My Life After Now

11

This is the Moment




A clinic employee had us line up in a little hallway, in order by number. First in line was the old man, followed by the young guy, the lady and her kids, and me.

A frizzy-haired woman in an out-of-style business suit came out of an office and called the first man inside. They were behind the closed door for less than three minutes, and then he left, relief inscribed across his face. The scene repeated with the young guy. As he left, he grabbed a handful of free condoms from a bin and stuffed them in his pockets. The woman was called in next.

“Could you watch them, please?’

It took me a minute to realize she was talking to me.

“Huh?” I said.

“Could you just keep an eye on my kids while I go in?”

I glanced at the two little boys. One was about four years old and running up and down the hallway, arms out like an airplane, and the other was about two and actively trying to bust out of his stroller. This was so not what I needed right now.

“Uh…” I said, frantically trying to come up with a reason why I couldn’t watch this woman’s kids, but my brain wasn’t working right. “Okay, sure.”

“Great,” she said, and disappeared into the office.

As soon as they realized they’d been left alone with a stranger, the kids stopped their fidgeting and stared, wide-eyed, up at me.

“Um, hi,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “I’m Lucy. What are your names?”

No answer.

“Uh…what’s your favorite color?” I didn’t have much experience with children. I’d never even been a babysitter.

“Where’s my mom?” the older boy asked.

“Oh, she’ll be right back. She’s just talking to the lady in that room.”

“Why?”

Umm.

“Because the lady has some information for her.”

“Why?”

I sighed. “I don’t know, kid.”

“Are you waiting to talk to the lady too?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

How did I get myself into these situations?

“It’s a long story.”

“I like stories,” he said.

“Well, this is a grown-up story.”

He studied me. “Are you a grown-up?”

“I…”

Good question. I sure as hell didn’t feel like one right now.

Finally, finally, the woman came out of the office and collected her children. She didn’t even say thank you. I watched them leave.

“Number sixty-eight?”

I turned—the office lady was looking at me expectantly. I was the only one left.

I took a deep breath and followed her into the office.

“I’m Diane Sullivan, the clinic’s social worker,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you”—she took my ticket and consulted her chart—“Lucy M.”

I shook her hand and sat down.

As Diane flipped through my file, my heart was sprinting. I’d never believed in psychics or clairvoyance or that kind of thing, but my intuition was screaming at me right now. Somehow, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it.

Diane looked me in the eye. Her expression was smooth.

“Lucy, your rapid HIV test result is reactive,” she said in a calm, neutral tone.

I stared at her. What did that mean? Didn’t she know this was not the time for being cryptic? “Reactive?” I repeated.

“Yes. That means you have received a preliminary positive result.”

Positive. That was a word I could understand.

An involuntary gurgle escaped my throat, and suddenly the world was closing in on me, disappearing from the outside edges in. I thrust my head between my knees.

Positive.

I couldn’t breathe.

Why can’t I breathe? I asked the demons in the room. Their black, beady eyes were on me. I felt them. Where’s the air? What did you do?

The demons didn’t say anything. They just watched me. Judging. Planning.

Something touched my back. I jumped out of my skin. “Don’t touch me!” I shrieked at the demons, spending the last of my air. “You’re trying to kill me!”

But the voice that answered didn’t make sense. It didn’t match the demons’ greedy, evil faces. “Lucy, breathe with me. In…out…”

How do they know my name?

But I obeyed. I had no choice.

“In…out…that’s right…in…”

I gasped and choked. The oxygen that did manage to get in was soothing.

“Very good, Lucy. In…out…in…”

After a few minutes, I was able to sit upright again. I opened my eyes. The demons were gone. Or hiding.

Diane was back.

My natural breathing returned, and I didn’t have to focus on getting air anymore. But I still felt sick to my stomach.

“Are you all right, Lucy?” Diane asked, calm as ever.

No. Of course I wasn’t.

But I was coherent enough now to know that she was talking about my immediate state, not the bigger picture. I gave a tiny nod.

“Now, we have a lot to discuss.” She flipped through my file again, taking her time to review the pages where Marie had written my answers down. “Given your established risk behaviors, it’s crucial that you make some changes so you don’t expose anyone else to the virus.” She looked up at me. “And it’s also very important for you to have a reliable support system to help you work through this confusing time. Have you thought about who you will discuss your result with?”

I stopped listening to Diane and her social worker dribble.

My risk behaviors, she said. I didn’t have risk behaviors. I just made one stupid mistake. I didn’t deserve this.

Suddenly, I couldn’t sit in this room one second longer.

I pushed out of my chair and ran. Diane called after me, but I shut her out. I ran down the hall, through the waiting room, through door number one, up the stairs, through door number two, and into the real world. I didn’t care that people were staring. I didn’t care that I looked like hell. I just kept running.

I ran until my feet screamed. Then I slowed to a walk and glanced at a street sign. I’d gone over forty blocks. But I kept going.

I felt empty. It’s the only way to describe it. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t cry. Positive. It was as if the word was some sort of incantation, and now that it had been uttered, a spell had been cast. Diane had sucked all the reason, hope, and life out of me, and all I’d been left with was a hollow shell of a body and a brain that wouldn’t work.

So I walked.

There’s something about New York City that gives you permission to just be. There’s no need for pretense, no need for masks. You can be real, without risk. The buildings are your protectors, the streets are your tethers. The people…you will never see them again. Even when they’re right in front of you, you don’t see them. Not really. Just as they don’t really see you. New York is beautifully anonymous.

As one wave of New Yorkers disappeared underground, another emerged. I took my time, watching them. Each one of them on their way somewhere, each with a purpose.

Except me. I was still empty.

The sun was low in the sky when my bag started vibrating. I ignored it.

I passed a homeless man. He was reading a thick book, and a dog was curled up on a blanket beside him. I gave him all my money. Fifty-six dollars and ninety-three cents.

“God bless you,” he said.

It’s a little late for that, the voice in my head responded.

Somehow, I made it back to the parking garage. Somehow, I got in my car and made it go. And somehow, I ended up back at home.