Miss Vivian

The chime on the bodega’s door startled Roy, who looked up and saw his geometry teacher.

And a pack of smokes, Miss Vivian said.

Roy watched the man behind the counter wrap two large bottles of King Cobra for her. They were much larger than anything his father drank while watching Sunday football. Each resembled a hippopotamus. She handed the man a wrinkled bill. Electricity ran through Roy’s body. He shouldn’t be seeing this. Math teachers shouldn’t be buying alcohol and cigarettes.

Roy made it to fifteen without his hands working a girl’s body during a school’s slow dance. He had never kissed the lips of a neighborhood princess in the back of a movie theater. And he had certainly never smoked a cigarette. So much of life was uncharted territory. But seeing Miss Vivian Waldman buy malt liquor and a pack of Pall Malls—on a weeknight nonetheless—dislodged something that couldn’t be neatly put back in place.

Leaving the M&Ms unpurchased, Roy followed her down the street without thinking about what he was doing. He suddenly and deeply desired to know something about Miss Vivian that no one else knew. He tailed her like one of his comic book detectives, studying her every move as she walked away from the corner shop.

Miss Vivian carried the two bottles in her taupe tote, which must have been pretty heavy because she switched hands every couple of houses. But she seemed very casual, super normal. That’s a lot of beer, he thought. And she wasn’t a big woman. Most freshmen were taller than her. He followed her until she reached one of the apartment complexes near Memorial Hospital. Long after she had entered, Roy went to the door and saw a list of all the residents and their buzzer number: V. Waldman #42. He knew where Miss Vivian lived.

#

            Before that afternoon these were the elemental facts. Miss Vivian wasn’t elegant or frumpy. She didn’t dress in a provocative way, but she did have something of a figure. As far as Roy could tell she didn’t wear makeup. He guessed her age to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. She wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. Miss Vivian wasn’t particularly funny or nice, but there were moments in class when she’d go on autopilot to explain the steps of a proof. At moments like that she had a grace and confidence that could be understood as attractive.

But afterward, none of that seemed to matter. Suddenly all Roy could think about was Miss Vivian and whether one of those hippopotamus beers was for someone else. Who? Before that afternoon, she was like all other teachers. But afterwards all he could think about was her. That night Roy didn’t sleep, yet the next day he wasn’t tired. Instead of exhaustion, he suffered an anxiety that felt like fire—like an insufferable wave of heat had spread through his body. After lunch, he left the cafeteria and went to the bathroom in the basement where he stuffed paper towels in the drain of a sink and let it fill with ice cold water. He stood there splashing water against his face and arms. The water felt good and made him feel clean.

What up shithead? Charlie yelled, dropping his bag by the sink so both could do the necessary handshake, an overly intricate but popular move with his clique.

You weren’t on AIM last night, Charlie said.

Yeah, I was playing videogames.

I bet jerking off all night.

Fuck you. No way. That’s so gross, Roy said.

Oh, come off it. Charlie pretended to roll dice with a tremendous amount of pain, as if he were pulling at his inner organs.

Boom! I bet like the Hoover Dam, Charlie said.

Roy didn’t follow but smiled as though he was in on the joke.

I bet you were going to all those porno sites on that fancy computer of yours. Busy playing videogames, my ass! Charlie said.

There’s porno online? The thought alone made Roy slightly out of breathe. Nobody had ever mentioned that before.

#

That day in geometry, Roy seemed to have all the answers. It felt like he was playing a game of table tennis with Miss Vivian.

Good to see you did your homework, she said with a professional smile.

Someone whispered dork just loud enough to be heard by the entire class. Usually that would have bothered him but not that day. When Miss Vivian turned her back on the class to teach the difference between complementary and supplementary angles, Charlie threw a paper airplane at Roy. Inside was a picture of an elephantine erection exploding on a woman with balloon breasts. On the bottom was a website. Roy, freaking out, crumbled it into a ball and stuffed it in his bag. He moved so fast that he pulled a muscle in his neck. Looking down at the bag, he knew that the piece of paper would get him in trouble. Then the heat returned. He needed more cold water.

