by Jason Parent
Clive lived on the top floor of a two-family dwelling in the Village, the oldest part of Somerset, Massachusetts. With his meager salary and college debt, the majority of his paycheck each week was spent before he received it. He had no choice but to rent and simply couldn’t afford to live alone. Using Roommates.com, Clive hooked up with an antisocial college student named Kevin Ventura, and the two agreed to share the costs of living over the next two years.
Kevin, however, wasn’t all that bad. For Clive’s tastes, the arrangement worked out rather nicely. Kevin kept to himself, cleaned up the common living spaces, and paid his half of the rent when due. Clive could see there was something not right with the boy, but he didn’t care. As far as he knew, nothing illegal was going on, and Kevin stayed out of his way. If he could only get Kevin to stop pilfering his food, Clive’s home life would have been as close to good as he could ever have hoped.
As he climbed the stairs to his infernally hot apartment, lugging his beer and other purchases, Clive could hear the sound of the television echoing into the hallway. Is he watching reruns of Hannah Montana? He heard a familiar flaky-privileged voice as he neared his apartment door. Thoughts of Billy Ray and his star-power daughter made Clive a little queasy.
“Hey, Kev,” Clive said as he pushed open his door with his foot.
Without so much as shifting his gaze from the television, Kevin responded, “You need a hand?”
“No, I got it. Thanks.”
Clive walked over to his refrigerator and looked inside. Unsurprisingly, there was plenty of room for the variety pack of Sam Adams. He shoved in all twelve of Mr. Adams’s beer, box and all.
“You watching TV?” Clive asked over the kitchen counter.
Kevin shot back a dirty look as he sat, sunken into the cushions of their stained and tattered couch. Duh, his facial expression suggested. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?
Clive exited the kitchen and walked toward the television. Oh my God. He is watching Hannah Montana. He briefly perused the screen, not remotely interested in the dialogue shabbily playing out before him. Well, I will say this: Vanessa Williams was a hottie. But if she’s in it, then this must be the movie. Dear God! How do I know that? Am I a closet fan? He hoped that his roommate hadn’t somehow noticed his astonishingly in-depth knowledge of the Hannah Montana franchise.
Kevin remained fixated on the screen. He didn’t seem to be watching it but was preoccupied with some thought. Clive watched him in wonder, waiting to see if Kevin would blink. Eventually, he gave up.
Knowing Kevin, he’s probably whacking off to little Hannah.
“Well, my brother, Kyle, is coming over,” Clive said. “We were planning on watching the game. Is that cool?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah, no problem.”
Kevin picked up the remote lying beside him on the cushion. A moment later, the screen went black—lights out on Miley Cyrus’s phony-smiling face. Kevin got up, walked to his room, and closed the door.
“I didn’t mean now,” Clive said, the door to Kevin’s room slamming out his words. “Plus, you’re welcome to watch the game with us.”
It was no use. He would receive no response. Kevin was gone and wouldn’t be seen for the remainder of the evening.
Fucking tool. Clive was far from heartbroken. He flipped the television back on.
Over an hour passed, which he spent watching the rest of the Hannah Montana movie that had roped in Kevin and the back-to-back episodes that followed it. Actually, she is cute. I wonder if she was legal then.
Finally, he heard the familiar creak of the seventh step on the stairway up to his apartment outside, the one he always tried to avoid for fear of falling through the staircase. A knock came on his door. Clive checked the clock on his cable box—6:56 p.m. Right on time.
He swung the door open but saw no one. At least, he saw no one at eye level.
“Hi, Uncle Clive. You should invest in an air conditioner.”
“Now, Victoria. Be nice,” a voice scolded from a few steps below.
“How are you, Victoria? I didn’t know you were coming, or else I would have prepared something special for you.” The slight bite in Clive’s tone was intended to signal to his brother his true meaning. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me she was coming?
“That’s okay,” Kyle answered. “The wife needed to go in for a few tests, so I, alone, am in charge of this little tyke tonight.”
