46
Anxious to read the results of her blood work, Sheila dropped her purse and the other mail she’d retrieved from her mailbox onto the couch and turned on the television. Sitting on the arm of the couch, a broad smile lit her face as she raced to open the sealed envelope, a step closer to marrying her man.
Sheila held the piece of paper tight in her hands. Her eyes began to bulge as she scanned the contents, little that they were. Like a slow tremor, her hands began to shake and her mouth opened up as if someone found the magic button that exposed a hidden door. Tears fell from her eyes before she ever made a sound—and then it was only the sound of paper being shredded into tiny little pieces.
Whimpering, Sheila finally moved from the place that had her paralyzed for more than a few moments and went in search of the gun that Victor had so conveniently returned to her. It was his mistake because he had placed a death sentence on her and she was going to return the favor.
“HIV positive?” Sheila wailed, as she finally retrieved the gun from the back of her clothes closet where she’d hidden it after Victor had given it back to her. “How can I get married now?” Sheila shouted as she continued on her rant. “I’ve waited all my life to find the one man I truly want to spend the rest of my life with, and now I’ve got to tell him that I’m HIV positive…that I could possibly get AIDS.”
Sheila twirled the gun around and around in her hand. She kicked off her pumps and rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, blowing air out of her mouth at two-second intervals. She looked like a deranged woman on the verge of a breakdown, ready for a showdown with either the law or the white-coat doctors who’d come ready to put her in a straight jacket.
She stood with her legs spread apart, wielding the gun in the air, with black mascara running down her face. The large sculptured mirror that hung on the wall in her room captured the moment. Catching a glimpse of herself, Sheila passed the gun from one hand to the other, took off the black and white houndstooth light wool jacket that complemented her sleeveless black shift, and picked up the gun again.
“When the police come to cart me off to jail, my hands will be up in total surrender!” Sheila shouted to no one, continuing to point the gun at the ceiling. “I’m getting ready to commit a crime that will have all of Durham talking for days. I’m going to riddle his body with so many bullets, he’ll wish he’d never put his nasty infected penis in my body. But what will he care? He’ll be dead meat.”
Poised to shoot, Sheila abruptly dropped her hands at the sound of the knock on the door. “Oh, Victor, if that’s you, you’d better get your running shoes on. I’m going to shoot your ass dead on the front porch. You’ll never infect another person again.”
With a tear-stained face, Sheila marched the few feet to the door, her arm out ready to shoot. She didn’t ask who it was because the surprise was going to be on the visitor standing on the other side of the door. Sheila took her time unlocking the door, all dramatic like she was rehearsing for a gut-wrenching scene in a play. She put on her evil face, slowly turned the knob, and snatched the door open, her finger steady on the trigger. Shock, then anger, registered on her face as she began to swing the gun.
“Fool, what’s wrong with you?” Phyllis shouted, snatching the gun from Sheila’s hand and pushing her into the interior of the house. “Are you some kind of crazy? You could have killed me.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Who were you trying to kill?” Phyllis asked, dropping the gun on the coffee table.
“You don’t want to know!” Sheila hollered.
“Look at you,” Phyllis went on, dropping her purse on Sheila’s couch. “You look like a snot-nosed kid that’s been smoking crack. All right, I’m here. What’s going on with you?”
“Get out, Phyllis. I’m not in the mood to talk to you or anyone else.” Sheila plopped down in one of her green chairs.
“Well, something has got you like this. You were all bells and whistles when you left work today. Did Jamal threaten to cancel the wedding?”
“Shut up, shut up! You don’t know nothing.”
“Calm down, sweetie. I was messing with you. This is serious. Do you want to talk about it?”
Tears began to fall again as Sheila searched for the piece of paper with the bad news. Then she remembered; the piece of paper was now in tiny pieces. Not able to accept the verdict the paper rendered, she had torn it up as if the disease would go away.
Sheila sniffed and Phyllis walked over and sat next to her on the arm of the chair. “What is it, sweetie? What’s got you wanting to kill somebody?”
Sheila’s face looked like black marble fudge. Every time she wiped at her face, the water from her tears and the mascara would mix and form a new pattern. Sheila tried to hold her head up and look at Phyllis, but she couldn’t. She began to cry profusely, until her body began to shake.
Phyllis got on her knees in front of Sheila and grabbed both of her arms. “Tell me what it is, Sheila, so I can help you.”
“I…I…I’m HIV positive.”
Phyllis dropped Sheila’s hands and jerked back as if she had been bitten by the disease. “Did you say HIV positive?” she asked, getting to her feet.
“Yes, Phyllis. I’m HIV positive.”
“Jamal did this to you?”
“No, it wasn’t Jamal.”
“How do you know it wasn’t Jamal?
“Because we’ve always used protection.”
“Surely the great Victor Christianson didn’t give it to you.”