#

Mom, is it okay if I stay at school to finish some homework? Roy called from the payphone in the lobby of school.

No problem, buddy. I’m glad to see you’re taking school seriously.

I just got a lot of work.

Can you be home by six for dinner?

He said he’d try his best. Roy found a table in the library near the outdated encyclopedia set and oversized art books. He opened his binder and took out his chemistry homework. He actually did have a lot of work to do, but he was really staying for Miss Vivian. It was her night to tutor math and from where he was sitting he could watch her. Was Miss Vivian beautiful? Not exactly but there was something attractive about her.

Hey, dickweed. Charlie sat down.

Do you think Miss Vivian has a boyfriend? Roy asked.

Totally. He smacked both his hands down on the table with complete confidence. She’s probably an animal in bed. I doubt she even uses a condom. Do you have a thing for her? Do you want to have butt sex with Miss Vivian?

Roy’s face pretzeled, imagining all sorts of things that were definitely not butt sex.

A bunch of us are heading to Troy’s to watch television and smoke cigarettes. You want in?

I got too much homework.

Okay, whatever. Just don’t stare too long or you’ll have a wet dream.

What the hell is a wet dream? Roy wondered.

After a few minutes of uncertainty, which kept him from getting any homework done, Roy headed to the computer lab and logged on to a computer. He opened Netscape and typed the question, What is a wet dream? After reading a few sentences, he closed the window as fast as he could. Looking over his shoulder, he could feel that heat return. Had anyone noticed? The school had software to detect searches like that. Would they call him into the Dean of Student’s office? Would his parents be contacted?

#

When he looked up from the computer, Miss Vivian was walking out of the library dressed in her raincoat and carrying her tote. How could she be done already, he wondered. It was only a quarter after four. Roy quickly stuffed his bag and ran after her, following her down the street, past the public library, the strip mall, and the train station. Then she entered a corner shop again. Roy, heart thumping, followed and darted into a neighboring aisle.

How’s your family? She asked the cashier.

Good. Can’t complain. What can I get you today?

Palo Viejo, she said.

The cashier took a small bottle off the shelf and placed it in a brown bag.

Roy looked away for a moment. That’s when he noticed it. On the magazine rack was a picture of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen wearing a swimsuit. He picked it up. He flipped through it. The magazine was full of women just like her. All. In. Swimsuits.

Am I allowed to buy this? He wondered. Do I have to be eighteen? Where can I hide it at home? What do I do with it?

The door’s chime rang, waking him from his daydream. She was gone. Shit. Roy ran to the counter with the magazine in one hand and his Velcro wallet in the other.

The man is going to say something, he thought, I just know it. Roy’s legs were electric.

There was no question, no comment, no nothing. The man simply took the boy’s cash and counted out the change.

Would you like the receipt?

No, thank you.

Roy tracked Miss Vivian for a few blocks. Eventually she took a seat on a park bench, opened the bottle, still in the brown bag, and took a sip from it. She sat there with her school bag between her feet. Was she waiting for someone? She just sat there. Drinking. Slowly and alone. It was strange. Who was she waiting for?

Roy watched from behind. He stood near an ivy-covered brick wall. The temperature continued to drop and the afternoon quickly became evening. And still Miss Vivian sat there slowly drinking. Then, as though an alarm went off, she gathered her things and left. She dropped the bottle in the park’s garbage and left. When she was out of sight, Roy ran over to the garbage and fished out the bottle and placed it in his school bag before going home.

#

Home smelled of mushroom soup. His mom greeted him like a hero, asking about the library and whether or not it was a productive afternoon.

Yeah, mom. I got tons done. How was your day?

As they talked, he looked at his bag and thought about all his contraband: the picture Charlie drew, the magazine he bought, and the empty bottle he picked from the garbage. When his father walked in with Lauren, Roy’s kid sister, they all sat down for dinner. Roy wondered if his dad could smell the booze in his bag. The longer he sat with them the more he began to sweat. The heat had returned.

You okay? His mom asked.

