meant it.

I took an instant, but replied, "Let's go, Alan." He followed me off the bus, and I had grabbed the trash can as I descended the three steps, out of the vehicle and onto the gravel parking lot.

We took a few more steps away from the bus, about equidistant between it and our tour guide Angela's car. I felt like I was setting up a perimeter around a pyrotechnics display out at Black Rock City, like I did back in 2002. I stood between Alan and his can, and the bus, so that the other students couldn't gawk at any action.

Alan assumed the position, and he erupted. Gouts of Cup o' Noodle burst forth, splashing into the trash can. All I could do was stand and act the wall. Another burst issued forth, yellower and thicker than the first.

"Is he all right?" Angela called out from somewhere.

"Not feeling well," I announced, making like Captain Obvious. "I think we're staying here. Janessa is staff, and she's on the bus already. You cool to go without me?"

Angela assented with a quick look to the recovering Alan. I re-entered the bus, filled-in Janessa that Alan and I were staying behind, and then returned to Alan and his can. "Let's head over to the office, man."

"I'm real sorry, Isaac," warbled Alan, wiping his face with a napkin.

"Can't help it if you're sick, right? It's okay, man." I took a step closer. "You ready to head inside?" Alan nodded. I patted his shoulder. "Let's go, man."

He trudged to the portable office and I followed, holding the can at arm's length. As I asked him to empty the can in the nearby dumpster, I thought, "Damnit, can't this kid ever catch a break?"