“Why do you believe Victor didn’t give it to me? Just because he lives in a fine home on the other side of town, drives the latest model car, and has a little money in his pocket? He is in no way somebody’s millionaire, but I’ll tell you what he is. He’s a ho; a bona fide ho…and don’t say it; I’ll save you the trouble. I deserved what I got for sleeping with him.”
Phyllis looked at Sheila with downcast eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Phyllis. How can I get married to Jamal with this death sentence hanging around my neck? This weekend I’m supposed to experience the happiest day of my life. Now, I have nothing to look forward to.”
“Maybe you can explain it to Jamal. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”
“It’s not that easy, Phyllis. I feel like my body is a booby trap—a time bomb ready to go off. It’s easy if you get a little cold with the sniffle and sneezes. You go to the drugstore, pick up some cold medicine, and in a few days you’re all right. Not so with HIV. Death is what I have to look forward to. I’ll have to take some expensive drugs that I may not be able to afford and sit around and wonder how long and when will it become full-blown AIDS. I can’t live like this.”
“They are making remarkable progress with AIDS research. You’ve got a fighting chance, Sheila.”
They both turned when they heard the door rattle. Without a second thought, Sheila jumped up and scooped the gun off the coffee table. Victor walked into the room in a starched pair of jeans, white shirt, and a blue linen blazer. He was startled to see Phyllis.
Sheila held out the gun, her nostrils flaring.
“Don’t do it, Sheila,” Phyllis begged. “Don’t do it.”
“What’s up with her?” Victor asked Phyllis. “That virus you had has gone to your head.”
“You’ve got that right, Victor Christianson. I have a virus but it hasn’t gone to my head.” Sheila walked closer to Victor, who began to back up.
“Phyllis, what’s wrong with this crazy bitch? I bought her a nice house to stay in, fixed her up with diamonds and pearls, and I can’t come in my own house?”
“You a*shole, don’t talk like I’m invisible. I’m standing right here, right in front of you. But you won’t for long because I’m going to sentence you to death like you’ve done to me.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Victor roared, with a scowl on his face.
“I’m talking about being HIV positive, you imbecile. I’m talking about my future not being so bright because I might get AIDS. You stand in my face with that cocky look on your face, but that—”
“HIV?” Victor shouted. “You stupid wench.” And before anyone could blink, Victor tried to reach for the gun.
“Don’t do it, Sheila!” Phyllis shouted.
Sheila pulled the trigger. “You animal, you scum of the earth. You don’t deserve to live!” Sheila screamed. Her eyes narrowed as the water from the tears clouded her vision.
Another shot rang out and Victor grabbed at his left arm, his eyes wild with fright and his face pinched by the sudden graze of the bullet. “I’m going to kill you, bitch. You tore my good jacket.” And he lunged.
Phyllis cowered on her knees in a corner of the room, using her hands as a shield as Sheila pulled the trigger again.
Pop, pop, pop. Victor danced to the tune as he dodged the bullets that rained down on him.
“Didn’t you hear me, you sorry, no good for nothing ho? You’ve already killed me. I have HIV. I’m going to die. And to think, I was going to get married this weekend to the love of my life.”
Crouching behind the wall that led into the foyer, Victor suddenly reappeared, stood wild eyed, and stared at Sheila. “Married?”
“Yes, married. I was going to marry the love of my life this weekend. Had I not gotten the blood test, who knows when I would’ve found out about the HIV?”
“Married? And where were you going to live? Hell, how do you know it wasn’t that other nigger that got you infected?”
“I know, and you need to get tested. I wonder what your wife will say when I tell her?”
“You—”
Pop, pop! Either Sheila was a bad shot or Victor had nine lives. Victor danced and ducked, but seemed to dodge the bullets Sheila hurled. Sheila marched forward, until she had Victor cornered. Pop!
“Damn, woman.” Victor grabbed his left arm again, but only for a second as he pulled the door open and stumbled outside.
“Call the po po!” Sheila shouted after Victor as she watched him stagger to the street. “Be glad that the coroner isn’t picking up your ass.” Sheila slammed the door. “Dog blood all over my wall. HIV blood. Damn.”
Sheila dropped the gun on the floor and looked around. The warmth that made the house so beautiful was gone. The candles, the soothing colors of the room, the posh furniture couldn’t heal the wound that had been made. Sheila crossed her arms over her bosom and walked slowly through the living room, then stopped in her tracks as if she was paralyzed.
“Phyllis, you all right?”
Phyllis’ mouth was clamped shut. Her eyes were those of a scared child who’d seen a horrible crime. She looked as if someone had pasted her against the wall with some strong adhesive. Shock, that’s what it was.
Sheila held her belly and began to laugh. “Phyllis, girl, are you all right? You look like a scared rabbit stuck on the wall.”
“I peed on myself—in my brand new suit. Paid a little money for it, too, but not so it could smell like pee.”
Sheila fell on the couch and laughed to her heart’s content. “Get up off the floor. And you’re going to clean my carpet before you leave.”
“Did you kill Victor?”
“Hell naw; he’s still alive.”