by Ian Williams
* * *
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She doesn’t like me.
You didn’t even talk to her.
She’s got a boyfriend.
Listen, the first girl I liked had a boyfriend and she pretty much dumped him once we got to talking.
True?
Pretty much.
* * *
+
My girlfriend’s coming over.
Girlfriend, right.
Almost. So don’t be home walking around.
No, I was planning to take a shower.
Shut up.
Maybe flex a little bit in my towel.
* * *
+
Don’t come in here.
What are you doing?
Give me a minute.
Hurry it up.
* * *
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I’m in the shower. Don’t take a piss.
How long do you expect me to wait?
There’s another bathroom.
You were fine with this before. You become big man now?
I’m in the shower, Army.
Come on. Everybody knows you’re not cleaning the bathtub in there.
* * *
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Why isn’t anybody asking me what I want for Christmas?
I don’t know if we’re doing Christmas this year, little man.
* * *
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My birthday’s coming up.
Yeah, we’re not doing your birthday this year.
Funny. You have to get me something separate from everybody else. You can’t just put your name on Heather’s gift.
I’m getting you stock, Riot. Trust me, it’s what you want. You’ll thank me.
Get me this.
Another camera?
The old one’s crap.
The sale’s over though.
That’s not my problem. You owe me for last year and Christmas.
* * *
+
Mutter said to take me.
I’ll drive you but you have to take the bus home.
She said you should see if they could squeeze you in. She wants to know why you didn’t make an appointment for the same time.
Cause you don’t need to see a doctor for ’roids. It’s a little bit a blud. I have massive logs. What?
I don’t need the details.
You used to video these pythons all the time.
There’s people who like that stuff.
I bet.
* * *
+
What’s so funny?
I said to the doctor, I think I’m getting my period.
* * *
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You want to see my movie?
Is it another one with Logan’s cat?
Yeah, but this one’s really good. It already has like twenty-five views.
Watch out, YouTube.
* * *
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Tell me what you think.
It needs more blood.
See, I knew it.
* * *
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You want to see my movie?
Who’s the girl?
That’s Faye who I was telling you about. She did the pointillism thing that you said looked like she needed to get laid.
She’s hot.
Right?
You should have given her a bigger part.
She didn’t even want to be in my movie.
* * *
+
Well?
Needs more blood.
I don’t do blood anymore.
Oh, excuse me, auteur. Let me get you a turtleneck.
* * *
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You want to see my movie?
Send me the link.
I didn’t upload it.
Er. Email it to me then.
The file’s too big.
Put in on a DVD.
* * *
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Did you watch it?
It was like five hours.
Yeah, awesome, eh. You watched to the end?
Hell, no. Riot. I don’t even know where to start. It was just you going in and out of your room. There was no story.
It’s a documentary.
It’s not a documentary. It’s not even reality TV.
It’s reality. You’re not getting it.
What’s there to get? It was you and the camera in your bedroom. Camera was on your dresser the whole time. You didn’t edit.
I’m not going to edit it at all.
Speed up the frames or something. At least it’ll be funny. Charlie Chaplin it. Damn.
No, no, no. It’s supposed to be slow. Slow TV. Like in Norway. The train?
* * *
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Well?
I support you. You know that. I’ll produce your first feature. You know that. But these films of you sleeping—
It’s Warhol.
If I’m paying to go see a movie,
You’re not paying.
I want to see stuff blow up.
I’m outside of Robert McKee plots and Hollywood profit models.
But, like why am I watching you lotion you knees or fold your drawers? Why are you subjecting me to that?
It’s poetry.
See. That’s the problem.
* * *
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Do you want to be in my movie?
I’m A-list, boy. You can’t afford me.
It’ll be like old times.
I retired from python videos.
No, I don’t do toilet stuff anymore. I took your advice. I’m going to have to make some commercial films to support my art films. You don’t have to act. It’s a documentary.
About?
It’s more like a workout video.
* * *
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Nobody wants to be in my movies.
Because they suck.
I thought you were my biggest supporter. What happened to that?
Lemme finish: they suck / the will to live from anyone watching them.
Ha ha. When I get my Oscar—
When you get your Oscar you can put it on the mantel right next to your mom’s.
Why’re you on me?
I’m not on you. It’s just time, kid.
Hey, at least I’m not thirty-six and living in my parents’ basement.
Ey-oh, oh-ey, and I’m not twenty, living in a movie.
PRESENT
Felicia was at the hairdresser’s cutting off all her hair when she got the news from Edgar’s old secretary, Polly, that he was in the hospital with cancer, a second bout.
I think you should go see him.
Did he tell you that?
No, Polly said. She had gone from secretary to receptionist to administrative assistant to executive administrative assistant, a trajectory similar to Felicia’s. Polly went on, He doesn’t know I’m calling. But.
