by Kenneth M. Kapp
Virgel Eliot was worried – big time. Virgil had been worrying since ever he could remember. When he was five he fretted every time he was given two cents for an all-day lollipop. He was afraid he’d lose one penny or the other and, when he finally got to the candy store, that they might not still have raspberry – he always wanted raspberry. “Hurry, Mommy, hurry – all the other kids like raspberry and there’ll be none left.” Then he would fret that his lollipop wouldn’t last all day since sometimes it didn’t. He fretted so much he’d forget to stop sucking and put it somewhere to dry for an hour and then it really wouldn’t last all day.
And then when he was ten, he’d agonize every time he saved a dime for a new comic book. He’d chew his nails to the quick, muttering all the way to and from the candy store, “Did I choose a good one, I need a good one to trade with Tommy next month – twosies. Yeh, a Batman with Batwomen so it’s rare and I can get two Superman comics for it.” Or he would tell himself to save it for a year and maybe he could even get three cowboy comics.
And when his mother told him not to worry so much, he’d stutter and impatiently whine, “Comics are important, Mommy. It’s how kids learn to read or maybe become a great artist like…” He was always too worried to remember the name of even one artist and his mother would never fail to volunteer, “Like Rembrandt or Hopper.”
Virgel would get ready, put his hands on his hips and roll his eyes back into his head since his mother inevitably would continue, “Culture is important, Virgel. That’s why we named you after the Latin poet Virgil. We used an e for the last vowel since we’re English and Virgil was Italian. That’s why they used two I’s.”
Puberty was especially difficult for Virgel. He panicked when his voice started to change and when his pubic hair sprouted on his chin and genitals. His parents had divorced when he was barely two and his mother had no brothers to explain the course of nature. The classes in school were only to be snickered through and the bits and pieces he weaned from others only increased his unease. The first time he had an erotic dream he went directly to the guidance office and broke down in tears. The counselor was concerned and spent the whole morning explaining the “birds and bees” which finally helped Virgel calm down. But that night, when he went to bed, he was in full panic mode. Cold showers and exercise didn’t help.
Virgel’s mother bought him new clothes before the start of his senior year. “Dressing nicer will help you make new friends. Perhaps you’ll be more confident and start dating if that’s what the children are still doing.” She sighed. “Things are so different now. But we all get through it somehow.”
Virgel squirmed under his mother’s loving gaze. His unease ratcheted up several notches when she continued, “Omnia vincit Amor; et nos cedamus Amori. Love conquers all; let us, too, yield to Love!” She grinned broadly. “That was one of Virgil’s most famous quotes.”
He stepped back and ran from the room, crying over his shoulder, “Mom, I’ve got to run some important errands. I’ll be back in time for supper.” The unease stayed with him for weeks.
Virgel graduated in June. He refused to go to the graduation ceremony. “I’ll only trip going up to the stage or sneeze on the Principal when she gives me my diploma. Mom, I’m just not going.” And then he rolled up his sleeve. “See, I’ve broken out all over in hives.”
His mother bargained. “Then we’ll go to a nice restaurant for lunch to celebrate.”
“Only if it’s two weeks after the graduation so we won’t meet any of my classmates.”
Virgel started full-time at the company where he had worked in the summer. Full-time employees needed a complete health exam from a doctor as a condition of employment. The doctor recognized his extreme anxiety and prescribed medication. Virgel agreed to try it. It helped.
Time went on. Virgel continued to live with his mother in the same apartment where he was born. He didn’t tell his mother about the anxiety medication he kept in his locker at work. The physical was an annual requirement and the doctor adjusted his prescription as needed.
Virgel’s mother died. He took the week off, now beginning to worry about death. The doctor prescribed a complementary drug. “Take it a couple of hours before you go to sleep since it may make you drowsy.”
The day after he picked up the new prescription he brought home all the other drugs from his locker at work. After they were lined up in the bathroom medicine cabinet, he admitted to his reflection in the mirror, “At least I won’t have to worry about going back to the factory if I forget to take a pill.”
Over the years, Virgel worried that he’d be fired. But a week before his fiftieth anniversary with the company, his manager approached him in the locker room with an envelope in hand. “Congrats, Virge, fifty years is no mean feat. They’re giving you this certificate for a dinner for two at the best restaurant in town. Go celebrate. Take a couple of days off on the house. It’s company policy.” The manager didn’t comment that usually there would be a more formal dinner for the person reaching fifty years, along with their immediate team. It was well known that Virgel was extremely nervous in public. Virgel thanked him.
The next morning he woke in a cold sweat. He’d a dream. Death was coming to carry him off. He remembered reading in a magazine how many people die soon after they retire. He went to the bathroom and returned to bed. Soon he was dreaming again. He was a little kid with a new comic book. There was a bad guy who could only be defeated when he happened to say some words backwards. But when Virgel woke up the dream was scrambled. A person would only die after saying certain words or maybe not saying certain words. When he brushed his teeth he was no longer sure. And by the time he finished eating his cold cereal and raisins he was convinced he had to start saying all the words in a big dictionary. It didn’t make sense and that added to his worries but as he had decided to take the day off, he went downtown to a secondhand bookstore where they sold old comics.
He found a large unabridged dictionary and added an original MAD comic book to his purchase, laughing to himself, “What, me no worry!”
That night he started reading down the first column of words convinced a column a day would keep death away. But he worried that he’d lose his place or the book would get lost or stolen.
Worry, worry, worry. Virgel continued to work and read through a column of words a night. Eventually he started on the W’s. Weeks later his finger reached “worry” and he felt a pain in his chest. He smiled, finally unafraid, as he crumpled over the dictionary on the kitchen table.