Kyle shook his hand through his daughter’s hair, a practice that thoroughly annoyed her. She whined and brushed his hand aside.
“How is Rachel doing?” Clive asked.
“You know, some days are better than others. But overall, she seems to be improving.”
“Good. That’s good news.”
Kyle cleared his throat and looked away. Was he fighting back tears? His wife was sick, very sick, and Clive knew it all too well. Cancer was never meant to come to someone so young and happy.
Kyle swallowed and changed the subject. “Yeah, well, the game should be about to start.”
“Yes, of course. Come in, you two. Come right on in.”
“She brought some things to do, so she should be able to keep herself occupied at least for a little while. We may not be able to stay for the whole game, though.”
“Say no more, Kyle. I understand. I got ice cream in the freezer for later if she wants some. I’m afraid all I bought for us to eat, though, are Buffalo wings.”
“That’s fine. We stopped at Mickey D’s on the way over. She’s all set.”
“Well, I’m going to fire up the wings, anyway. I’m starving. You want a beer?”
“Definitely.”
Clive passed his brother a cold Pale Ale, his least favorite beer in the pack, and the two sat back to enjoy an evening of the stacked Red Sox batters putting on a clinic. The Baltimore Orioles were on the receiving end of the slugfest. With the division already clinched and the Orioles long since out of playoff contention, the game was meaningless. The company was not.
Clive sat at one end of the couch, his brother at the other. Between them, a giant platter of chicken wings quickly disappeared. Every now and then, Clive dug his pinky finger into his right ear, swirling his finger around inside it without realizing that he was doing it until the Buffalo sauce started to burn.
Kyle got up from his seat. He looked around the room. “Where’s Victoria?”
“Huh?” Clive was completely distracted, his favorite player having just hit a bases-clearing homerun in the fourth. He leaped from his seat in celebration. “Yes!”
“Victoria’s wandered off,” Kyle reiterated.
“Kyle, she’s nine years old. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She’s eight.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Clive came to a horrid realization. There were many things in his home that he didn’t want his niece to see. He feared she already had her greasy fingers all over his bong, his complete Lord of the Rings action-figure set, or worse. He envisioned his niece rifling through one of Derek’s left-behind stashes of porn. He certainly didn’t want to have to explain the term “bestiality” to his brother’s only offspring. His sister-in-law, sick or not, would rip his balls off.
Clive asked, “Well, where is she?”
“She’s probably just off somewhere reading her Zoobooks. She loves those things.”
Yeah, I’m sure her zoo books are a bit different than those Derek owns. “Wait a minute. Zoobooks? I used to love reading those. Remember? I had a whole shitload of them when I was a kid. I stole half of them from the eye doctor’s office. You know—what’s his name?”
“Dr. Skaarsgard. Yeah, actually, her Zoobooks used to be yours. Mom gave them to us along with all your old wildlife cards. Vicki loves them.”
“Well, I’m glad to see them being put to good use. What about all my old National Geographics?”
“You mean those with the African tribesmen who could tie their penises into knots and the half-naked woman with the weird-shaped knockers that y
ou used to jack off to?”
“Those be the ones.”
“Mom threw those out. They looked water damaged, like you dropped them into the bathtub.”
“I did—one or two of them, anyway. Wow! Zoobooks. She’s already reading at that level?”
“Yep.” Kyle beamed with pride. “Vicki has a thirst for learning, and she loves anything that has to do with animals.”
I doubt she’d love Derek’s donkey porn.
“We got her a hamster,” Kyle continued. “Then we got her an iguana and a parakeet. That damn bird never shuts up. Unlike most kids, Victoria takes care of all the animals herself. She even does chores around the house, and we give her money so that she can buy their pet food. She’s very responsible.”
“Well, she didn’t get that from you. Your fish tank always looked like it was filled with swamp water, but no matter how neglectful you were, that one goldfish refused to die.”
