The Zero Game

Right there, I realize I’ve been reading her wrong. It’s not anger in her voice. It’s disappointment – and as her shoulders sag even lower than usual, it’s already bleeding into sadness. I’ve been on the Hill for a decade, but Viv’s barely been here a month. It took me three years of getting backstabbed to get the look she’s wearing right now. Her eyes sag with a brand new weight. No matter when it happens, idealism always dies hard.

“That’s it – I’m out,” she announces, shoving me aside and rushing past me.

“Where’re you going?”

“To deliver some Senator’s mail… and gossip with friends… and check on our running tally of Senators with bad hair and no rear end – there’re more than you think.”

“Viv, wait,” I call out, chasing after her. I put a hand on her shoulder, and she tries to yank herself free. I hold tight, but unlike before, it doesn’t calm her down.

“Get. Off!” she shouts. With one final shove, she slaps me away. She’s not a small girl. I forget how strong she is.

“Viv, don’t be stupid…” I call out as she storms through the exhibit.

“I’ve already been stupid – you’re my quota for the month!”

“Just wait…”

She doesn’t slow down. Marching through the main section of the exhibit hall, she cuts in front of a couple trying to get their photo taken with Archie Bunker’s chair.

“Viv, please…” I beg, quickly racing after her. “You can’t do this.”

She stops at the ultimatum. “What’d you say?”

“You’re not listening-”

“Don’t you ever tell me what to do.”

“But I-”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?!”

“Viv, they’ll kill you.”

Her finger’s frozen in midair. “What?”

“They’ll kill you. They’ll snap your neck and make it look like you tripped down some stairs. Just like they did with Matthew.” She’s silent as I say the words. “You know I’m right. Now that Janos knows who you are – you saw what he’s like; he doesn’t care if you’re seventeen or seventy. You think he’s just gonna let you go back to refilling Senators’ water glasses?”

She tries to respond, but nothing comes out. Her brow unfurrows, and her hands start to shake. Like before, she starts to pick anxiously at the back of her ID. “I-I need to make a call,” she insists, rushing for the pay phone in the ice cream parlor. I’m a step behind her. She won’t say it, but I see the way she’s clutching her ID. She wants Mom.

“Viv, don’t call her…”

“This isn’t about you, Harris.”

She thinks I’m only looking out for myself. She’s wrong. The guilt’s been swirling through my gut since the moment I first asked her for that one little favor. I was terrified it’d come to this.

“I wish I could take it back… I really do,” I tell her. “But if you’re not careful-”

“I was careful! Remember, I’m not the one who caused this!”

“Please, just stop for a minute,” I beg as she once again takes off. “Janos is probably drilling through your life right now.”

“Maybe he’s not. Ever think of that?”

She’s getting too riled. It breaks my heart to do this, but it’s the only way to keep her safe. As she’s about the enter the ice-cream store, I cut in front of her. “Viv, you make that call and you’re putting your whole family at risk.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I don’t? Out of thirty pages, you’re the only five-foot-ten black girl. He’ll find your name in two seconds. That’s what he does. Now, I know you hate me right now – and you should – but please… just listen… If you go in there and call your parents, that’s two more people Janos has to clean up to make this mess go away.”

That’s all it takes. Her shoulders rise, revealing her full height, while the tears in her eyes give away her age. It’s so easy to forget how young she is.

On my left, I catch our reflection in a nearby exhibit case: me in a black suit, Viv in her navy one. So professional and put together. Behind the glass are Mr. Rogers’s red sweater and an Oscar the Grouch puppet. Oscar’s frozen in his garbage can with his mouth wide open. Following my gaze, Viv stares at the Grouch, whose empty black and white eyes stare hauntingly back.

“I’m sorry, Viv.” It’s the second time I’ve said those words. But this time, she needs them.

“I-I was just doing you a favor,” she stutters, her voice breaking.

“I shouldn’t have asked you, Viv – I never thought…”

“My mom… if she-” She cuts herself off, trying not to think about it. “What about my aunt in Philly? Maybe she can-”

“Don’t put your family at risk.”

“I shouldn’t put them at risk? How could… how could you do this to me?!” She stumbles backwards, once again scanning each passing tourist. I thought it was because she was scared, nervous – forever the outsider trying to fit in – but the longer I watch her, the more I realize that’s only part of the picture. People who look for help tend to be the type of people who’re used to getting it. Her hand continues to clutch her ID. Her mom… her dad… her aunt – they’ve been there her whole life, pushing, aiding, cheering. Now they’re gone. And Viv’s feeling it.