I was educated in a very traditional boys-only Catholic school. This was in the old days of learning or bleeding, or sometimes both. Discipline (both physical and psychological punishment) was the word of the day. My teacher for my second grade year was Sister Assumpta, a grumpy seventy-five-year-old nun with a very short temper and a very long stick.

Sister Assumpta asked us all to prepare some experiment for the next day, as there would be a science fair at school. I cannot remember what I took, but I do remember the science kit that this brat Andy brought. Andy was the type of obnoxious kid that's always bragging about how much money his parents made, the cars they drove, and the cruises they'd been on; plus he had all the damned Atari games and Star Wars action figures you could imagine.

So Andy showed up the next morning with a yellow box containing a huge lab kit including a microscope, magnifying glasses, dissecting tools, and an incredible amount of small jars with all sorts of cool chemicals to do experiments with. The kit included a complete booklet with instructions, so he simply amazed everyone with his stuff; and, as you can guess, he got first place in the science fair. Obviously he had put no effort into it, other than to ask his dad for money to buy it. Everyone else's projects seemed like crap to him. Little did he know...

I approached Andy to see if he would let me play with the kit. But before I could open my mouth he stopped me, getting between me and the microscope and saying, "You cannot use my kit. Only my friends can touch it." True, I was not his closest pal, but it was still a huge blow to my ego. I was dismayed.

Classes resumed shortly after; and, as the fair had finished, Andy was not allowed to play with the kit any more until lunch break. Class went about normally, same old boring thing. Phys Ed followed, so we changed into our shorts and t-shirts and went off to play basketball. Lunch period came, and we all stampeded outside to run, play, and beat each other as we normally did. But not Andy. He decided to stay inside the classroom, pretending to be a really big nerd without actually knowing what he was doing with the chemicals.

When the bell rang an hour and fifteen minutes later, we returned to our classroom. Sister Assumpta made us pray an entire rosary before we started spelling class, which was not one of my favorites. After running like a crazy monster during lunch and P.E., I was too tired to care about anything -- even getting back at this brat for not letting me into his "cool friends" circle.

The classroom door was always closed ("to prevent outside distractions," said Sister Assumpta), so the air always got hot, dense, and heavy, making it even more difficult to stay awake. While praying our five thousandth Hail Mary, I was hit by a sweet rotting smell coming from somewhere inside the room; and surely it was not from me.

Sister Assumpta always had roses in small vases on her desk, on the windowsill, and pretty much anywhere she could put them, so I assumed one of them had been left with putrid water and that was causing the stench. As minutes passed, it only got nastier, as if something had literally died inside the room. I did not want to blow the whistle and point out the smell, fearing my classmates would blame me for the poisonous fart, or, worse, a public number two accident. But what we all feared most was a reprimand from Sister Assumpta -- the punishment for interrupting class would surely include a few painful whips to our fingers from her deadly wooden stick.

So I held my breath and tried to go on. Man, it was impossible. Satan's gates had opened somewhere in the room and were leaking puffs of pure evil into our world. No rotten vase could smell like that, that's for sure. I looked around; all the guys were noticing it by now, too. The room began to break its silence as all of us were overpowered by the mysterious toxic fumes. Some of my friends were retching forcefully; others had lost their composure and were to about fade from holding their breath in silence. Sister Assumpta barked at us for making noise and disturbing the class. One of the boys bravely told her the air inside was unbreathable, and begged her to open the door, lest we all pass out. Wham! The stick waved through the air and hit him a couple of times on the knuckles. Now we were all too frightened to speak, so we tried holding on a little longer.

I'd like to point out that Andy sat in the desk on my left, against the classroom window, so that after lunch the sun hit him directly all afternoon until we left at the end of the day. So it was not strange to see him dozing off in the afternoon, his head tilting from side to side. But not today. While the rest of us were covering our noses and mouths trying to filter out the filthy air, I saw him out of the corner of my eye, stiff as a taxidermist's prize, blotted eyes, quivering and whimpering like a puppy. Not fully understanding what was happening, I centered my attention on him while the teacher continued with class. People were already excusing themselves to go to the bathroom -- some sick, others only trying to get fresh air. Andy, however, did not move; and, curiously enough, the stench grew stronger near him. It was like a fetid aura around him. Even a lonely fly began to approach his airspace, marveling at the fumes.

Alphabetical order for seats at school was the trend at that time, so I was in the last row, where I could afford to slide down a bit in my chair, enough to be blocked by the guy in front of me. It seemed like not another soul had seen Andy, mainly because he was way in the back corner of the room. He had a small plastic jar containing a bluish chemical in his hand, and I noticed a bit of the same stuff was shining on his lips and coming out of his mouth. What in Heaven's sake had he done??? He noticed I was staring at him, so he put away the jar and grew even more nervous. Sweat began rolling down his forehead. I knew something must have gone terribly wrong.

"You okay?" I murmured, knowing it was not the case. He just shivered, moved his eyes towards me, and whimpered again as tears began rolling down his cheeks. No doubt about it, it was him. Andy was falling apart. He was desperately biting his lower lip, holding onto his chair, his face all frowned. Too proud to beg for help, and too humble to admit he was about to die. He simply could not hold it.

Andy's butt cheek dam crumbled, and a loud gurgling noise -- followed by several splattered, semi-muffled explosions -- ended the forced tranquility of the classroom. Everybody heard it, but nobody dared say anything or even giggle, fearing the stick would rise again. A few tense moments passed by; not a word at all. You could hear only the fly buzzing overhead. Sister Assumpta raised her eyes from the book while everyone held their breath. Oh man, you should not rejoice from other's suffering, but this dude was paying all his dues right there--his own Purgatory, if you will.

Another muffled wet trumpet went off, raising its tone as five seconds passed. The decayed aftershock that followed was simply unbearable, and someone cried, "EWWWW, someone shit himself!!!" Then it was impossible to hold it any more, and the laughter broke. I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt and I feared peeing myself. Sister Assumpta jumped from her desk, threatening to punish us all if we did not quiet down. Andy had closed his eyes, knowing it was all done, and it was impossible to escape this time.

I raised my hand and, in the most polite manner, told Sister Assumpta that my classmate Andy (who was not my friend, remember) appeared to be sick. Sister Assumpta asked if this was true. He denied it. Then she asked him to stand up. He refused, shaking his head vigorously.

She asked him again, this time with the stick pointed at him as a direct threat.

Sister Assumpta asked me what was going on and Andy began to cry his heart out. I told her something had happed with the chemical set -- at this point I really was honestly concerned for his health. She asked him again to stand and present her the jars with the chemicals. He rose, legs shivering, with the meanest puddle of intestinal fluid I've ever seen lying on his seat and dripping off the sides. Unfortunately for him, he'd left his shorts on after gym class -- no sweatpants to cover the shame -- so brown liquid rivers oozed from his behind on to his immaculate white socks and expensive brand name tennis shoes.

We were all amazed to see he had gulped down three different colored substances, for which he was immediately remitted to the infirmary for an emergency check up. Turns out the amounts were not deadly, but enough to wreak havoc on his digestive system. The tragedy was over for Andy, though his chair stayed behind and the rest of us were forced to remain in the contaminated room for the remainder of the afternoon.

Later that afternoon we saw him leave school when his dad's chauffeur arrived in his very expensive car to pick him up and drive him home. Guess all that money did not buy him common sense. He was never the same after that incident. No one, I suppose, could have been.