Shelby by Pete; McCormack Page A

cat,” she said as she sprinted past me and up the stairs. “See ya!”
    Hours into the fourth night after Lucy left I woke up in a sweat-soaked panic, my heart pounding up to my temples, my body paralysed with fear. I got up, turned on the light and examined my penis for spots, twisting it in all directions to see all sides. There were no new blemishes. I lay back on the bed, frozen, and then looked again. I lay back down but couldn’t sleep. I paced around the kitchen and into the front room. I gazed out the window and saw streetlights and parked cars, the haunting rumble of the city wrapped up in blue shades of night; seeing the distant apartment lights, I envisioned AIDS sufferers, still awake, annihilated by the reality of their condition. I fell back on the pull-out couch and pounded my fists into the mattress. Reaching across the bed, I picked the phonebook up off the floor and looked up V.D .
    Venereal Disease Information Line: 872–1238 .
    I dialed. Six rings. No answer. I looked up AIDS. My temples started to pound again. There it was: AIDS Vancouver: Information and Counselling. 687–2437 . I dialed. Eight rings. No answer. I crumpled back down on the bed and rolled … and groaned … and moaned until sleep finally took me.
    Halfway through dialing the AIDS Line the following morning, I examined my penis and became erect.
    â€œAIDS Vancouver,” said a man in the middle of my demoralised groan.
    â€œOh … uh … I …” Suddenly disgusted, I yanked in desperation as hard as I could on my loathesome erection, agony causing me to yelp simultaneously as the telephone receiver cracked on the floor. Before me, my penis wilted like an old carrot. Trembling, I picked up the phone and slowly brought it to my mouth.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œAIDS Vancouver.”
    â€œI had sex with a promiscuous woman.”
    â€œAnd you’re worried about …?”
    â€œI’m phoning an AIDS line! I’m worried about AIDS .”
    â€œCalm down. Was your partner high risk?”
    â€œShe … we were sexually active, initiated by her, she seemed experienced. She put a prophylactic on me in seconds …”
    â€œSo she was using a condom?”
    â€œShe did. And then she … we didn’t. But I just couldn’t stop myself.”
    â€œIs she a drug user?”
    â€œNo. I don’t know. Tylenol.”
    â€œBut no needles?”
    â€œ Tylenol .”
    â€œIs she a prostitute?”
    â€œNo! She’s a dancer. She …” Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead like tiny turtle shells pushing up from beneath the sand.
    â€œSo she’s a regular partner?”
    â€œ Was a regular partner! Now? God knows! And to think I was going to be a doctor. Now I’m a slut, all dreams shattered!”
    â€œDid she tell you she was promiscuous?”
    â€œOh yes, she sent me a note saying she’s a whore! I told you! She’s a prophylactic virtuoso— swoosh and it was on!”
    â€œSir, I think—”
    â€œIndeed, the flesh does kill! Oh wretched day! Oh—”
    â€œ Sir !”
    Startled, I stood shaking.
    â€œNow I realise you’re tense. But please …”
    â€œI … I’m sorry.”
    â€œThat’s all right. Take a breath.”
    I did.
    â€œNow, I suggest talking to her.”
    â€œHow can I? She’s miles away cavorting in the nude for strangers!”
    â€œWell, in the meantime, celebrate the fact that she uses condoms. Many people still don’t.”
    â€œBut what if …”
    â€œShe uses condoms.”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œNo blame.”
    â€œShe—”
    â€œShe uses condoms, Sir. She practices safe sex. Talk to her.”
    â€œI … I will,” I said.
    â€œGood. Are you all right?”
    â€œYes … I … feel better. Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Talk to her.”
    Relieved, I hung up and