I’ll try and go. But Felicia didn’t know how or when. She was walking through fire herself with hot flashes, her breaking hair, a countless multitude of students expecting her to wave a magic wand over their enrollment issues, and of course Riot’s situation. Then Felicia caught the former secretary’s innuendo. But what?
I think you should go see him, she repeated. Before he—
When Felicia hung up, she realized that the hairdresser had never stopped talking to her about short hair while she was on the phone.
Trust me, the hairdresser was saying, sometimes you have to start over. It go look real sweet when I finish. You go be like Rihanna. Where have you been all my li-i-i-i-ife?
* * *
Riot’s tribunal for alleged harassment was held one week into the fall semester.
Such humiliation, Felicia had gone around the house saying, that you make me the first case of the year. Not a spot on the leaf them and I call up before grand jury.
There was no point correcting her pronominal use.
The girl’s people were on one side of the table and Riot’s people were on the other side of the table an
d the ombudsman—person, man, it was a man—was at the head. They faced each other in perfect symmetry. Father facing father, mother facing mother, Riot facing Unnamable, the ombudsman facing a portrait of someone dead.
He said, I think we’re all on the same page in terms of the inappropriateness of Chariot’s conduct. Agreed?
Unnamable’s side of the table nodded. Riot’s side of the table nodded, except for Riot. Felicia tasered him with her elbow and he jiggled his head. The ombudsman made a note to himself and Felicia looked over her reading glasses at Riot.
And we’ve decided that the offensive video must be taken down immediately. Agreed?
More nodding. Jiggling.
Is it down? The ombudsman asked Riot.
A stupid question because nothing is ever down the way he meant it. It could be down but downloaded and reposted elsewhere under a different name. It could be down from the clear net but coursing through the deep web. It could be gathering a lump in the dark web.
But Riot nodded.
What’s at issue today is whether this video—
Videos, the mother said. There was more than one. Photos and videos. She asked her daughter, How many?
I don’t know. A lot, Unnamable said. Neither she nor Riot looked at each other.
Five? the ombudsman asked.
Oh, no, no, no, the mother said.
She probably watched every one of them, Riot thought. Enjoyed him to the end. The wench. The wannabe MILF.
Unnamable shrugged one shoulder. Twelve, thirteen.
Riot glanced at her. Her ombré hair used to make her look all glamorous, at least reality-show glamorous, but now it just looked like she needed to dye her roots. What bothered him was that she sat there with her parents, trying not to chew her gum visibly, as if she didn’t have her own camera, her own public spaces, her own private parts, her own dirty talk. She was suddenly leader of the prayer meeting.
There’s one video in particular that I have in my notes. The ombudsman returned to his previous script: But what’s at issue today is whether these videos constitute harassment. Am I correct?
Not exactly, the father said. We’re alleging that the actions of Chariot constitute sexual assault.
What was this guy, a lawyer?
You’re saying he digitally penetrated her, Oliver said.
That’s not what that means, Unnamable said.
Because there’s no such thing, Oliver said, looking straight at her.
She looked away. There was a brief silence where they all waited on the ombudsman to steer the conversation but he was busy noting something. Probably apple + tree.
There was violation— the mother began.
Of trust, Riot said.
Of Unnamable, the mother finished.
She’s not the one on the internet, Riot said. I don’t see what the problem is.
Elbow taser.
He’s not a sex offender for flashing his penis on the internet, Oliver said.
He did more than flash his penis and you know it. He sent unsolicited—
You know how much junk mail I get every day, lady. Oliver was reddening. And I’m not going after every Tom, Dick, and Harry who sends me something.
How would you like to open up your inbox every day and be assaulted by dozens of—
It wasn’t dozens
by dozens of unwanted
every day. Puhlease.
sexual images. That’s worse than flashing someone, Mr. Soares.
The ombudsman cooled the conversation. On one hand, he said, we have the issue of assault and on the other, though not entirely separate, hand we have the issue of consent.
She consented, Riot said. I was talking to her when I was doing all that stuff.
There’s no sound on the video, the ombudsman said.
Yeah, I know but—
You’re talking to somebody. That much is clear. Or, at least, you’re talking on the video.
Everyone in the room had sought out and watched the video, except perhaps Felicia. Was the ombudsman gay? Were they all avoiding Riot’s eyes because he was forever naked to them after they had watched it?
Well, consent is an easy one to solve, Unnamable’s father said. He turned to Unnamable and asked, Did you consent?
She shook her head.
Puhlease, Oliver said.
She consented, Riot said.
Unnamable hadn’t made eye contact with anybody. She kept her head down.
She was guilty. Or traumatized. Or imagining him naked. But her act was very convincing.
Would you like some water? the ombudsman asked.