“Yeah, Mom and Dad had to care for it when I moved out. That fish lived something like fourteen years. That’s got to be a record. On average, our fish usually didn’t make it to the end of the week.”
“Are you going to get her any more animals?” Clive asked.
“Victoria wants a dog, but I think we’ll wait until Christmas for that one. I don’t know why, but she also wants some weird animals, with a tarantula topping the list. As if the iguana wasn’t bad enough. Imagine one of those big, hairy suckers crawling around the living room. It would probably end up eating the parakeet and iguana.” He laughed. “Of course, Rachel won’t go for that. But I believe Victoria could take care of any animal better than most adults would.”
Kyle downed a large gulp of his third beer, shook his head, and chuckled. Clive couldn’t tell what his brother found so amusing.
“It’s unbelievable. She knows everything about those nasty critters. I guess she wanted to prove to Rach that spiders aren’t dangerous. So she’s read up on all of them. I can’t say that I’m particularly thrilled with the idea of having more pets roaming around the house, particularly the more exotic and potentially dangerous ones, but you know I love to spoil her. I’m just glad she hasn’t asked for a ferret yet. Aside from being an ugly rodent, those things stink something awful.”
Kyle’s warmhearted smile was that of a proud and loving father—a father who couldn’t tell Clive where his daughter was hiding at that very moment.
He peered around the room. Victoria had yet to reemerge. He was beginning to worry, particularly since his creepy roommate was lurking somewhere nearby.
“Vicki?” Kyle called. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the bathroom.”
“But as smart as Victoria is,” Kyle said, readdressing Clive, “she still needs her father to remind her of certain rules.”
He curved his hands around his mouth to project his voice as though he were using a megaphone. “Honey,” he shouted. “Be sure to wash your hands.”
“Daddy, I said I’m in the bathroom. I didn’t say I was going to the bathroom.”
She should probably still wash her hands. Clive knew all too well his and his roommate’s regular bathroom activities.
“What’s in your bathroom that’s so interesting?” Kyle asked.
“Beats me.” Clive found his brother overprotective of Victoria. Still, his curiosity had been piqued. He followed Kyle toward the bathroom.
“Holy shit!” Kyle exclaimed, pushing open the bathroom door. “Victoria, don’t move!”
Victoria let out a playful giggle. “Don’t worry, Daddy. She won’t harm me even though I disturbed her. She dropped to the floor when I entered, probably looking for a place to hide, but I scooped her up and showed her everything was A-OK.”
She held her hand out to her father. “See? She’s friendly.”
Clive stared in awe at Victoria’s hand. Eight glassy red eyes stared back at him, silent and steady. It was impossible to determine the cognitive processes going on behind those eyes. His ignorance was a source of discomfort. He felt his masculinity questioned by the curious, playful little girl, unafraid of the life form that stood upon her palm.
Underneath its eyes was a large, powerful jaw. From its jaw protruded two horizontal blades that were small and sharp. They’re fangs, Clive thought, entirely disgusted. But something more disturbing controlled Clive’s irrational thought. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the creature was staring right at him, watching him and waiting for its time to act. What that action would entail, Clive hadn’t the faintest idea. But he certainly didn’t want to wait around to find out. He grabbed a Zoobook from the sink counter and rolled it up.
“Speak of the devil, and he appears, huh, Kyle?”
“Yeah. Now I don’t want her to have that particular pet, either. That thing on her hand is bad enough.”
“Victoria, keep your hand out, and I’ll swipe that bug right off of you.”
“She’s not a bug, Uncle Clive. She’s an arachnid, a yellow sac spider to be exact. I can tell she’s female because males are skinnier.”
“Not something you really want to say to a lady, Victoria, but male, female… that arachnid could be dangerous. Poisonous even.”