Just fine. Good soup. Hot.

After helping clean the table, Roy asked if he could go and study for geometry. His parents looked at each other and smiled.

Whenever he wanted to lock the bedroom door without them knowing, he made sure to flip the lock just as the door made contact with the frame. That way they couldn’t hear it and would never know. He fished out the crumpled picture Charlie drew with the web address.

It was unbelievable. They were all unbelievable. There were blondes, brunettes, and red heads. Some wet. Hiding behind groping hands. Glistening in oil. Standing on balconies. Arched backs. Lean women. The definition of wet dream filled his skull.

Despite no one being there, he felt a tremendous amount of embarrassment and stupidity about what he was doing to himself. He imagined that his parents knew what he was doing behind the locked door. He assumed that they knew what he was doing. He didn’t know how but he was certain they knew. He sensed that what he was doing was something he should feel guilty about. His parents would see his evil deed plastered across his face, like some glowing scarlet letter. Why was he even doing this to himself? He was such a pervert.

Suddenly there was a little buzz of electricity, like that of a nine-volt battery. Then a rigidity ran up to his mouth and made him spitty, his jaw clenched tight, his teeth chattering. He noticed the novel, electric warmth filling his entire body. He lost control. His lungs stuttered. Rigor mortis set in and death surfaced. His face pretzeled and reddened in a flash. Blood became taffy and something magical hit his nervous system. Then it happened. Suddenly. A delayed bolt of lightning ran from head to toe. That bolt illuminated everything.

And that is when he saw her looking back at him.

In his mind Miss Vivian was looking at him—their eyes locked. Then she winked at him with a devious smile. It was as if she was acknowledging him directly.

He looked down and what he saw scared the hell out of him.

He had cancer.

White discharge meant infection. It was everywhere. What do I do? I’m dying! Fuck.

Before he could even wrap his head around one experience, Roy became overwhelmed with the sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong with his insides. He was sick and in desperate need of medical attention. His body was dissolving right before him. He was going to die if he didn’t get help soon. He needed blood work done. Testing. He needed a doctor. He needed to tell his parents but a tremendous amount of shame filled him. Where do I start? How do I explain this? How did I discover that I have cancer? Do I tell them about the magazine? What do I exclude? What about Miss Vivian?

#

Roy walked out to the living room to find his parents reading. He didn’t know where to begin. He tried to speak but just choked up and then started to cry. Both of his parents asked him what was the matter. And all he could say was that he had cancer and he was going to die and that he needs to see Father William because he was going to hell and that he would never spy again and that it was all Charlie’s fault and he would throw away the magazine and never go back to that website and that if he lives he will never touch himself again.

Jesus Christ, Roy’s mother exclaimed. She never used the Lord’s name in vain. Never. We had a deal. Remember? I get Lauren. You get Roy.

She got up and left the room.

His father smiled and began to calm Roy down. When the hyperventilating stopped, the conversation began. Things were first explained biologically and then theologically. The more Roy learned, the more he realized how little he knew. He sat there with a marksman’s gaze, looking neither at his father nor really at anything in the room. He patiently listened but just wanted it to be over. He could hear his dad’s grin. His father struggled to hide his enjoyment of the awkwardness. Eventually his father asked if there were any other questions. There weren’t. It was over. Roy went to his room, kept his door wide open, and tried his best to do homework.

#

That night he slept deeply. But the next day, he felt exhausted. He didn’t look at his parents during breakfast. Didn’t say a word. He blew off Charlie in the hall that morning, and silently sat through geometry with his head down. On his way home, he stopped at the park. Roy found a bench, ate his M&Ms, and drank his Pepsi while the sun went down, fearful of what was waiting for him at home.

________

M.F. Saligia is a writer of fiction who currently resides in Lisbon, Portugal. His manuscript, The House on the Rock, made Dzanc’s long list in their 2019 novella contest. He is currently writing a murder mystery about a counterfeit artist and a secret art collective that he was definitely never a member of, so stop asking about it. Okay? He can be found on Twitter @MFSaligia.

*[this author uses a pseudonym]