Do I have to stay for this? she asked.
If you’re finding parts of the conversation difficult, you’re free to excuse yourself for a few minutes.
Unnamable promptly left.
Oliver snorted. It’s just two kids who did something stupid. We were all there.
I have to stop you there, the father said. One kid did something stupid. Unnamable clicked. That’s all she did.
Then she shouldn’t have clicked.
Oliver. Felicia pulled on his sleeve.
No, you’re making a big stink over two stupid kids messing around on the internet. Do you hear how stupid you sound?
Felicia intervened: What he’s saying is that there’s no precedent or policy at this college that polices the online sexual behaviour of students.
We do have an online code of conduct, Felicia, the ombudsman said.
Nowhere in that document is there reference to the sexual behaviour of students.
There is something, Felicia.
I know the section you’re thinking about. It’s about viewing pornography or illicit acts at public workstations in the Learning Commons. It’s about posting illegal content—I was at that CCC meeting when this proposal came up for approval and it’s not in the document, but in the minutes you’ll see that they were referring to things like child pornography, not the transmission of private files, of a sexual or nonsexual nature, between two of-age individuals.
That’s not how I understood the document, the mother said.
I have it here if you want it to read it.
And calling her bluff, the mother requested it. She should know better than to test Felicia. Felicia had printed and highlighted every relevant document for this case and left it on Riot’s desk for him to study before the tribunal. Presently, she opened the rings of her binder, withdrew a dozen pages, and started starring the margins while everyone waited.
Riot scraped back his chair. I’m going to look for [Unnamable].
When [Unnamable]’s ready, she will come back, the ombudsman said.
Then I’m feeling uncomfortable in this conversation. Riot stood up.
Please take a seat.
What? I don’t get the same rights?
Sit down, Felicia said.
I want to use the bathroom.
Sit down. Felicia jerked his arm. Her wrist cracked. She starred a few more pages and offered them to the mother but the ombudsman indicated that he’d like to see them. He studied them for a while, engaged in a private conversation with Felicia, pointing to one section, then crossed out her asterisk. When he was satisfied, he slid the papers to the other side of the table then turned his attention to Riot.
Were you responsible for posting the videos?
Yeah, Riot said, then corrected himself. Yes.
Why?
The question seemed to interest Oliver. Explanation time.
I didn’t post them like what you’re thinking. I uploaded them to Groover so she could get it.
Blank. Remember your market, Army would say.
It’s in the heavens.
Blank.
It’s cloud based. Like Dropbox. I do this with all my stuff. She got it and she must have shared it or leaked it or somebody else got into my space and posted it on Pornhub.
Who else has access?
Like technically anybody could get access. I mean nothing’s secure even with a pas
sword.
Did you protect the file with a password?
No, like everybody needs a password to log in and then it’s open. I mean, you can choose to password-protect certain files but like most people just leave it unsecured. The front door’s locked. I don’t have to lock every room in the house. Open access, man. It’s a principle. It’s not just— and here Riot ran out of steam.
Unnamable returned at this point. She was putting her phone into her pocket.
Better? the ombudsman asked.
She nodded.
Are there files of my daughter—
Our daughter.
our daughter on the internet?
You mean, did she send me stuff?
No. The father slowed his speech. I’m asking if you uploaded any files of [Unnamable] on any porn sites on the internet.
Have you come across any? Riot said.
Chariot, the ombudsman dipped his head. This is a respectful space.
What’s the matter with you? Felicia said, her eyebrows in all sorts of astrological signs.
Riot was instantly regretful. Here Felicia was exposing weaknesses in the offensive line of the Brownstone policies so he wouldn’t get expelled and lay waste of her employee tuition discount, putting on her best, efficient-secretary voice, and he was taking cheap shots at the lawyer wannabe.
To answer your question, Riot said by way of apology, no, I did not post any videos of [Unnamable] although, yes, she sent me twelve or thirteen.
I don’t believe that, the father said.
Which part? the ombudsman asked.
Any of it.
I can show you, Riot said.
If I can be plain, what’s of interest to the college here is that in the video I saw, the video that was submitted, Chariot, you appear to be in one of our science labs and wearing a Brownstone sweatshirt for the first part of the video.
Riot knew what was coming. Partway through the video, he takes off the shirt and it sits on the arm of the chair until the end when he uses it to wipe his ejacule from the gas taps.
The ombudsman continued: And that one of the tags for this video on the pornsite I was invited to visit was college. The other tags were, he referred to his notes, solo and twink. So because this action took place on our property, no different from a dorm room, the college, you’ll understand, must take into serious consideration our stake in this matter when coming to a disciplinary resolution. If I can be plain, this kind of tarnishing of our image to prospective students and their parents is potentially irrevocable.