Kyle seemed less concerned, more impressed with his daughter’s knowledge than worried. Victoria hadn’t a care in the world. Clive did not share their ease. He slowly bent closer to the demon that had captivated his niece’s curiosity. The spider’s color was somewhere between that yellow crap he often coughed up in the winter and baby-diarrhea green. Its head and body were one, and a rusty orange stripe covered the length of its bulbous abdomen. All along its legs and body were little wirelike hairs that added to its repulsiveness. It was only slightly bigger than a quarter, and that included its eight pointy legs. But against the background of Victoria’s small hand, the spider was immense and terrifying.
“Are you sure that’s not a brown recluse?” Clive, who knew next to nothing about spiders, wasn’t taking any chances. “It looks brownish maybe. Kyle, those things are deadly, I think.”
“There are no brown recluse spiders around here,” Victoria said. “That’s just media-fueled paranoia.”
Clive raised an eyebrow. Only eight years old, and his niece was already a fellow cynic. But Victoria was way too young to know about “media-fueled paranoia,” wasn’t she?
“Oh yeah? Where did you hear that?”
“From watching TV.”
You mean, from the media? Clive shook his head. “You can’t believe everything you hear, kiddo.”
“Anyway,” Victoria continued, ignoring Clive’s ill-informed comments, “these are the guys that do most of the biting that people blame the brown recluse for. And sac spiders don’t hurt most people unless they’re super-duper allergic. They only bite when you touch them and mostly just at night because they’re noctenticle.”
“Nocturnal,” Kyle corrected.
“That’s what I said. Noctranal.”
“So if it bites when you touch it, why is it on your hand?” Clive asked.
“She’s a her, not an it. And she’s there because I let her walk onto my hand. She won’t bite me. I haven’t done anything to make her mad.”
Victoria glanced at the rolled-up magazine in her uncle’s hand. “But if you swing that at her, she’ll probably bite me.”
Clive felt stupid, outsmarted by a second grader. He placed the magazine back on the counter.
“Can you put it—um, her—down, honey?” Kyle asked.
“Will you and Uncle Clive promise not to squish her?”
“I promise,” Kyle said.
“Fuck that,” Clive replied, less-than-subtly vocalizing his difference of opinion. “I ain’t letting that thing have free rein in my apartment.”
“Come on, Clive. Do you have to swear in front of my daughter?”
“That’s okay, Daddy. Ginger Rogers uses that word all the time at school.”
“Honey, I don’t want you using that word. It’s not nice. Uncle Clive didn’t mean to
say it.”
Clive rolled his eyes. The hell I didn’t. His pinky finger returned to its now-innate activity of digging in his right ear. He continued their conversation, barely aware of his own motor functions.
“Your dad is right, Victoria. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used that word. Now, what do you propose we do about that spider?”
“May I please have a glass and a piece of paper? I can take her outside with that.”
“Sure, Vicki. Whatever you need.”
Clive rushed off to the kitchen and was back within half a minute. He made sure to grab one of Kevin’s glasses. He wasn’t going to be drinking out of any glass that had been used to transport that eight-legged monstrosity.
Victoria pressed her palm gently against the cool tile floor. That alone was enough to repulse Clive. Now she definitely needs to wash her hands. He hoped he hadn’t missed the toilet recently. The odds of that weren’t in his niece’s favor.
After a few moments, the spider crawled off Victoria’s hand and onto the floor. With speed and precision, Victoria slammed the glass over the arachnid. She tilted the glass just enough to slide the paper underneath it. The spider hesitantly climbed atop it. Victoria then tipped the glass over and cupped her hands around the paper, pressing it tightly against the circumference of the glass. The spider clung to the paper, hanging upside-down within its glass-and-paper prison. Victoria stood and took off, clearly on a mission.
Clive’s finger returned to its digging. He could feel his brother’s critical stare.
“What?”
“All right, man. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’ve been at it all night. What’s the story with your ear?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s been clogged the last couple of days.”
“Pinch your nostrils shut and try to blow air out your nose.”
Clive complied. Only his left ear popped.
“Nothing?”
Clive shook his head. “It’s starting to piss me off.”
“You should get that checked.”
“So I’ve been told.”